Reality Collides: The Ezekiel Chronicles

by CaioCoia

A devoted Cartoon Network fan finds himself inexplicably transported into Total Drama world, assuming the role of the misunderstood character Ezekiel. With real-world knowledge and a burning desire for redemption, he must navigate challenges, alliances, and drama to rewrite Ezekiel's fate. Can he change his own destiny and make his Total Drama dreams come true? An Ezekiel S.I

64. Interlude Action - 2

Author's note: Well, I wanted so much to write way more scenes, but I think I already did too much on this chapter, because man it's going to be a lot for you guys to process hahahahahahaha. The scene I wanted so much to write, sadly I wasn't able to write it now because it would destroy the flow of the days I have been writing on the chapter, however after the next episode, the next interlude, then I will write a whole chapter about the thing I wanted to write most. But I hope this chapter will make everyone happy and excited for the plans I have ahead, so now enjoy this chapter and have fun.

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Replying the reviews:

Eccentric guest. Well enjoy this chapter, because your questions are about to be answered, have fun reading it.

Sleepy guest. Well I don't remember him playing guitar, only him singing the Bela Ciao song, I will check it in the future to fix it, but yeah, Ezekiel has a lot to learn and it will be interesting to play around with that, have fun reading the new chapter.

forgottenspartan529 . Well, there you go.

Crazy mad guest. Zombies because I wanted to make it more interesting with 23 people on the show, I wanted to do Aliens as well, however there was a problem and I wanted to do aliens more in the future. When Ezekiel had an even better training. I hope you like this challenge.

Le Quack. Well I wouldn't say replaced, it's more like the order of the challenges were rehanged since now it has 23 contestants now, I wanted to add more genres and make a good first impact to everyone, and it seems I did the right thing.

Just guessing. Pff, thriller dance reference was already done on the Basic Straining, two times the same joke wouldn't have been funny anyway. So I refuse to do the Omeke, and well I'm kinda against into Ezekiel creating the book of Rise of the Guardians, since the true author of the book will create it in a few years, and it would be awful into doing with the good writer who created such wonderful book.

Ghostly guest. Yeah you got the situation, Ezekiel accepted their elimination as for the best in the long run, but still it sucked that both his friends were eliminated like that, so he wasn't happy with that. I hope you like this one, have fun.

Oberon1211 . Well, who knows if in the future I will be doing Shawn's reaction of that, but I wouldn't put faith into that, but thank you for your questions, they will be selected for the Aftermath show, thank you for your coperation.

Fan . Well there is 21 campers remaining, so yeah, it will have more original genres of challenges which will be very interesting to write around it.

djinn . Well I hope you enjoy this chapter, because things will be very interesting from now on. XD

Guest . I don't think so. Lars is a great characters as he is, and I don't plan to write it.

Odd Guest. I'm glad you liked the chapter, and while I couldn't do much on this one, I hope you enjoy everything I have planned so far. I hope you guys like it.

toonfan97 . Thank you for your review, this will be a good question I will be able to place on Aftermath, thank you for your contribuition. Also I'm glad you liked the reference I did based on Where it all began, and I'm glad I managed to make this chapter very interesting for everyone. Have fun reading it. XD

HYPER LOL GUEST. Hahahahahahah, Classic Gabriel Iglesias, man I'm fan of that man since years ago. And I'm glad you made the joke it made me to laugh loudly hahahaha. For me one of my favorites was the Cuban Coffee, man I cried laughing, and when 2 Indian robbers tried to rob a bank, man I lost my breath laughing on that as well. HAHAHAHAHA. but hey. I hope you enjoy this chapter. XD Have fun

Just guest. I'm glad you liked the chapter, and yeah I was basing the elite zombies with both Resident Evil, I was basing Ezekiel doing the famous Markplier Speech, and also Army of the Dead, since it was iconic scene of Ezekiel shotting while running. I used the speech of Daive Pazos A.K.A Azhagal from Brazil. (Na guerra, ou você mira ou você atira.) In war, or you aim or you shoot. Which that's why Ezekiel used it as a good way to homenage some of iconic speechs which of course will become merchandize of Total Drama Company. Anyway I hope you have fun reading this chapter.

xXwolfsterXx644. I'm glad you liked it, have fun reading the next chapter, and enjoy it. XD

Guest . Well I hope you like this chapter, because all your questions and thoughts will be answered by reading this chapter. Have fun. XD

nickvan2024 . Yep, sometimes the future could change but still would still be the same in a few cases, but now things will go serious and it won't be like canon, they were both prepared to try to come up with a real team, and who isn't prepared is going down easily, but at least now they are with more focus and not playing around anymore.

HeavenlyMark . Well I'm glad you liked the chapter, and sorry for you not having a question for either Courtney or Duncan, but hey, at least you tried, maybe next time you will have a question for the eliminated person. So why don't you enjoy this new chapter and prepare yourself for what's coming? XD

Just a wee guest . I hope you like this chapter, I cannot promise everything you ask for, but I hope you will like what I have prepared for today HAHAHAHAHA. Have fun reading this new chapter.

Guesthouse. This was cruel and terrible... I love it, hahahaha, okay now the idea of this becoming a running gag will be very interesting, let's see how things will go in the future XD.

Mr. E Guest. I'm glad you liked the chapter. I hope you have fun for what I'm about to show all of you. Anyway, enjoy and have a nice reading. XD

Benny Farr . Thank you for the review, and yeah things will be interesting in the long run, however now Ezekiel will be the remaining Pilar, which will be way more difficult for him now. But hey, I hope you enjoy the new chapter. Have fun dude. XD

Skully13. Well sadly it won't be the same, since Owen isn't in debt with the show, so at the time he goes eliminated it will be bye bye, but about blind dates and fateful frights I'm still preparing and thinking on how the date should go. Let's see how the future would come on both fanfics, anyway have fun reading this new chapter.

jarzalhernan . Yeah things will get harder with the time, I cannot tell you when it will be the episode where the reward challenge will happens, but when the time comes, oh boy, here comes things that everyone will be very aware of. I hope you enjoy this chapter. And I hope you have patience. Anyway, have fun.

arisu freedomstrikes . Screw you, and anyone who keeps insisting me to have AI art on my account, come on, I do my own coverarts, and you guys keep harassing me, have a life guys. And do your own writing and do your own cover arts as well. When I said I'm doing my own coverarts, I don't want help from you guys who want to charge money for that. Now leave me alone. Also ChaosDefender said Hi to all of you.

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Anyway, sorry for my outburst, I hope you guys have fun on this chapter. have fun guys.

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"Okay, I need you both to show me the best highlight moments from this episode," Chris ordered, lounging in his chair with his signature smirk.

Nearby, Sanders sat stiffly, nursing a cup of coffee and nibbling on a donut. Chef Hatchet stood with his arms crossed, while Cadet MacArthur leaned forward, eager to see the footage. The editing team worked tirelessly in the background, ensuring the episode would be polished and entertaining for the audience.

"The editing team is doing their best to make sure this episode is good to go," Chris added casually, stretching his arms behind his head.

A sudden wrinkle formed on MacArthur's nose as she sniffed the air. "Hey… what's that smell?"

Sanders instantly tensed. She averted her gaze and took a slow sip of coffee as if hoping to avoid the question. "I'd… prefer not to talk about it," she muttered, shuddering at the memory.

She had barely escaped the worst of it during the challenge, but the interns hadn't been so lucky. Many had been forced to take extended showers, some even breaking down in tears over the horrors they had endured. The trauma was still fresh, and the less said about it, the better.

Chris, however, was already flipping through the footage, unfazed by her discomfort. "Alright, there's something I'm really curious about—" He scrolled through the recordings until the screen jumped back to a specific moment.

Sanders' stomach twisted in recognition. "Err… boss, I don't think that's a good idea," she warned.

Chef and MacArthur both turned to her with interest.

"Nothing," she quickly added, forcing a strained smile. "Please, go on."

MacArthur raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Come on, Sanders. What aren't you telling us?"

Before Sanders could even attempt to deflect, Chris let out an exaggerated gasp.

"Ohhh, here we go! Let's see what Ezekiel was up to when he was alone—HOLY SHIT!"

The moment the scene played out, Chef's raised eyebrows twitched before he barely contained a smirk. Then his amusement evaporated, his eyes going wide, his mouth slowly dropping open in sheer disbelief.

MacArthur's jaw practically hit the floor.

Sanders, having already lived through it once, slammed her eyes shut, not wanting to relive the nightmare.

The footage was pure chaos.

Those poor interns.

---

Meanwhile, in his cabin, Ezekiel sat on his bed, wincing slightly as he stretched. Every muscle in his body ached from the sheer insanity of what he had pulled off today. He still wasn't entirely sure what had possessed him to go that far.

Especially in that last scene.

It had been absolute madness.

Still, as he lay back against his pillow, an old tune began to hum in his head. A familiar one. One that had sparked pure chaos and mayhem when he had needed it most.

Who would've thought that Kingsman had provided the perfect inspiration for handling a horde of zombies?

.

.

.

(Many hours ago)

(Lynyrd Skynyrd - Free Bird [Kingsman Church Scene Version]

The moment the doors burst open, a wave of interns dressed as zombies stormed inside, their groans echoing through the room. Leading them was Cadet Sanders, gripping a slime gun, prepared for a takedown.

They weren't ready for what was coming.

Ezekiel moved like lightning. He dashed forward, weaving through the oncoming horde with effortless agility. His eyes locked onto his first target—an intern barely registering his presence before pop! A paintball struck dead center on their forehead, sending them stumbling back.

Without missing a beat, Ezekiel whipped out his shotgun Nerf gun, swung it toward another intern's face, and fired at point-blank range. The foam dart smacked against the zombie's forehead, dropping them instantly.

In one fluid motion, he tucked the paintball gun under his arm, spun on his heel, and fired a shot into the gut of another intern. A pained grunt followed as they doubled over, just in time for Ezekiel to raise the gun and land a final shot square between their eyes.

A zombie lunged from the side. Ezekiel reacted fast—slamming the shotgun Nerf gun into its face, forcing it back just enough to gain space. With his free hand, he raised the paintball gun and fired directly into the attacker's face. Another one down.

Still moving, he crouched low, knees sliding across the floor. A sharp shot to the stomach sent another intern staggering backward. As Ezekiel stood, he delivered a brutal knee to the jewels, making the unfortunate soul crumple with a wheeze. A final paintball to the forehead ensured they stayed down.

The chaos only intensified.

Grabbing a nearby intern, Ezekiel spun them around and used them as a human shield, unloading a flurry of paintball rounds in every direction. The suppressing fire held back the advancing horde, but his luck ran out as the paintball gun clicked empty.

No time to reload.

An intern tried to strike from behind, but Ezekiel swung the empty paintball gun with full force, the plastic cracking against the attacker's skull. The weapon shattered apart in his hands, but the job was done.

With a free hand, he slammed the butt of his shotgun Nerf gun against the back of his former shield's head, dropping them like a sack of bricks. He quickly reached into his pocket, reloading the shotgun with Nerf bullets soaked in paint.

Fire. Reload. Fire. Reload.

He rolled across the floor to dodge a slime blast from Sanders, barely avoiding getting hit. Before she could adjust her aim, Ezekiel pulled a bold move—throwing his shotgun directly at her.

Sanders flinched, momentarily distracted. That was all he needed.

In a flash, Ezekiel ripped the Nerf pistol gun from his belt and fired straight into her chest. A bright splotch of paint spread across her uniform. Shocked, she looked down at the mark, but Ezekiel wasn't done.

With ruthless efficiency, he aimed higher and squeezed the trigger.

*Pop!*

A paint-covered Nerf dart struck her forehead, sending her stumbling back.

Ezekiel didn't wait for her reaction. He rolled to the side and waltzed through the battlefield, firing precision shots at the zombie interns' faces. Each squeeze of the trigger sent another one down, foam darts marking their foreheads in vibrant paint splatters.

Just as he turned, an intern managed to slam a fist into his back, knocking the air from his lungs. Gritting his teeth, Ezekiel twisted around and fired a gut shot, forcing the attacker to double over. With a swift right hook, he punched them across the face, and before they could recover—one last shot to the head.

The clip clicked empty.

With practiced ease, he ejected the magazine from his Nerf pistol and reloaded with a fresh one from his belt.

An intern rushed him, arms outstretched, ready to tackle. But Ezekiel was faster.

Instead of dodging, he dropped into a perfect split—a move so unexpected that the charging intern had no time to react. BAM! Ezekiel's fist shot up, slamming into the intern's most vulnerable spot.

A strangled gasp. A stumble.

The intern hit the ground, clutching their wounded pride.

Ezekiel didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, pressed the Nerf pistol against their open mouth, and pulled the trigger.

*Pop!*

A final, ink-covered dart sealed their fate.

The moment an intern tried to hold Ezekiel's arm and take his gun, Ezekiel reacted without hesitation. He aimed his pistol at the intern's stomach and pulled the trigger. The impact made the intern freeze, just long enough for Ezekiel to raise the gun higher and fire a second shot—straight to the face. Another one down.

Before the body even hit the ground, a female intern lunged at him. Without missing a beat, Ezekiel caught her in a headlock—a move drilled into him by none other than Eva. As she struggled, he lifted his pistol over his shoulder and fired blindly, nailing another intern right between the eyes. A perfect headshot. The next second, he twisted his grip and fired into the girl's temple before she could sink her teeth into his arm.

The remaining interns hesitated. They had started with guns, but now, panic set in. They reached for planks, bats—anything they could use. But Ezekiel wasn't slowing down. The adrenaline coursed through his veins, heightening his reflexes, sharpening his instincts. He kicked hard at a stack of wooden columns, sending them toppling over, pinning the interns' legs beneath the debris. As they howled in pain, Ezekiel walked over the wreckage without a second thought, his boots pressing down on shattered limbs. Every step was met with another gunshot to the head. One by one, they dropped.

Another magazine empty. He ejected it, letting it fall beside the bodies before reloading in a swift, practiced motion.

The next zombie barely had time to react before Ezekiel leaped onto him, pressing his pistol to the intern's forehead and pulling the trigger mid-air. Blood and foam splattered the ground as Ezekiel rolled off the falling body, immediately dodging a wild swing from another attacker. The intern wielded a staff, but it didn't matter. Ezekiel pivoted, aimed, and fired a clean shot right between his eyes.

Rolling to his feet, he slung his pistol into its holster and grabbed his shotgun. He wielded it like a club, smashing it into one intern's ribs before twisting it back to fire at another's head. Every move was ruthless, precise.

Then, he saw it.

The biggest zombie he had encountered so far. A towering figure, lumbering toward him.

But it wasn't just any zombie.

"Owen."

Owen blinked. "Uh… Ezekiel? You're not gonna hurt me, right?" He glanced around at the carnage—interns groaning on the ground, Ezekiel still blasting and pummeling anyone in his path.

"Sorry, Owen," Ezekiel muttered, shifting his grip. "Just this once. I promise."

Before Owen could process what was happening, Ezekiel launched a brutal kick straight into his groin. Owen's eyes bulged, and he collapsed with a wheeze.

"It's gonna hurt you way more than me," Ezekiel said apologetically. "But hey, on the bright side, Izzy and the others might finally stop being mad at you."

Owen winced but gave a thumbs-up. "That's okay," he said weakly. "Just for laughs, right?"

"Yep. Now lay down."

With Owen still doubled over, Ezekiel cocked his shotgun, used the butt of the weapon to smash an incoming intern across the face, then swiftly delivered a devastating liver punch. The intern gasped, dropping to his knees, only for Ezekiel to raise his shotgun and fire point-blank into his face.

The chaos only escalated from there.

Ezekiel sprinted through the battlefield, grabbing Cadet Sanders' taser and pepper spray from her holster. He wasted no time putting them to use. The next intern that came too close was met with 50,000 volts to the chest, convulsing before collapsing.

In the next second, Ezekiel spotted a spittoon from a movie set. Without hesitation, he grabbed it and smashed it over an intern's skull, denting the metal and sending the guy sprawling. Another intern rushed him from behind with a chair, shattering it against Ezekiel's back. Gritting his teeth through the pain, Ezekiel whirled around and hurled a hardcover book into the guy's face. The impact stunned him just long enough for Ezekiel to send a ruthless kick straight to his groin. The man buckled, groaning, only to have his suffering extended when Ezekiel sprayed a faceful of pepper spray directly into his eyes.

Blinded and wailing, the intern stumbled, coughing violently—right into Ezekiel's final, most sadistic move.

His bloodshot eyes glinting with twisted amusement, Ezekiel reached into his pocket, pulling out a paper bag filled with an ominous green liquid. Before the intern could react, Ezekiel shoved the bag straight into his mouth and, without hesitation, delivered a bone-crushing uppercut to his jaw.

The bag exploded.

A sickly green substance splattered everywhere as the intern collapsed, choking and vomiting uncontrollably. His cries of agony echoed through the battlefield.

Ezekiel merely cracked his neck, exhaling deeply.

This wasn't a challenge anymore.

This was a massacre.

The stench in the air was nauseating, a thick, suffocating miasma that seemed to seep into every corner of the room. Yet, Ezekiel didn't flinch, his eyes wild with a berserk intensity. He was no longer a participant in what was supposed to be a harmless challenge—this had transformed into something far darker, a fight for survival.

The interns, wide-eyed with terror, could barely comprehend what had just unfolded. One moment, they were laughing, the next, their lives were in danger.

In a swift, fluid motion, Ezekiel snatched a book from the floor, slamming it into the neck of one intern with a sickening thud. Without hesitation, he swung it again, this time smashing it into another intern's face. His movements were violent, his fury relentless. A liver blow left one intern gasping, and a brutal right straight to the jaw sent another crashing to the ground. He followed up with quick, punishing jabs, each one landing with precision before throwing a crushing hook that dropped his target to the floor.

The chaos was terrifying—then, with a horrifying calmness, Ezekiel reached for a can of pepper spray. He pressed it into the face of the fallen intern, who screamed in agony, writhing on the floor. The sound echoed in the room, and for a brief moment, there was only the desperate gasping of those still standing.

The interns who had been watching in horror suddenly became aware of the danger. Their breath hitched as Ezekiel, a predator in the midst of the storm, slowly began to rise. Fear seized them, and without a second thought, they scattered, running in every direction.

Breathing heavily, Ezekiel, his chest rising and falling, finally seemed to notice the exhaustion creeping in. He collapsed onto his back, sitting down hard against the floor.

"Owen, do you mind if I sit here?" Ezekiel asked, his voice hoarse, his gaze unfocused as he sunk to the ground beside Owen.

"No problem, Ezekiel," Owen replied, his voice shaky. His eyes were wide with fear, the intensity of what he'd just witnessed still sinking in. In fact, the fear was so overwhelming that he couldn't help but let out a series of nervous farts, their noise almost comical against the grim scene unfolding. To his surprise, though, the scent was a relief compared to the suffocating odor of the set.

Ezekiel gave a small, tired smile, closing his eyes as he leaned back to rest. "Thanks," he muttered, settling into the momentary stillness. After a pause, his smile faltered as he glanced around at the groaning interns scattered on the floor, their faces pale with fear. "Sorry about this, everyone... I got carried away."

The groans of the wounded interns filled the silence, and Ezekiel felt a sudden pang of embarrassment, sheepish at how far he'd gone. He had lost himself in the action, and now, in the aftermath, the realization of just how much he'd gone overboard weighed heavily on him. Specially he forgot to take out his weights on his arms and legs. Oh yeah, his body will feel it tomorrow morning.

---

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Chef Hatchet and Cadet MacArthur burst into uncontrollable laughter as Sanders flushed with embarrassment. She had been easily outsmarted by a young boy in a zombie-themed scenario, and now they found themselves on the floor, completely overwhelmed.

"You let him take your pepper spray and taser gun?" MacArthur managed to say between fits of laughter. "Oh boy, the police academy will treasure this moment forever. HAHAHAHAHA!"

Sanders clenched her fists, her face still red with frustration. "It's not funny. He came out of nowhere and went after all of us. We were supposed to scare him off, but instead, he went full crazy on us. This was supposed to be a horror Zombie theme movie, not some high-octane action film!" She shook her head, still haunted by the encounter. "And where did he find time to make one of his stupid stink bombs?"

Chef Hatchet bit his lip, doing his best to stifle any whistling or signs of innocence. He knew better than to draw attention to his secret alliance with Ezekiel and Izzy.

MacArthur smirked. "Well, it's crazy because that's a golden moment. This'll rack up some serious MVPA points. It had the most insane, cinematic action moves I've seen in a while!"

Chris, watching the scene unfold, couldn't help but agree. "I've known he's been training with Eva for a few weeks, but holy damn, the boy from the farm—homeschooled or not—clearly knows his stuff. This was genre-savvy to the max." He cleared his throat. "Alright, time for our judgment. Chef?"

"10 out of 10," Chef said with a grin.

"Same here," Chris added.

Cadet Sanders scowled. "It wasn't that great," she muttered, earning a chuckle from MacArthur.

"I told you, you should've worked on your glutes more," MacArthur teased, clearly relishing the moment. As Sanders raised her middle finger in response, MacArthur's grin widened. "Making my night even better."

---

The rumbling of the Lame-O-Sine's engine echoed through the dimly lit streets of Canada, a low, constant growl against the silence inside. Neon signs and streetlights flickered through the tinted windows, casting shifting colors across the faces of its two passengers.

Courtney sat with her arms crossed, her posture stiff, her gaze locked on the passing cityscape. Her mind raced, but her expression remained carefully composed—except for the slight furrow in her brow, a telltale sign of frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Beside her, Duncan slouched in his seat, lazily fiddling with his spiked bracelet, his boots propped up against the seat in front of him. They had done everything they could in the competition, but in the end, it didn't matter. They were the first ones out.

It sucked.

Courtney finally exhaled, breaking the silence. "So… what now?" Her tone was a mix of resignation and curiosity, a question she wasn't sure she wanted answered.

Duncan smirked, stretching his arms behind his head in that cocky, effortless way of his. "Well, I could always go back to breaking the law and causing trouble. Keeps life interesting."

Courtney shot him a glare. "Ugh, very funny. But I don't want you going back to juvie. Neither do your parents. And neither does my mom." Her voice softened slightly as she added, "You promised you'd behave."

Duncan scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I was joking, Princess. Relax. I wouldn't do that, not after everything your mom did for me." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess I'll just finish my community service and… I dunno, figure it out from there." His smirk faltered, his frustration peeking through. "Man, we barely made it past the second challenge. And yeah, part of me wants to say we were cheated, but let's be real—someone wanted us gone first."

His jaw clenched as he narrowed his eyes. "Would've loved to have a little chat with that queen bee bitch before getting booted. But I guess I would've been kicked off either way."

Courtney sighed, the weight of their elimination pressing down on her again. "Yeah… I get it. I mean, seriously. We just lost our shot at winning a million dollars. What's next for us?"

The question hit harder than she expected. Deep down, she wasn't just frustrated about losing the money—she was frustrated about losing the opportunity. She wanted to prove herself, to show what she was capable of, to take the spotlight and use it to build something bigger. The whole competition had given her a platform, a chance to redefine herself after what happened last season. Now, just like that, it was gone.

She thought about how she had helped the Killer Bass upgrade their looks, how she had impressed everyone with her leadership and organization skills. It felt like she was so close to making an impact, but now? Now what?

Duncan glanced at her, noting the way she seemed lost in thought. He leaned back against the seat. "Dunno… I haven't really thought about it." Then, after a beat, "Did you?"

Courtney hesitated. "I think so?" she said, though the uncertainty in her voice betrayed her confidence. "I mean, first, I wanted to be student council president, but I didn't win this year, and now… I don't know. I could start prepping for law school, I guess. But this whole competition put me behind schedule. And…"

She trailed off, realizing Duncan was watching her closely. She swallowed, admitting, "I don't know if that's really what I want."

Duncan hummed in understanding. He shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

The gesture caught her off guard.

She blinked at him. "Duncan?"

He didn't look at her, just kept his gaze on the window. "I get it. Plans change." His voice was uncharacteristically soft. "I was gonna use the hundred grand to deal with juvie stuff, but now? Now I'm free. Just gotta finish up my community service. Thanks to your mom." He smirked at her, but there was gratitude behind it.

Courtney clutched the jacket closer, letting its warmth sink in.

"With a million bucks, though?" Duncan continued, a little more upbeat. "I figured I'd take you somewhere. Maybe visit my Uncle Martin and Aunt Alex in the U.S. Pass a few days in Orlando—hell, even go to Disneyland and mess around on the rides."

Courtney blinked, then giggled. "That's… actually really thoughtful of you, Duncan." She smirked. "Even if it sounds like a bit of a waste of money."

Duncan shot her an exaggerated glare, but the moment she pecked his cheek, his annoyance melted away.

"Well," she mused, tilting her head. "It would be fun. Going to Disneyland… or meeting your eccentric side of the family."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Princess," Duncan muttered, shaking his head.

Courtney smiled softly. The moment of peace settled between them, and for the first time since their elimination, she felt… okay. They would figure it out.

"Well," she said with a playful smirk, "someday we should plan what to do for our future." She nudged his arm. "You can't just mess around forever, Duncan."

Duncan chuckled, catching the teasing edge in her voice. "Who says I'm messing around?" He leaned back, grinning. "Maybe I'll open a bike shop—custom work for guys and girls. Or maybe I'll start up my punk band again, go on tour, live a little."

Courtney raised a brow. "Wow, that almost sounded responsible."

Duncan smirked. "Almost."

"Also...A punk Band, really?" Courtney arched an eyebrow, smirking. "You? In a punk band?"

Duncan shrugged, grinning. "Hey, don't sound so surprised."

"I just remember you saying you don't like singing," she said with a scoff, crossing her arms.

"I don't," Duncan admitted with a laugh. "But I know how to play electric guitar. And I'm really good at breaking things."

They both chuckled at the undeniable truth in that statement.

"Well," Duncan added, nudging her playfully, "you could be the lead singer. You've got a nice voice."

"Pfft, pass." Courtney waved the idea away. "Punk songs are just screaming and shouting, and I'd rather not wreck my vocal cords."

Duncan held up his hands in surrender, but the playful glint in his eyes remained. Then, after a moment, an idea struck him. "Hmmm… you could do something with those audiobook things Ezekiel's been working on. Didn't you sing that one song from his book? You seemed to like it."

Courtney hesitated, her expression shifting into thoughtfulness. "Yeah, I actually have been thinking about that. But I feel like I'd be taking advantage of Zeke's kindness. He's already done so much—sometimes it feels like he's spoiling us." She sighed, leaning back against the seat. "Still, at least we don't have to deal with all the crap from the show anymore."

"Amen to that," Duncan muttered, stretching out with a satisfied sigh. "No more Chris. No more rigged challenges. No more death traps disguised as 'reality TV' stunts."

Courtney let out a small laugh, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all. Then, as if on instinct, she shifted closer to him, resting her head lightly against his shoulder.

Duncan glanced down at her, surprised for a moment, but he didn't question it. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her in.

The limo rattled along the road, city lights flashing past, but for once, neither of them were thinking about the past or the show. It was just them—two people, caught in the quiet after the storm.

Courtney tilted her head up slightly, meeting Duncan's gaze, and without a word, their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss. It wasn't rushed or dramatic—just a simple, grounding moment between them.

And then—

*SCREEEECH!*

The Lame-O-Sine jerked to a sudden halt, sending both Duncan and Courtney crashing to the floor.

"GAH!" Courtney yelped as she landed hard on Duncan, her elbow driving straight into his ribs.

"Ugh—what the hell, dude?!" Duncan groaned, rubbing his side.

Courtney pushed herself up, face flushed. "Ugh! Couldn't you drive like a normal person?!"

They barely had time to glare toward the driver before the limousine door creaked open.

A tall figure stepped inside, illuminated by the dim streetlight outside. He was sharply dressed, his polished shoes narrowly avoiding the scattered fast-food wrappers and leftover props from past contestants.

Courtney and Duncan blinked in unison.

The man adjusted his tie, his gaze sweeping over them with casual amusement. "Good evening," he said smoothly. "I believe we have much to discuss."

Duncan raised an eyebrow. "Uh, buddy? You got the wrong limo."

The man's smirk widened. "Oh no, Duncan. I have exactly the right one."

With a practiced motion, he opened a sleek black suitcase, causing both Duncan and Courtney to groan before he even pulled out a single document. They already knew where this was going.

"I am one of the producers of the actual show you both came from," he announced.

Courtney exhaled sharply. "Great. What is it now?" She cursed herself internally—she just knew she had jinxed their chances of never dealing with this nightmare again.

The producer chuckled at their deadpan reactions. "I can imagine what you're both thinking, but that's not why I'm here. I'm here to state the facts. Duncan, Courtney—you are both officially eliminated from the show."

"Gee, really? We never would've guessed," Duncan quipped, rolling his eyes.

Courtney snorted, but even the producer cracked a small laugh before continuing.

"A lot of people—viewers, critics, even some inside the company—think the way Total Drama has treated you both is unfair," he went on. "Frankly, I agree. You were two of the strongest competitors last season. One of the most iconic couples. The Power Duo. Two of the three pillars of the Killer Bass."

Duncan's eyebrow arched. Courtney folded her arms, sensing there was more to this than just flattery.

"Which is why," the producer continued, his smirk returning, "this situation presents a rather… unique opportunity. You see, you two are fan favorites. And it just so happens that, hidden within the fine print of Chris McLean's contract—inside a fine print, inside a fine print, inside another fine print—there's a clause he doesn't know about."

That got their attention.

Chris not knowing something in his own contract? That had potential.

"I see I have your interest now," the producer mused, pleased. "Well, here's the deal: In Total Drama Action's contract, there's a provision stating that the first two eliminated contestants will become the hosts of an independent, but correlated, spin-off."

Duncan and Courtney exchanged glances, their skepticism growing.

The producer reached into his suitcase and pulled out a thick stack of papers, handing them over. "It's called Total Drama Action: Aftermath. Since it's still in development, you'll have time to shape it however you want. The show will revolve around interviewing eliminated contestants, discussing behind-the-scenes moments, and—well, whatever you two want to make of it."

Courtney's eyes narrowed. "Okay. But what's the catch?"

The producer chuckled, clearly expecting the question. "Not a catch, per se. Just an offer of support. If you need guidance, ideas, or recommendations, my team and I will be available to help." He smiled pleasantly. "After all, neither of you have experience as hosts, so it wouldn't hurt to have a few seasoned professionals lend a hand."

Duncan and Courtney looked at each other again.

Translation: Never trust the producers with anything.

"So basically, don't let the producers meddle with anything," Duncan thought, shooting a knowing glance at Courtney.

"Exactly. If we let them have control, they'll turn it into another disaster like Chris's show," Courtney replied mentally, her eyes narrowing. "Honestly, I trust a raccoon with a microphone more than I trust these guys."

"You're not wrong. And if we're not careful, they'll probably try to get us to pull some humiliating stunts, just like they did when we were contestants." Duncan gave her a subtle nod, his thoughts loud and clear.

"Yeah, over my dead body. If we're doing this, we're running the show on our own terms. No cheap gimmicks, no weird contracts, and definitely no 'Chris-level' nonsense. Only an idiot with a weak mind would accept their ideas." Courtney's lips barely twitched, but she mentally agreed.

---

"Achooooo!" Geoff sneezed loudly, rubbing his nose. "Whoa, that came out of nowhere."

"You sure that's not allergies?" Harold asked, watching him curiously.

"I dunno, man, maybe," Geoff shrugged. "But I don't think it's anything important."

He raised a hand for a high five, but Tyler and DJ ignored him completely and went to sleep.

"Ouch. Well, I hope they can forgive me for letting them down," he muttered.

"With time, everything works itself out," Harold reassured him, while Jude gave a lazy thumbs-up.

"Yeah, everything will be fine," Geoff said, heading to bed with a hopeful grin.

---

"Can I send this to my lawyer to check the contract first?" Duncan asked, catching both the producer and Courtney off guard.

"Wait—who's your lawyer?" Courtney raised an eyebrow, confused.

Duncan smirked. "Your mom. Did you forget that?"

Courtney's expression froze. Her face slowly turned red as realization hit her. She'd been so caught up in the moment that she'd completely forgotten.

"Yeah, I'll… I'll send it to my mom too," she mumbled, trying to recover.

The producer chuckled, shrugging. "Fair enough. Smart move, honestly. Those contracts from last season came back to bite us, anyway. But to make it worth your while—and to give you a little incentive…" He grabbed a piece of paper, scribbling something down before sliding it across the table. "This is how much you'll be earning per episode. And if you can pull in high ratings… well, let's just say another zero might find its way onto your paycheck."

Duncan and Courtney exchanged an eye roll—until they looked at the number on the paper. Their jaws practically hit the floor.

"I'll leave you two to think about it. My number's on the last page of the contract. Give me a call when you've made a decision. Enjoy the rest of your trip." With that, the producer stepped out of the limo, tapping the side of the car. Within seconds, the limo was back on the move.

For a moment, Duncan and Courtney just stared at each other.

"Well… that was unexpected," Courtney admitted, running a hand through her hair.

"Yeah, but I gotta say, Princess… I think we just hit the jackpot."

Courtney exhaled, then smiled. "Do you want to go home, talk to my mom, and start planning?"

Duncan grinned, draping an arm around her shoulder. "Princess, you just read my mind."

As the limo sped off into the night, one thing was certain—being eliminated didn't mean they were out of the game. If anything, this was just the beginning of something even bigger.

---

As the dark of the night draped over the set, the atmosphere seemed to hold its breath. The air was cool, the distant rustle of the wind barely disturbing the stillness. The movie set, usually bustling with energy, was now deserted—silent except for the faint hum of machinery idling in the background, interns probably cleaning the areas after the challenge of the day. The heavy shadows cast by the giant props and eerie lights lent an almost ghostly aura to the scene. In the distance, a small flicker of movement caught Ezekiel's eye, but it was nothing more than a trick of the light. The cast had gone to sleep, all tucked into their bunks inside their trailers, leaving only the quiet hum of the night.

Ezekiel, however, was wide awake. His mind was racing with thoughts that had little to do with the upcoming training session with Chef and Izzy in the future hours. He could feel the weight of the night pressing against him, a sensation that made his heart beat a little faster as he stared at the darkened horizon. He knew he'd need to be sharp in the morning, but tonight, there was something else he needed to confront.

He felt it—the absence of Courtney and Duncan. It wasn't that he didn't care, clearly the opposite, they aren't called the Three Pillars of Killer Bass for nothing. And he understood it. God he understood. The sudden shifts in the game, the changes that could happen within a single day, had swept them away, and with that, something about the world around him seemed to shift as well. He was happy for them, in a way, though part of him mourned the loss of their presence. But that was the way of the show, wasn't it? People came and went, but life had a way of continuing.

But tonight wasn't about that. It was about something deeper, something personal. Ezekiel's fingers gently brushed over the small piece of letter that he had received from Dawn—a recipe. Not just any recipe, but one that, if he followed it correctly, could unlock something buried deep within him. His memories, his two souls, his auras—they were all tied together in a way he didn't quite understand. And tonight, he planned to get closer to that understanding.

The risks were enormous. He'd seen the warnings. He'd heard Dawn's explaining her father's cautions. Yet, despite the weight of it all, Ezekiel felt an unfamiliar sense of resolve. The small pack of ingredients sat on the table before him, neatly labeled and laid out as instructed. Gotu Kola leaves. Ginkgo Biloba. Holy Basil. Dried Rosemary. Mugwort. Saffron threads. Raw Honey. Each one was a key, and he was about to turn them in the lock.

He hesitated, but only for a moment. This wasn't something he could turn back from. With careful hands, he measured each ingredient with precision. The aroma of the herbs mixed with the earthiness of the saffron, filling the air with an intoxicating scent. It reminded him of something ancient—of rituals, of secrets long forgotten. The tea was an odd concoction, its dark green hue swirling with golden undertones, as if it were an alchemical potion designed to unlock the very fabric of his existence.

He glanced around once more, scanning for cameras. He was alone, or at least, that's what he hoped. The thought of the crew stumbling upon him in this vulnerable moment made him uneasy. But when his eyes scanned the dimly lit set, all he saw was the heavy quiet. No eyes on him. No one watching.

"Okay, I think that's enough." Ezekiel's voice was barely above a whisper, a tremor of uncertainty lacing his words. He held the mug in his hands, watching the liquid glisten in the moonlight. It looked... otherworldly, like it was more than just tea. He could feel the pull of it, like it was calling to him.

With a deep breath, he raised the cup to his lips, feeling the weight of the moment settle in. This wasn't just tea. It was a gateway. A chance to peer into the abyss of his past lives. He wasn't sure what he was searching for—answers, peace, or simply the comfort of knowing what was locked away in his mind. But tonight, he would try.

"Here goes nothing," Ezekiel muttered as he took a slow, deliberate sip. The liquid was smooth, the honey giving it a touch of sweetness. Until with his empty mug… He waited for a moment, nothing seemed to change. But then, as the warmth spread through his body, a slight dizziness began to take root. His head swam, and the world around him seemed to shimmer and blur, as if reality itself was starting to shift. His pulse quickened, sweat beading on his forehead. He sat back against the cold, concrete wall of the set, the dark shadows wrapping around him like a heavy cloak. He remembered that he needed to mediate, and he did his best to maintain himself focused while the effects of the tea were over him.

"Did I do something wrong?" Ezekiel muttered, his voice trembling slightly as he kept his eyes shut. His body felt heavy, almost too still, like the world around him was slowly unraveling. It was as if time itself had decided to pause, and he was floating in the midst of it. The once sharp, cool air had softened, growing warm and comforting, almost like a soft blanket wrapping around his mind. His heartbeat steadied, but his head began to swim with dizziness.

.

.

.

Then something strange happened. The sounds around him shifted, as if the world was altering itself piece by piece. The sound of the night wind, the distant hum of machinery, all faded away. What replaced it was… music? A gentle melody, a rhythm that felt both familiar and alien. It was as if the song had been playing for ages, waiting for him to hear it. Ezekiel's mind, already on the verge of drifting, slowly pulled itself back as his eyes fluttered open.

And what he saw…

The scene before him was nothing like the cold, empty set of Total Drama Action. Gone were the film props and the dusty remnants of forgotten productions. Instead, Ezekiel found himself standing in the midst of something that felt... far more personal. The air here was thick with the scent of wood and something else—an old, comforting aroma, like nostalgia wrapped in the warmth of a familiar space.

He blinked and looked around. What was once the barren backdrop of Total Dramahad transformed into a strange, sprawling structure. Wooden plank blocks, stacked together in perfect rows, created the walls, and a floor covered in colorful carpets stretched beneath his feet. It wasn't just a building—it was a world. A mansion, or perhaps a labyrinth, that seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions. He could hear the soft trickle of water somewhere nearby, and in the distance, the unmistakable hiss of magma, its fiery flow creating an odd harmony with the serenity of the surroundings.

At the edge of his vision, blocks of gold, iron, obsidian, and diamond glimmered in the dim light. The walls were adorned with armor stands, each one holding suits of gold, iron, leather, and diamond armor. Swords, axes, hoes and shovels hung from the walls like trophies of some forgotten war. Everything around him seemed meticulously arranged, as though someone had spent years carefully crafting this space.

"Is this... Minecraft?" Ezekiel whispered, his mind struggling to process the sight in front of him. He had heard of it, of course, but the pixelated world of blocky creations and endless exploration had never seemed so real, so... alive.

Before he could grasp the full weight of what was happening, a voice called out from somewhere above, breaking the surreal silence.

"Yo, fam, can you help me over here?" The voice was familiar, laced with a casual American slang that struck Ezekiel as odd yet comforting. The voice continued, "I'm upstairs."

Ezekiel froze, his heart skipping a beat. He blinked in confusion, not entirely sure if he had heard that correctly. But the invitation felt real, so he followed the sound of the voice toward a wooden staircase that seemed to rise endlessly toward the upper floors. As he ascended, the strange landscape around him felt more tangible, more like something he could understand, despite the bizarre surroundings.

At the top of the stairs, he found a figure standing in front of a wall covered in carpets. The boy was around his age, maybe a little older, with tanned skin and wild, untamed black hair. His brown eyes were friendly, though there was a certain wildness about him that made Ezekiel pause. He wasn't sure why, but the boy felt... familiar. Too familiar.

"Hello?" Ezekiel called out, his voice still trembling from the strange world around him.

"Sup," the boy said with a grin, then motioned to the wall of carpets behind him. "What do you think? Should I start my collection of carpets here? Or should I make a whole room just for the carpets?"

Ezekiel blinked, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. Something clicked in his mind, and he suddenly recognized the boy, despite the odd setting. It was him. The other version of him, but in a different form. He looked... more relaxed, more at ease, and somehow more connected to this strange, blocky world than Ezekiel felt.

"Yep. I'm you," the boy said, as though reading his mind. "But also, you're me. It's all a bit weird, but I guess we both know that now. And hey, nice Ben 10 jacket you've got there."

Ezekiel stared, trying to make sense of it all. This other version of him was somehow wearing the confidence of someone who had been living here for years. It was as if they both existed in two separate worlds that, for some strange reason, were now colliding.

"Carpets?" the other Ezekiel asked, snapping his fingers to break the silence. "Here or there?"

"Uh... here," Ezekiel replied, still processing what was happening. He found himself staring at the rows of carpets, his mind spinning from the realization. "But... what do you mean by a collection of carpets?"

The other Ezekiel grinned, an almost mischievous glint in his eyes. "I'm doing the collector challenge."

"Are you crazy?" Ezekiel's voice rose in disbelief. His eyes went wide. "You mean THE collector challenge?"

The boy chuckled, clearly amused. "Yep. Been doing nothing for almost three years, so why not enjoy it? Organizing and collecting every item in Minecraft until reach 64 of everything. Might take years, but hey, time passes quicker when you're busy. It's kind of fun, right?"

Ezekiel rubbed his temples, trying to ward off the headache that was quickly setting in. It felt like the world was spinning too fast, and he couldn't catch up. "This is... absurd," he muttered, still unsure of whether he was dreaming or if this strange place was a deeper part of his mind that he didn't understand.

.

.

.

"So you're my aura? Or a personality like Mike's?" Ezekiel asked, disbelief written across his face. He was met with a scoff from the other boy.

"Pfft, please. As if we're going to dive into that mental illness nonsense, everybody knows the writers had no idea on how to write DID characters, they did completely wrong on how to write Mike. Anyway, I can't believe you got it wrong," the boy replied, shaking his head with a mix of exasperation and amusement. "This isn't some imaginary dream universe. It's your brain, Ezekiel. This is the area where I organize all the thoughts and processes to help clear your mind during the day."

Ezekiel blinked, processing this. "So, you're not a personality? Then what are you?"

"I'm your left brain," the boy continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "The rational side. The one that processes facts, numbers, words, history—hell, I'm the one who helps you recall all those languages we know. And trust me, our memory is better than you realize. Were usually we should be able to speak 8 languages in accord of canon."

"We do?" Ezekiel blinked again, taken aback by this new information.

The left side of his brain rolled his eyes. "Actually, nine or ten languages, considering our past life. You kinda forgot a few from this life, but it's not too late to pick them up again. You should check Aunt Robin's book for a refresher." As he spoke, the left side grabbed a few transparent blocks and started arranging them to create a mural on the wall, while casually adding a blue carpet to the design. "Anyway, like I said, I'm the logical one—the one who keeps things in order. You're the emotional side, the one who handles memories, imagination, and all the creative stuff, like our writing or the visual things we recall."

"Huh... Neat," Ezekiel said, nodding in appreciation. "So, the brain is like Minecraft, huh?"

"Do you know a better way to organize everything we think about without it becoming a mess?" The left side raised an eyebrow, pointing to the surroundings. "It's structured, but still fun, right? Anyway, the song just ended. Do you want to hear something else while I change the vinyl?"

"We have vinyls?" Ezekiel asked, his eyes widening. "Like original one? Or the mine… nevermind it's all like Minecraft version isn't it?"

"Yep. We have Slipknot, Bruno Mars, The Weekend, Maroon5, Linkin Park, OSTs from games, shows, anime... We even have AI songs voiced by our favorite characters. You'd be surprised." The left side chuckled, adding a few final touches to the mural.

"Really? We have all that?" Ezekiel was now even more intrigued.

"Ever had a song stuck in your head for no reason? That's me, organizing all those random tracks that pop up," the left side explained, walking down the stairs as he spoke. "So, what do you want to hear?"

Ezekiel paused for a second, then smiled. "Surprise me."

"Will do," the left side said with a grin, eager to show off what he'd collected. Ezekiel couldn't help but marvel at what was going on in his mind, still processing how much was happening inside of him—how much he never knew.

.

.

.

"So this is where all my ideas had been all the time?" the right side of the brain commented as he helped craft another glass mural for the growing collection of carpets. His left side had already spent countless hours inking all the wool from the 64 sheep he'd bred in the room full of animals, all collected for this mission. It was a crazy endeavor—one that would take years, maybe even decades, to complete. Especially considering one of the most impossible items: the deepslate emerald. It was something all Minecraft fans thought could only be achieved through a glitch, but the left side of the brain wasn't even phased. As the rational side, it was about logic and numbers, and nothing was too daunting for him.

"Yep. Some of these are fanfics from our past. Like the one you wrote about Courage being paired with the villains from other shows and games. Now that I think about it, you could add FNAF and Bendy and the Ink Machine to your book. They aren't really pop culture like some of the other famous shows." The left side suggested casually.

A spark lit in Ezekiel's eyes. "Oh, good idea! But you mean Security BreachFNAF, right? Since Scott Cawthon didn't really get into that lore much, so it's technically not the 'real' FNAF, huh?"

The left side nodded, a bit smug. "Exactly. Just making sure we're on the same page."

"Yeah, yeah, and then you're going to suggest I add Undertale too, right?" the right side teased, but was cut off by a playful slap on the face.

"Hey!" Ezekiel exclaimed, rubbing his cheek.

The left side gave a knowing glance. "Nope. There are some things that shouldn't be discussed, even for us. Undertale is one of those things. It's a game that shaped a lot of futures and opened doors for many gamers. We need to respect that."

Ezekiel paused for a moment, deep in thought. The weight of the conversation hung in the air as he mulled over the left side's words. Finally, with a reluctant nod, he admitted, "Okay, fair point. I feel bad though, for not telling Cody to try and replicate Undertale. But yeah, you're right. Some things in pop culture really do end up changing lives in ways we never expect."

As the right side of Ezekiel's brain processed the implications, he turned to face the door before him, curious yet cautious. His hand reached out to grasp the doorknob, only to find that it wouldn't turn. He gave it a few more twists, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What's this?" he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration.

"That's the problem we've both been avoiding," came the firm reply from the left side, its tone purposeful and unwavering. "When I said 'we,' I meant you. As the rational side of things, I have access to this room, but only I can open this door. You, on the other hand, must earn the right to enter. Just as Dawn and her father warned you."

The right side stood there, his mind racing to comprehend the significance of the statement. He wasn't used to feeling locked out, especially not by his own mental processes. "And how exactly do I do that?" he asked, a sense of unease creeping in.

Without missing a beat, the left side gestured down the hall, its motion deliberate and unhurried. "Follow me."

They moved down a long corridor, passing several rooms that were each filled to the brim with 64 meticulously organized units of every resource the rational side had ever collected in Minecraft. The right side couldn't help but marvel at the sheer scale and order—rows upon rows of blocks, items, and artifacts, all stored with obsessive precision. It was a testament to the left side's unwavering dedication to logic and patience, and it made the emotional side pause to take it all in. The room stretched out like an endless monument to orderliness. But even this staggering display of rationality didn't prepare him for what lay ahead.

At the far end of the hall stood a door unlike any other. Positioned between two reflective mirror blocks, it seemed out of place, even in a mind constructed of logic. The right side blinked in surprise as his reflection warped slightly in the mirrored surfaces. It was strange, unsettling.

"This... this isn't in Minecraft," he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"Nope," the left side confirmed with a shrug. "It's from a mod I found after watching a YouTube tutorial. I downloaded it and recreated the design here. If you don't remember, it's because you never cared for the technical details."

Despite the explanation, the emotional side's attention was drawn to the mirrors, and something about them felt off. He stared at his reflection, a frown tugging at his features as he noticed a strange anomaly. "Wait…" he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. "Why is there a brown wolf in my reflection? But in yours... it's just a normal wolf?"

The left side glanced at the mirror before shrugging again. "I don't think that's a wolf. And even if it were, I've never seen a brown wolf in Minecraftbefore. But that's not what's important right now. What matters is what's behind this door."

The emotional side frowned at the dismissive answer but didn't press the issue. He knew when the rational side had decided something wasn't worth questioning, and right now, the door itself seemed more important than whatever anomaly lingered in the mirrors.

The left side continued walking, its voice calm but weighted with significance. "I was able to pass through this room easily because I deal in facts, numbers, and logic. Those things don't faze me. But you? You're the emotional side. That means whatever's in there will hit you hard. Traumas, memories, sounds, images… everything. It won't be easy."

Ezekiel's right side stopped in his tracks as the gravity of the words sunk in. He turned slowly to face the left side, a flicker of understanding in his gaze. This was exactly why Dawn's letter had warned him. "It's going to be difficult," he muttered under his breath, the weight of what lay ahead becoming all too clear.

The left side's expression remained stoic as it added, "Painful, too."

The right side blinked, his gaze snapping back to his counterpart. "Wait, what?"

"I won't explain how it works," the left side said dismissively, waving its hand as if to brush away the question. "But you should know one thing—once you enter, you won't be able to speak."

"What? Why?" the emotional side asked, his voice sharp with confusion.

The left side rolled its eyes, clearly uninterested in providing further details. "How should I know? Even I don't have all the answers when it comes to the mysteries of the mind. Maybe silence will help you reflect."

Without waiting for a response, the rational side reached for the door handle and pulled it open. The emotional side instinctively stepped back, his heart racing as uncertainty gripped him. "Wait, why did you phrase it like that—" he began, but before he could finish his sentence, he felt an unexpected force push him forward.

"Whoa, whoa—hey! Alright, alright! I'm going," he muttered, stumbling slightly as the left side watched with a bemused smirk.

The door creaked slowly shut behind him, the sound almost final. As it did, the left side spoke one last time, its voice carrying a hint of both amusement and solemnity.

"And one last thing… good luck. You're going to need it."

The door clicked shut behind him, sealing off the world outside.

Alone once more with his vast collection, the left side of Ezekiel's mind wandered through the endless rooms, his eyes scanning each meticulously organized space. He moved past rows of carefully stored artifacts, blocks, and resources that represented years of work and patience. Every inch of this place spoke to the rational side's dedication to order and control, yet even within this realm of logic, a quiet sense of anticipation lingered. The left side knew that the journey ahead for his counterpart—the emotional side—would be one of hardship and reflection, and he felt a strange satisfaction in that thought.

Finally, he arrived at a specific wooden chest, aged and well-worn, a relic from a past long gone. He opened it gently, the lid creaking softly as it revealed the contents inside: an assortment of treasures, both physical and metaphorical. His fingers brushed across the objects until they settled on something particular—a vinyl disc. He paused for a moment, studying it with a quiet sense of purpose.

"Hm…" he murmured to himself, an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I think I'm in the mood to play this one. It fits the journey the right side is about to embark on."

With practiced hands, the left side placed the disc into a nearby music box. As soon as the mechanism clicked into place, the soft chime of Creator by Lena Raine filled the room. The delicate, haunting melody of the music box intertwined with the deep, reverberating notes that seemed to stir something within the very air itself. The sound spread out in waves, wrapping around him like a soft cocoon, the notes echoing softly as they set the stage for what was to come.

The rational side leaned back slightly, allowing the music to wash over him. His mind, normally sharp and focused, briefly wandered as he contemplated the unknown challenge awaiting his counterpart. He wondered, with some curiosity, how far the emotional side would go. It was a journey he would have to take on his own terms, just as it had always been.

How far?He didn't know. Nobody knows.

---

The room Ezekiel now found himself in was unlike anything he had ever experienced. The eerie silence that hung thick in the air felt like a physical presence, stripping away any sense of sound, rendering everything around him hushed and still. Yet, as he took in his surroundings, it became painfully clear that the silence was merely a mask. What Rational Ezekiel had neglected to mention was the very nature of the space itself—every inch of it, from the walls to the floor to the ceiling, was made entirely of glass.

The floor beneath his feet was a mirror-like surface of smooth, transparent material, reflecting everything in its vicinity. The walls stretched endlessly in all directions, layers upon layers of glass stacked one atop the other, each layer catching the light in a different angle. It was as though he was walking inside an infinite prism, a space that seemed to stretch on forever, each step he took revealing another endless reflection. The very fragility of the glass made every movement feel precarious, as though one wrong step could send everything crashing down in a cascade of sharp shards.

And yet, despite the delicate appearance of it all, the glass held firm. It did not shatter, did not give way under the weight of his thoughts. It remained steadfast, defying the natural laws of physics, creating an atmosphere that made every step feel both surreal and threatening.

Ezekiel tread carefully, feeling the faint give of the glass beneath his feet. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there—like an unspoken warning. Was it an illusion? A test? Or perhaps a sign of the emotional side's fragility in the face of the trials to come? He couldn't say. The reflections around him warped and twisted, creating impossible images, as if mocking him for his inability to fully grasp the nature of the space.

For a brief, disorienting moment, he saw something that startled him—a familiar scene from his childhood: Wile E. Coyote chasing the Road Runner, an image he'd seen countless times in his mind's eye as a child, a simple, silly cartoon burned into his memory. But as soon as he blinked, the scene vanished, and he found himself alone once again with the fractured reflections. A few steps later, in his peripheral vision, a new illusion appeared—a scene of Puss in Boots, sword raised, locked in battle with Death the Wolf, the tension of their clash frozen in time. Again, as quickly as it came, it was gone, leaving him to wonder if the world around him was even real.

Time became meaningless. Was it seconds? Minutes? Hours? In a place like this, it was impossible to tell. All he knew was that his own reflection followed him with unsettling precision, an ever-watchful presence that mirrored his every movement. It was as though he was constantly being observed, a feeling that gnawed at the edges of his thoughts.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he arrived at his destination. There, before him, stood an impossibly large glass wall—so grand and unyielding that it seemed to stretch beyond the limits of the room, an insurmountable barrier that separated him from whatever lay on the other side. For the first time since entering this space, a sliver of hesitation crept into his mind. Was this the final test? Or simply another illusion to trick him into thinking he had reached the end?

Tentatively, he reached out and touched the glass. His reflection mirrored his actions, his fingers brushing the surface, yet something felt… off. The smoothness of the glass beneath his fingertips was cold, almost unnervingly so. As he continued to study his reflection, a sound—unexpected and out of place—pierced the silence.

Music.

The haunting melody of Creator by Lena Raine, its gentle chimes filling the otherwise soundless space. The song, so familiar and nostalgic, seemed to play at odds with the cold, glassy world surrounding him. It was a strange contradiction, a piece of comfort in a place that offered none.

Then, just as he was about to process this new layer of dissonance, it happened.

*Crack.*

His heart skipped a beat. His eyes snapped to the source of the sound—a jagged fracture appeared in the once flawless surface of the glass wall. A single, deliberate crack, like the web of a spider expanding across the barrier. And then—

*BOOM!*

The room exploded in a deafening eruption of splintering glass. The sound was overwhelming, deafening, and terrifying as shards flew in all directions. The sharp edges of the glass reflected fractured moments of his life—fragments of memories, some sweet, others painful—all breaking apart in a chaotic rush. In an instant, the entire world collapsed around him, dissolving into an abyss of nothingness, as if all the stability he had clung to had vanished in an instant.

Weightless, lost in the vast void, Ezekiel understood.

The trial was as fragile as glass.

.

.

.

The void was no longer empty.

Ezekiel floated in the darkness, suspended among a vast expanse of countless glass shards. They drifted around him like frozen echoes of something once whole, catching brief, impossible glimmers of light. His clothes were in tatters, shredded by the explosion of glass, and an itchy, stinging sensation crawled over his skin. He glanced at his hands—small, shallow cuts lined his fingers, with beads of blood that formed only to dissolve into nothingness.

Then, without warning, he fell.

A crushing force engulfed him, as if he had plunged deep into an ocean. The cold hit him like a solid wall of ice, sending a sharp shock through his system. His breath seized in his chest, and the water consumed him. It pulled him down, deeper and deeper into the abyss. Strands of his hair floated around his face, darkened by the murky depths. He should have been blind in the darkness—yet impossibly, he saw something.

Illusions? Memories?

Two babies.

One on each side of the vast ocean, their tiny figures suspended in the water like distant stars.

Ezekiel barely had time to process the sight before the desperate, primal need for air clawed at his chest. His lungs burned. The pressure around him tightened, squeezing, crushing. He struggled, but the water was relentless, dragging him downward. Yet, despite the overwhelming sensation of drowning, the melody persisted—the song. Creator, by Lena Raine. Even here, in the deepest reaches of the abyss, the haunting yet guiding melody resonated, as if it was meant to show him the way.

His vision blurred, his body braced for the inevitable.

Then—impact.

The moment he hit the ocean floor, everything shifted.

The suffocating weight of the water vanished. The pressure on his lungs disappeared, allowing him to gasp for air as if he had emerged from a nightmare. His hands pressed against something solid. No longer submerged. No longer falling.

Slowly, he pushed himself upright and looked around.

A stained glass floor stretched beneath him, sprawling and intricate, its vibrant patterns forming breathtaking mosaics. He knew this design—he had seen it before, but where? His mind raced, attempting to pull the memory into focus.

Brazil.

The cathedrals he'd visited for a cousin's wedding. The way sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, casting vibrant colors onto the stone floors. He hadn't paid much attention to those places before, but now, standing on a surface that mirrored their artistry, he marveled at their sheer beauty.

His gaze drifted to the circular designs within the glass. Behind the colors, memories were locked away, framed like moments caught in time. His mother, kneeling in prayer, her hands clasped tightly together.

She had always been religious, he recalled. Obsessively so at times. His childhood had been sequestered, locked away from the world. Television and movies were forbidden, until the accident.

The game of hide and seek.

The mistake that nearly cost him his life.

He had been trapped, buried beneath debris, gasping for air, much like the sensation he had just experienced in the ocean. And when he had finally been rescued—when he emerged from that darkness, trembling—his mother had changed.

For the first time, she allowed him to watch television.

Why?

Had that moment shaken her so deeply that it loosened her rigid control, even just slightly? He had never questioned it before. But now, staring at her image captured in the glass, he couldn't help but wonder.

The stained glass held more.

His extended family—scattered across various countries and faiths. Some Catholic, others Protestant. A mix of traditions, beliefs, and customs. He hadn't been deeply involved in any of them. His world had always been books, art, and writing—his own way of making sense of everything. Still, despite the isolation he sometimes felt, he loved them. His family.

Brazil, Peru, the United States—wherever they were, they were his people.

The void was no longer empty. Ezekiel drifted, weightless, surrounded by countless shards of glass that floated in the darkness like suspended fragments of a shattered reality. Each tiny piece caught the faintest glimmers of light—light with no apparent source—creating an otherworldly shimmer that danced across his vision. His clothes hung in tatters, ripped apart by the violent explosion that had shattered his previous world, while an incessant, stinging sensation crawled over his exposed skin. When he glanced down at his hands, he saw small, shallow cuts etching his fingers, tiny beads of blood forming and dissolving into nothingness almost as quickly as they appeared.

Then, without warning, the sense of weightlessness transformed into a sudden, overwhelming force. As if plunging into the depths of an unseen ocean, a crushing pressure enveloped his body, its cold, unforgiving grip hitting him like a wall of ice. His breath caught in his lungs, and for a moment, the world around him dissolved into an all-consuming darkness. The water—or whatever medium it was—swallowed him whole, pulling him downward into deeper, murkier realms. Strands of his hair floated freely, darkened by the murky depths that surrounded him, blurring the line between reality and illusion. In this abyss, where light and sound should have vanished, something extraordinary occurred: amidst the crushing pressure and the desperate need for air, he saw two small figures, like distant stars in a vast ocean of nothingness.

They were babies—one on each side of the expansive void—suspended in the water as if caught in a timeless moment. Their fragile forms evoked a blend of wonder and heartache, each tiny figure a poignant reminder of innocence amidst chaos. Ezekiel barely had time to process the surreal vision before a desperate, primal need for air clawed at his chest. His lungs burned, the pressure around him tightening, squeezing, and crushing him with relentless force. Despite his futile struggle, the pull of the abyss was unyielding. And yet, even as he fought against the overwhelming sensation of drowning, he could still hear it—the soft, haunting strains of Creatorby Lena Raine. The melody echoed through the water, an ethereal guide that seemed to traverse the darkness, as if determined to lead him through this perilous descent.

His vision blurred, and his body braced for the inevitable impact. Then, with a sudden jolt, everything changed. The moment his body collided with what felt like the ocean floor, the suffocating weight of the water vanished. The crushing pressure released its hold on his lungs, allowing him to gasp desperately for air, as though he had just emerged from a nightmare. His hands pressed against something solid, grounding him in this new reality—no longer submerged, no longer falling. Slowly, he pushed himself upright, his eyes straining to adjust as he took in his surroundings.

Before him stretched a vast stained glass floor, sprawling and intricate, its colorful patterns forming breathtaking mosaics that danced in the ambient light. The delicate hues and shapes stirred distant memories—a game, perhaps, or a long-forgotten recollection. Then, like a whisper from the past, a specific memory surfaced: Brazil. He recalled the majestic cathedrals he had visited during a cousin's wedding, where sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, casting vibrant colors onto ancient stone floors. Standing upon this floor, he was struck by the sheer artistry that mirrored those sacred spaces, and he couldn't help but feel that he had stepped into a living memory.

His gaze wandered over the circular designs embedded in the glass. Each intricate segment held a story, a memory preserved in color and light. He saw the familiar image of his mother, captured in a moment of quiet devotion, her hands clasped tightly in prayer. She had always been deeply religious, sometimes obsessively so, a stark contrast to the isolated childhood he had endured—one spent secluded, buried beneath endless studies, with little time for the outside world. Television and movies had been forbidden until a fateful accident shattered the monotony of his sheltered existence. That moment, reminiscent of a game of hide and seek gone awry, had nearly cost him his life. Trapped and buried alive beneath debris, he had struggled desperately for every breath, the memory of that suffocating darkness etched into his soul.

When he had finally been rescued—emerging from the darkness gasping, trembling—something had changed in his mother. For the first time, she allowed him to watch television, as if that brief exposure to the world had loosened her grip on his life. He had never questioned her decision until now, standing before the vibrant stained glass that captured fragments of his extended family—relatives scattered across Brazil, Peru, the United States, and beyond. In each shimmering pane, he saw echoes of different faiths and traditions, a mosaic of customs that had defined his family's diverse heritage. Though he had grown up immersed in books, movies, art, and writing—his personal escapes from a world that often felt too confining—his love for his family remained undiminished. No matter where they were, they were his people, his roots, and the stained glass beneath him now bore the silent testimony of that enduring bond.

On his left—Ezekiel saw himself growing up. A child lost in worlds of movies, cartoons, and video games, each one an escape from the confines of reality. A childhood defined by stories, creativity, and a boundless imagination. In this version of his past, he was free, playing in realms that existed only in his mind. Every adventure was an opportunity to dream, to be someone else, to explore far-off lands and distant possibilities.

On the right—he saw another version of himself. A boy who had no direction, no purpose. A boy who obeyed his mother without question, sitting still as she drilled endless lessons into him, suffocating him with knowledge and structure. A boy who learned only from books, his childhood defined not by play, but by discipline. Time for himself was scarce—stolen moments spent practicing archery in solitude, playing hide and seek, running away from the life he had been given, if only for a fleeting moment.

Both lives. Both paths. Each shaped by different lessons, but ultimately leading to the same conclusion—his isolation. His parents, both highly educated teachers, had poured knowledge into him, trying to make him understand the world. But they had never taught him how to socialize, how to form friendships. That part of life had always been absent.

And in his actual life, as a child? It was no different. His parents were the only people in his world, both his guardians and his isolation. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Suddenly, the sensation of water pressing against his chest returned. It was cold and suffocating, stealing his breath away. He couldn't breathe. His lungs fought for air, but none came. How much longer could he endure this? Was this just the first trial? How many hours had passed? Time had become a distant concept. And yet—that damn Minecraft music was still playing.

The eerie serenity of it, the calm, dreamlike melody, was completely out of place. It felt wrong, jarring against the weight of his emotions. What the hell was relativity doing to him? But just as the thought crossed his mind, something shifted. The ocean floor wasn't sharp glass this time. It was… soft?

He gasped as he landed—not on cold stone, not on the ground—but in a chair. A comfy armchair. He blinked, confusion sweeping over him. Once. Twice. He was seated.

The pain still lingered, a dull ache in his chest, but the pressure had eased. Then, his eyes scanned the room. A path stretched out before him, flanked by walls of television screens that flickered with light, casting a dim glow over the endless corridor. Every screen was playing something. His life. His choices. His memories.

Ezekiel swallowed hard. He wasn't done yet. This was only the beginning.

Flashes of shows, movies, cartoons—things he had consumed over the years—flashed across the screens. His mind reeled as the images flickered like a glitching reel of film. Even episodes of Total Drama appeared, familiar scenes from the show that had been part of his life. The Killer Bass—his teammates, his friends—yet they weren't as he remembered them. In these memories, they were at each other's throats, tearing one another apart, just as they had in the original version of the show. A hollow feeling twisted in his gut. It was wrong. This wasn't how things were supposed to be…

His head throbbed with the effort to sift through so many fragmented thoughts. The pain in his skull spiked, as if someone had driven glass shards straight into his brain. But he pushed forward.

The corridor stretched endlessly before him, lined with the fractured remnants of his memories, but his focus remained steady on the path ahead. Finally, he reached a glass door. Hesitation gripped him for a brief second. Every door he had opened before had shattered upon his touch, the glass exploding outward, cutting into his skin. But this time, as he reached out, the door didn't break. It swung open smoothly.

Relief washed over him, only to be replaced by shock at what lay beyond.

Two versions of himself. Both no older than two years old, seated on opposite sides of the room. Each side played out memories from his childhood—good memories. Memories of warmth, of laughter, of love. He saw his parents—both sets of them—caring for him, holding him, playing with him. One memory stood out: his uncle, alongside his cousin, visiting their home. His cousin—his deceased cousin.

The image flickered before him, a snapshot from the past. The two of them, still small, pretending to be pilots, weaving through the room with toy airplanes in their hands while their fathers sat nearby, engrossed in their game of Ace Combat. The echoes of their laughter filled the space, a sound of innocence and joy.

Ezekiel clenched his fists, the emotions overwhelming him. Not all memories were painful. There had been joy, too.

The music still played—Creatorby Lena Raine—a haunting yet beautiful melody that served as his constant guide through the labyrinth of his trials. With each note, his resolve strengthened, and he pressed on, absorbing not only the recollections of his past but reclaiming every shard of it. Every memory was a stepping stone, a piece of the puzzle that was his identity. But then, as if on cue, he opened the next door, and in that single moment, everything changed.

In an instant, he found himself back in the glass room. His breath hitched as he took in his surroundings: there were no memories, no corridors lined with echoes of his life—only emptiness. It was a still, silent space, untouched by the chaos he had so recently endured. An unsettling feeling crept over him. Something was wrong. His eyes darted around until they fell upon a plaque mounted on the far wall. The words carved into it sent a chill down his spine: "The trial starts now." Ezekiel paled, a surge of disbelief and fear washing over him. Had it all been preparation? Everything he had just experienced—falling, drowning, suffocating—was not the trial itself? Before he could process these questions, it was already too late.

A deafening *CRACK* resounded through the chamber. In a heartbeat, the walls, the floor, the ceiling—all of it collapsed inward. Glass shattered around him, and instead of dispersing, the shards bore down on him with a crushing weight. He felt as though he were being compressed from every side, the pressure building like a relentless steel vice around his ribs. Agony surged through his body; every cut, every bruise seared with sharp, unbearable pain, while the suffocating force seemed determined to steal his very breath.

.

.

.

Then, as suddenly as the torment had begun, everything shifted—a blink, and he found himself inside a train. The impact had already occurred. The violent collision had thrown him into a dark tunnel where cold air rushed in, filling his lungs with a mixture of snow and dirt. His body felt too weak to obey his will; his arms lay limp and useless, and he couldn't even turn his head to assess the damage. The world spun wildly, his vision blurring into a disorienting haze. He fought to move, to resist the pull of despair, but the effort was futile.

.

.

.

Another blink, and now he was buried alive. The suffocating weight of dirt pressed down upon him, crushing and drowning out all hope of escape. It was eerily reminiscent of that long-ago game of hide and seek—a nightmarish loop of entrapment and desperation. Each blink dragged him deeper into his worst moments: being crushed, suffocated, drowned. Every time he lost consciousness, he awoke only to face another death, another trial that chipped away at his resolve. He felt himself fading; his body was surrendering to the unrelenting force. Tears mixed with blood and dirt as they slid down his cheeks. In that moment, the weight of his mistakes bore down on him—he had made a grave error.

.

.

.

Then, with one final blink, the glass walls closed in around him. The pressure reached an unbearable peak, and the pain, the weight, and the oppressive silence culminated in one final, overwhelming moment—and then, nothing. The music stopped.

---

Ezekiel's eyes shot open. His lungs screamed for air, and he sucked in the deepest, most desperate breath he had ever taken. His entire body trembled; his face was ashen, marked by the pallor of shock. Cold sweat dripped down his temple while his breathing came in ragged, uneven gasps. Almost immediately, a searing pain erupted in his head—a stabbing agony that made it feel as though his skull were splitting open from the inside. Overwhelming stress pounded relentlessly against his brain, merciless in its intensity. Instinctively, his hand shot up to his face and came away sticky with something wet. When he withdrew his fingers, he saw it: blood—a stark, crimson nosebleed that marked his face like a scar.

He barely had a moment to process this new torment before his stomach twisted violently in protest. A sharp nausea seized him, and he vomited onto the cold floor. His body had taken too much—too much strain, too much weight, too much of the unvarnished truth. Even as his limbs trembled uncontrollably, his mind churned with the revelation that had been foretold. Dawn and her father had warned him: this tea, this trial, wasn't just powerful—it was cruel. Only those who were truly reckless or supremely brave would dare face the doors it opened.

Now, after all that he had endured, his body was weak, exhausted, and starving for relief. Time had lost all meaning in the maelstrom of his trials, but one truth remained clear: he needed rest. Perhaps, if he could make his way to the water tank where he might find Izzy and Chef Hatchet, he could beg Chef for something to eat before training resumed. Or, if only for a moment, he might find solace in sleep, recovering from the relentless challenges of the past day. All he wanted now was the simplest of comforts: to eat and to sleep.

---

"Well, I feel there's an irony somewhere, but I cannot put my finger on it," Victoria commented as she absentmindedly ran the tip of her tongue along her lips, her eyes still scanning the contract in her hands. Both her daughter and her boyfriend had handed it to her, and Victoria was a bit taken aback to see them together at her house on the same night they were eliminated. "It feels like three of the Pillars of the Killer Bass were eliminated on the first elimination," she mused aloud.

Courtney scoffed, brushing off her mother's statement. "Pfff, please, mom, of course not. The one who got eliminated last season was Noah. We won the first challenge of elimination."

Victoria gave her a nod, amused by the way her daughter brushed off the comment. "Oh, that's true. Anyway... I don't know why, but it feels like the cycle was concluded or whatever," Victoria continued, still in a state of mild disbelief at how drastically her night had shifted. "Now, let me see this."

Her mind still reeling from the surprising events of the evening, Victoria had just come home after working on future cases she'd need to defend someone in. All she had wanted was to unwind by watching the latest episode of Total Drama. But what she found was far more than she expected. The challenge—a zombie genre movie—had seemed like a clever concept at first. It was both logical and innovative, showcasing an interesting angle on what future zombie films might look like.

Victoria had been watching intently when she saw Kate cheering Ezekiel and Courtney on, working together as a team. She was glad to see Ezekiel, the son of her friend, giving Courtney advice when needed, even as they worked in tandem to kick some serious butt. But then, her eyes had widened in sheer shock. Ezekiel—alone—had gone against an entire army of zombies. His performance was nothing short of berserk, a display of violence that felt ripped straight from an action movie.

"Okay, I think Eva is becoming a bad influence on him," she murmured, remembering her husband's words. She could easily imagine all the other Killer Bass mothers agreeing with her about the unsettling violence Ezekiel had displayed. She couldn't help but worry that the boy was veering down a dangerous path.

Though, Victoria reflected, in a zombie scenario, it was survive or die. She could work with that if someone ever tried to process Ezekiel. Martha might even ask for her help, considering her legal expertise. It helped that Ezekiel didn't seem intent on killing anyone—his violent outbursts had felt more like a necessary means to an end rather than an uncontrolled rage.

Still, the thought of Eva's influence on Ezekiel weighed on her. She'd always been afraid of how Eva could shape him, and while she was glad that the boy understood the dangers of real weapons—especially considering what had happened with his aunt—she couldn't shake the nagging feeling of unease. Kate had cheered for Ezekiel, though, and that made her look over at her husband with a simple shrug. It was a movie challenge, after all. Everyone was fine. It was just toy guns and plastic; no one was going to break bones over it.

But then came the bombshell. The real shock of the evening. Duncan and Courtney, eliminated because Heather had used Courtney's favor to eliminate one of them, and Izzy—now going by the legal name Kaleidoscope—had pulled off a sneaky trick, using one of the new features of the show to swap votes between Duncan and Geoff. It was a fascinating tactic, one that added more drama to the game, but it came at a cost to Courtney and Duncan, who were now at her house, trying to make sense of the situation.

Victoria sat back, letting out a deep breath. As if things weren't complicated enough, now she was staring at two contracts, one for each of them, waiting to be signed.

When Duncan and Courtney arrived at her house earlier, she'd been surprised to see both of them, their faces showing signs of frustration and defeat, but they'd done the smartest thing possible: they'd let her take a look at both contracts before making any decisions.

Victoria gave a soft smile to her daughter and her boyfriend, then took a careful glance at the contracts in her hands. The paperwork felt heavy, almost symbolic of how the evening had played out—full of twists and surprises. "Let's see what we're working with here," she muttered under her breath, already anticipating the conversation that would follow.

Ten mugs of coffee and several hours of poring over the fine print later, Victoria had managed to catch a few key details. Courtney and Duncan snorted in unison, clearly sharing a private joke. They both knew the game the producers liked to play, trying to tangle up their hands in their projects and ideas if it didn't draw enough audience. But neither of them seemed particularly phased by it. After all, it wasn't the worst thing they'd encountered in the business.

"Well, this doesn't feel too bad compared to what we expected," Duncan muttered as he stretched his legs out on the couch.

Courtney gave a small shrug, agreeing with him.

"Yeah, not terrible at all. But… there's one thing that caught my attention."Victoria nodded her head as she tapped the paper, her eyes glinting with a sense of satisfaction. And decided to help both her daughter and her boyfriend into the situation. "One of the fine prints has a loophole."

Duncan raised an eyebrow. "A loophole?"

"Seriously?" Courtney asked as she saw where her mom was pointing. "Oh, there's indeed a loophole."

Victoria nodded, her voice low and knowing. "The contract requires a manager to help handle the preparations for the show. That means… if you both get a manager, the producers can't just mess with everything on their own. Whatever ideas they throw at on you both would first go through the manager. Then the manager talks to the hosts, and they're the middleman for everything. If you don't like something, the producers would just get the answer they don't want."

Duncan's face lit up with the realization. "So, we just need someone who can act as the buffer. The manager keeps us safe from all the producer nonsense."

"Exactly, and I think this will be good for you both come to the decision on what to do next." Victoria smiled as she could see her daughter excited but also with a serious look on her face.

"Now comes the hard part. We need to find a manager. Someone who can help us, and who knows us enough to actually be effective." Courtney commented as she was now in a situation both of them would need to work quickly.

The two of them exchanged a glance, knowing how difficult it would be to find someone suitable—someone who not only knew the ins and outs of the show business but also understood their dynamic well enough to help them navigate it.

Courtney leaned back in her chair, thinking deeply for a moment. Then, her expression shifted, her eyes widening in realization. "Wait," she said suddenly, sitting up straighter. "I think I know someone."

Duncan turned to her, curious. "Who?"

Courtney smiled, her gaze lighting up with a spark of excitement.

Courtney fell silent for a few seconds, her mind racing as she weighed the possibilities. Then, suddenly, her eyes widened as a solution dawned on her—a girl she had in mind who was in desperate need of a job, a girl who actually helped Courtney before when she needed a ride to Toronto. Courtney remembered not just a girl, but a duo, sisters, an intern who had once impressed her with her dedication to raise her own sister, and also look for a job to pay the bills. This girl had recently been let go from her position, and Courtney realized that this might just be the perfect opportunity for her to step back into the fold.

A smile spread across Courtney's face as she spoke up. "I think I know someone," she said, her tone a mixture of excitement and relief. Helping out this girl not only offered a promising chance for the team but also opened a door for her and her sister, providing a much-needed opportunity for growth and stability in the midst of all the chaos.

---

In the still, almost eerie pre-dawn hours of British Columbia—practically 4 a.m.—Jane's bedroom was wrapped in a blanket of darkness and quiet. The only light came from a sliver of moonlight sneaking through the window, casting soft shadows on the cluttered surfaces. Jane, a former gymnast whose athletic grace had long since given way to sleepless nights and hurried mornings, was sprawled across her bed. Her long, jet-black hair lay in a disheveled cascade over her pillow, and dark circles beneath her eyes testified to nights of restless slumber.

Without warning, the monotonous silence was punctured by the shrill ring of her old flip cellphone. Groaning, Jane stirred, the sound dragging her from the depths of sleep. With a slow, drowsy shuffle, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded toward the ringing device. Every step was heavy with the residue of sleep, her body reluctant to abandon the comfort of dreams even as her mind began to stir.

Fumbling with the flip phone, Jane managed to flip it open. The display flickered to life, and through her half-awake haze, she mumbled,

"...'lo… who's this…?" she slurred, her voice groggy and hoarse. Her voice was rough and unsteady, betraying the lingering remnants of sleep. On the other end, a faint, mumbled voice emerged—words barely coherent yet laced with urgency. Which still on her doozy state she was just repeating the words said to her. "Courtney, manager, new show, meeting… Glebe, Ottawa… Mmmh... okay… sure, whatever… yeah, I accept… thank you… good night…"

The call ended abruptly, and Jane, still in the grip of that groggy state, simply shut off the flip phone. She sank back into her rumpled bed, allowing herself to drift back toward sleep, convinced that perhaps it had all been a surreal dream.

But just a few minutes later, a sudden jolt ripped her from the fragile grasp of slumber. Her eyes flew open, wide with shock, and her heart hammered in her chest. In a moment of explosive clarity and disbelief, she sat up, nearly shouting into the dark, silent room, "I GOT A JOB?!"

---

Duncan was practically gasping for air, doubled over in laughter as he clutched his stomach. His loud, unfiltered amusement echoed through the living room, mixing with the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creaks of the house settling in the night. His face was flushed, partly from exhaustion after hours of scanning contracts and partly from the sheer hilarity of what had just happened.

Courtney, on the other hand, sat rigidly on the couch, arms crossed, her lips pressed into a firm pout. Her eyes flicked between Duncan and her mother, Victoria, who was chuckling softly behind her own mug of coffee, clearly entertained by the situation.

"This is not funny," Courtney huffed, her frustration bubbling over. "Nobody told me it was 4 a.m.! How was I supposed to know?!"

Duncan wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still grinning like an idiot. "I dunno, babe, maybe checking a clock before calling someone? Just a wild thought."

Courtney shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel, but that only made Duncan smirk wider. Even Victoria, despite her usual composure, let out a small chuckle behind her hand. Courtney groaned, feeling utterly betrayed by both of them.

Before she could throw out another protest, her flip phone suddenly buzzed against the coffee table. The screen lit up, and the caller ID was unmistakable—Jane.

Courtney's heart nearly leapt into her throat.

Duncan peeked over her shoulder, still grinning. "Oh man, she's calling you now? Yeah, you totally woke her up."

Courtney gulped, suddenly dreading the incoming conversation.

Victoria smirked knowingly, rising from her seat and stretching her arms over her head. "Well, if I had to guess, she probably just realized she agreed to something half-asleep." She patted Courtney's shoulder in amusement before turning toward the hallway. "You two have fun with that. I'm going back to bed. Try not to wake the neighbors with your screaming."

With that, she left the couple alone, her soft chuckles fading as she disappeared down the hall.

Courtney stared at the ringing phone, suddenly second-guessing her entire existence.

Duncan, still thoroughly enjoying the chaos, leaned back and grinned. "Well? Aren't you gonna answer?"

Courtney groaned, knowing there was no escaping this. Hesitantly, she picked up the phone and flipped it open.

"…Hey, Jane—"

"COURTNEY, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN I GOT THE JOB? WHAT JOB OF MANAGER IS THIS FOR A NEW SHOW? WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST AGREED TO?"

Courtney winced. Duncan lost it all over again.

---

The golden light of the early morning seeped into Sky's bedroom, casting a soft glow over the carefully arranged space. She groggily opened her eyes, blinking a few times before letting out a quiet yawn. The familiar scent of lavender from her bedside diffuser lingered in the air, mixing with the faint chill of a British Columbia winter morning.

Her room was a reflection of her ambitions—filled with passion and discipline. The walls were lined with framed photographs of her performing gymnastic routines, mid-air flips frozen in time, alongside images of her older sister Jane in her prime as an athlete. Some pictures were signed by Olympic gymnasts she idolized, their determined gazes pushing her to keep training harder. Above her bed, a collage of national and international competitions was pinned neatly, reminders of where she had been and where she wanted to go.

To the right of her desk, three flags were proudly hung—Total Drama Island, The Killer Bass, and The Screaming Gophers. It was a guilty pleasure of hers, one she had followed since childhood. Though sports were her true passion, there was something exhilarating about watching unpredictable challenges unfold.

Her desk was neat, save for a small stack of books—Courage the Cowardly Dog, Steven Universe, and Adventure Time, all written by Ezekiel. The covers were slightly worn from being read multiple times. With final exams over and winter break only three weeks away, she had finally earned time to indulge in a little reading.

Stretching out her arms, she let out another yawn before rolling out of bed. She walked to the window, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she peeked outside. The streets were quiet, the sky still painted in soft pastels as the sun slowly rose over the horizon. A peaceful morning.

With that, she turned toward the door, ready to take a warm shower—

But the moment she stepped into the hallway, peace was thrown out the window.

The house was in chaos.

Sky barely had time to process the mess before Jane tore past her like a whirlwind, dark hair still tangled from sleep, dressed in mismatched clothes as she darted around the living room. Papers were scattered all over the coffee table, drawers were pulled open, and the thud-thud-thudof hurried footsteps filled the air.

Sky blinked. What in the world…?

"Where are they?!" Jane groaned, running back and forth between the couch and the kitchen counter, her tone bordering on desperation. "I just had them—ugh, why does this always happen when I'm in a hurry?!"

Sky crossed her arms, watching as her sister lifted couch cushions, checked under papers, and even peered into the fruit bowl as if the missing item would magically appear inside.

"Uh… good morning to you too?"

Jane barely glanced at her, too occupied with her frantic search. "Morning, morning—ugh, this is a disaster!"

Sky raised an eyebrow. "What is?"

Jane let out an exasperated groan, shuffling through another pile of papers. "I need my documents—the contract stuff, my schedule, my itinerary—and my car keys!" She paused, rubbing her temples before turning to her sister. "I have a meeting with Courtney and Duncanin Ottawa in two days—do you know how far that is from here?!"

Sky tilted her head, processing the information. "Wait… Ottawa? That's a two-daydrive."

"Exactly!" Jane cried, dramatically tossing some papers onto the table. "And I haven't even packed yet! I need to be ready—I have to make a good impression, this is my first real job opportunitysince—ugh, where are my keys?!"

Sky watched in mild amusement as Jane practically turned the living room upside down in her panic.

After a few seconds, something shinyon the kitchen counter caught her eye.

"…You mean those keys?"

Jane froze mid-panic, her gaze snapping toward where Sky was pointing. The car keys were sitting plain as dayright on the counter.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, with a dramatic groan, Jane collapsed face-first onto the couch, burying her face into a pillow.

Sky snorted. "You're really a mess today, huh?"

Jane muffled a reply into the pillow before slowly sitting up, running her fingers through her tangled hair.

Sky smirked. "So… you're really going to meet Courtney and Duncan, huh?"

Jane sighed, exhaustion finally catching up to her. "…Yeah. I guess I am."

Sky stretched lazily. "Well… I guess that means I'll have the whole place to myself for a while. Have fun."

Jane froze. Her eyes slowly shifted toward her younger sister, who suddenly started sweating under her gaze.

"No. You're coming with me, missy."

Sky's mouth fell open. "What?! Why?!"

Jane crossed her arms. "Don't give me that look. Do you remember what happened the last time I left you alone for one day?"

Sky huffed, rolling her eyes. "Oh, come on, let it go already! It wasn't that bad."

Jane's expression deadpanned. "Sky. That was a few days before Thanksgiving."

"…So?"

"So?" Jane repeated, incredulous. "You dropped a frozen turkey into a superheated vat of oil! Do you realize how much damage that could have caused? The entire kitchen was covered in gravy-laced flames!"

Sky lifted her arms in defense. "Hey! How was I supposed to know that would happen?"

Jane pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something under her breath before leveling her with a look. "Sky. You weren't supposed to be deep-frying anything inside the house in any freaking case!"

Sky groaned, tilting her head back dramatically. "Uuugh, this is so unfair…"

"Yeah, well, deal with it. Go take your shower and pack your stuff. You're coming with me." Jane waved her off, smirking as she saw Sky stomp away like a petulant child.

But strangely enough, she wasn't as anxious as before. Maybe it was the distraction, or maybe it was just the relief of not leaving Sky alone to commit more accidental arson, but at least now she had a great excuse if they ended up running late to the meeting.

---

Chef Hatchet stood with his arms crossed, eyeing the wreck of a boy in front of him. Just yesterday, Ezekiel had been a force of nature, tearing through the challenge like a madman. But now? The aftermath was written all over him—exhaustion weighed down his limbs, every slight movement accompanied by a pained groan. His eyes were dull, his entire body practically screaming for rest.

"Ezekiel, what happened to you?" Izzy gasped, eyes widening as she took in his pitiful state. The usually scrappy farm boy looked like he'd been hit by a truck—twice. "You look awful."

Ezekiel let out a weak, tired grunt. "Ugh… I'm just exhausted and starving," he admitted, his voice hoarse from fatigue. "Chef, if you don't mind, could you make me something to eat? And… if possible, can I skip training today? I'm really not feeling well."

It wasn't just physical exhaustion. The insane challenge had pushed him past his limits, but what nobody knew was how much worse it had been mentally. Dawn's tea had shattered his mental defenses, forcing him to relive stress and trauma he wasn't ready to confront. The weight of it all was crushing him.

Chef Hatchet chuckled knowingly, shaking his head. He had seen this exact kind of burnout before. "Looks like you just got your first real taste of an Adrenaline Rush."

Ezekiel blinked at him in confusion, while Izzy's eyes lit up with recognition.

"Adrenaline Rush?" Ezekiel repeated, frowning.

Chef smirked. "It's what kept you going yesterday—why you were able to fight like a wild animal against a whole army of interns and Sanders. That mix of bloodlust, madness, and raw instinct pushing you forward, making you ignore pain, exhaustion… everything."

Izzy eagerly nodded, already familiar with the high Chef was describing. "It's awesome! You feel unstoppable! But once it wears off…" She shuddered dramatically. "Oh boy, it sucks. You just wanna sleep for a year and pretend nothing exists."

Chef nodded in agreement. "And from what I saw? You ran on that rush for a solid four to five minutes."

Izzy nearly choked. "Four to five minutes?!" She turned to Ezekiel, staring at him like he had grown a second head. "Dude. That's insane."

Chef let out a low whistle. "Yeah, I can see why Izzy and the others say you've got potential. With a real gun in your hands, you'd be dangerous."

At that, Ezekiel flinched. His entire body tensed, a shadow flickering across his expression before he immediately shut it down. His voice came out firm, unwavering.

"I'll never use a real gun," he stated. "Just toy guns."

The weight behind his words was impossible to miss. Izzy, sensing the shift in mood, stepped in quickly.

"Whoa, whoa, relax, Zeke!" she said, throwing up her hands in a calming gesture before shooting a warning glance at Chef. "He was just giving you a compliment, not pushing anything on you." She softened her tone, placing a reassuring hand on Ezekiel's shoulder. "We know you'll never be like the people who did that to your family. We promise."

Chef, catching the silent message in Izzy's gaze, exhaled through his nose and gave a short nod. "Fair enough. No guns. But don't think I didn't notice how deadly you are with a bow and arrow." He smirked knowingly. "I saw you and Izzy messing around with those weapons. You both might act like lunatics, but in the right hands, those things are no joke."

Ezekiel and Izzy exchanged sheepish chuckles.

Chef rolled his eyes, then clenched a fist and cleared his throat. "Alright, listen up. Since you're still dealing with the crash from that adrenaline high, we'll go easy today. No heavy training."

Ezekiel sagged in relief, but Chef wasn't done.

"Instead, you're getting a knife training session."

Ezekiel blinked. "I… don't think I've trained with knives before."

"Good," Chef said gruffly. "Izzy can show you the basics of holding a combat knife while I go whip up something for you to eat. After that, you go to sleep, soldier. You've done way too much."

Ezekiel, still drained but grateful, gave a small nod. "Got it."

Izzy clapped her hands together, grinning wildly. "Ooooh, knife training? Now we're talking!"

"Thanks, Chef," Ezekiel said with a kind smile. As Chef left the area, Izzy immediately approached him, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"No… I won't tell you how I did the challenge," Ezekiel said flatly before she could even ask.

"Oh, come on!" Izzy whined, bouncing slightly on her heels. "I need the details!"

"If you ask again, I'll spoil the finales of Lost and Dexter," Ezekiel warned, his tone dead serious.

Izzy froze. Her face paled like she had just seen a ghost.

"No way. That's a bluff." She narrowed her eyes at him, but when she noticed the unwavering seriousness in his expression, she flinched. "You're still mad about Duncan and Courtney getting eliminated?"

"It was a dirty move, Izzy." Ezekiel crossed his arms, his frustration still fresh. "And you better pray Heather ends up on my team, because when I get the chance, I will make sure she loses so many times that she's out before the merge." His voice was sharp with irritation. He still couldn't believe his so-called friend had pulled off such a backstab. "You used the Swap Vote Box, didn't you?"

Izzy sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah…" She could tell Ezekiel was holding himself back, his shoulders tense, deep breaths keeping his temper in check. "But hey, at least it wasn't Geoff and Bridgette like you thought, right? So they'll get their own TV show now. That's a win. And Duncan and Courtney? They can work well together."

"Yeah, I know…" Ezekiel muttered, exhaling sharply. "And in the long run, it's probably better since Gwen and Duncan won't be alone together for too long. That means that ridiculous love triangle in Season 3 won't happen. But still—it was a dirty move, Izzy. You blindsided me." He ran a hand down his face, exhaustion clear in his expression.

"I get it," Izzy said with a shrug. "But hey, let's move on. Training time!" Her mood shifted in an instant as she pulled out a small, curved knife that gleamed under the light. "I usually work with a lot of knives, but I think the best fit for you is the karambit."

Ezekiel raised an eyebrow. "The what?"

"This baby," Izzy grinned, holding up the blade. "It's got a slick curve, almost like a claw. Great for spinning, super deadly when you know how to use it right." With a flick of her wrist, she twirled it effortlessly around her finger. "This little move? Not just for show. In real fights, it lets you slash and strike in crazy fast motions. And when you really get the technique down, the damage is insane."

She spun it a few more times before abruptly stopping and shoving something into Ezekiel's hands. He looked down at the ridiculously bright plastic karambit—colored in neon orange, green, and purple. It was clearly a training toy.

"…Seriously?" he deadpanned.

"Yup! Can't have you chopping off your own fingers on Day One." Izzy winked. "This one's just for practicing the spins. Once you get the hang of it, then we'll move on to the real deal."

Ezekiel twirled the toy between his fingers, testing the weight. "You're lucky I've always wanted to learn to spin stuff. Pens, knives—"

"Pistols," Izzy interrupted with a knowing smirk.

Ezekiel shot her a look.

"Oh, don't give me that face," she teased. "I know deep down, you've always wanted to spin a gun like an old-school cowboy and do some badass trick shots."

He scoffed but didn't respond right away. Instead, his mind went to someone farmore impressive than any Western movie gunslinger.

"Ocelot."

Izzy blinked. "What?"

"There's no one better at gun spinning than Major Ocelot," Ezekiel said as if it were a simple fact of life. "Sure, Western movies are cool, but if you really want to see gun-spinning at its peak, that guy's a freakin' madman."

"Well, I never heard about him before, so I'm curious, what do you know about him?" Izzy arched an eyebrow. Ezekiel smirked slightly, but Izzy didn't push for an explanation. Instead, she spun her knife in one fluid motion. "Alright, enough talk—grab the toy knife and follow my lead,"

Ezekiel rolled his shoulders. "Fine, fine…" He adjusted his grip on the training karambit, mentally preparing himself.

At least now he can do some small training before eating and then reward himself with a good sleep. He really need it.

---

Duncan and Courtney sat in stunned silence, their mouths hanging open as they watched the recorded episode play out on the screen in front of them. The reality of their elimination had already hit hard, but this—this was something else entirely.

"HOLY SHIT, GO EZEKIEL GO!" Duncan blurted, his voice filled with a mix of shock and excitement as they watched Ezekiel unleash absolute carnage. The farm boy was a one-man wrecking crew, taking on the interns single-handedly, fists flying, bodies hitting the ground. It was the kind of chaos Duncan lived for, and he couldn't help but grin.

Courtney, however, cringed as Ezekiel delivered yet another brutal punch. "I can't believe it… He actually did it." She shook her head, both impressed and disturbed. "I think we let him spend too much time training with Eva."

Duncan let out a low whistle, leaning back with a smirk. "Welp, she's been saying for ages that he needed to bulk up and learn how to fight. And from the way he's throwing those punches? Yeah, we know exactly who to blame for that."

They quickly navigated to the Total Drama Forum, scrolling through the MVPA(Most Valuable Player Acting) selection, where fans could vote and analyze the most impressive moments from the show. The top clips were already flooded with Ezekiel's rampage, with users debating whether he was a genius or a complete madman.

"Man, this sucks," Duncan muttered, rubbing his forehead. "If I wasn't eliminated, I'd be racking up so many points for this. At least Harold's probably getting a boost."

Courtney crossed her arms, pouting slightly. "Hey, I had great points too when I worked with Ezekiel. And now I can't use them either. So yeah, it sucks for both of us." She sighed, finally shutting the laptop. "Anyway, we should focus on figuring out our next move. The show's still going, and we need to think about how to stay relevant after this."

Duncan's stomach growled, cutting through the tension. He gave a sheepish chuckle and leaned toward Courtney with a lazy grin. "Well… I can't think on an empty stomach, and your family's outside waiting. Why don't we grab some breakfast?" He wiggled his eyebrows. "Maybe find a place with unlimited bacon?"

Courtney considered it for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, coffee sounds good right now." Her eyes lit up slightly as she suddenly had an idea. "Oh! I know a bakery that makes an amazinglatte. Let's go."

Duncan smirked, slinging an arm around her shoulders as they headed out. "As long as they've got something realto eat and not just tiny overpriced pastries, I'm in."

---

The words flowed effortlessly onto the laptop screen, each keystroke striking with precision as Ezekiel's mind sharpened in a way he had never quite experienced before. It was as if the memories of the scenes he had just watched played vividly in his mind, imprinting themselves onto the digital page without hesitation. Every detail, every line of dialogue, every nuance of the atmosphere—each one translated seamlessly into his writing. Even the words he had once searched for in a dictionary long ago surfaced naturally, slotting into place like puzzle pieces.

It wasn't anything dramatic—just a subtle shift, a faint yet undeniable clarity that made writing feel about ten percent easier. The mental blocks that usually plagued him, halting his momentum, now crumbled effortlessly. His fingers drummed against the keyboard with rhythmic intensity, the sound crisp and rapid, filling the otherwise quiet Craft and Services Tent.

He hadn't even noticed the way people had started watching him. Some had their heads tilted in mild curiosity, others simply glanced up between bites of their meals, observing the rare sight of Ezekiel so utterly focused. His tea-induced mental stress had left him drained to the point of vomiting and nosebleeds, yet somehow, even through the discomfort, it had granted him a fleeting moment of heightened concentration. But the exhaustion eventually took its toll, knocking him out for hours. By the time he stirred awake, it was already 3 p.m., and an angry Chef was barking at him for sleeping the day away.

Grumbling under his breath, Ezekiel grabbed his lunch and ate, barely registering the taste as his mind was still locked in creative overdrive. His writing had evolved, shifting in ways even he hadn't anticipated. Unintended Easter eggs had slipped into his latest chapter, subtle nods of respect to works that had once shaped his past life.

Unfortunately, this world had little appreciation for games and anime beyond surface-level pop culture references—whatever was trending in 2007 dictated the public's interest. Metal Gear Solid? Sure, people talked about it, but mostly because of the meme-worthy image of Snake hiding in a cardboard box. Saint Seiya, on the other hand? Practically never existed like most animations from japan, unless it was some half-baked parody thrown into a comedy sketch.

It was frustrating. He'd never get to experience the same niche joys from his past life in this world, but he could at least slip in homages, even if no one else recognized them. That alone was enough to bring a smirk to his face.

And what better way to do it than through one of the most cherished debates of his childhood? Zodiac signs.

For most kids in Brazil, the mention of zodiac signs instantly brought up discussions of horoscopes, personality traits, and astrological compatibility. But for the boys of the 2000s? It meant only one thing: Which Gold Saint are you?

He could still remember the playful brawls between his cousins, fists flying as they shouted out attacks from their respective Saints. Virgo, Aquarius, Leo, Gemini, Sagittarius—those were the powerhouses everyone fought to claim. Meanwhile, Cancer, Pisces, Capricorn, Taurus, Scorpio, and Aries were often overlooked or ridiculed. But then Lost Canvas changed everything.

That was the moment the playing field leveled. Every sign had a badass representation, every constellation felt legendary, and for the first time, no kid had to feel embarrassed about the one they were born under.

That was exactly what he planned to do in this Ben 10chapter. Instead of sticking with Ben's old obsession with Samurai Sumo things on the show—which, in hindsight, was just a filler gag that lost impact over time—he would introduce Lost Canvasas Ben's new favorite.

Ben would fanboy over the Golden Saints, explaining in ridiculous detail who they were, their personalities, and their powers. He'd even take the chance to one-up Gwen, proving that he knew way more about astrology than she did—not in the horoscope sense, but in the real, coolway. He'd list the constellations tied to each Saint, breaking down even the Bronze and Silver Saints, and along the way, he'd flex his knowledge of Greek mythology. It would drive Gwen insane to see him actually outsmart her for once, and Ezekiel couldn't help but smirk at the thought of writing that dynamic.

But for now, his fingers kept moving, his focus unshakable as he remained deep in the zone. Nothing was going to stop him.

Until—

"Time's up, Ezekiel." Eva's voice cut through the air.

"Crap baskets." Ezekiel groaned, quickly clicking Save before shutting his laptop. He blinked at the screen, still trying to process how much time had passed. "Wait… seriously? Two hours already?"

The response came in the form of a synchronized nod from everyone nearby.

Geoff, Bridgette, Harold, Leshawna, Eva, and DJ were all staring at him like he was some kind of machine.

Not that Ezekiel wasn't used to it. At least now he could take a break, maybe even crash early for once. Thankfully, Eva was giving him a pass today—everyone was still exhausted and sore from the last challenge, so he was safe from training.

Sadie, on the other hand? Poor against Eva had earned her triplethe training load. Who knew Eva could be just a bit petty when someone managed to beat her?

Honestly, sometimes Ezekiel thanked God he wasn't one of the people who made Eva mad. Unlike his canonself, who had made the terrible mistake of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

But yeah, a few days from now, the next challenge would begin. He figured the best thing he could do was get some sleep and rest while he had the chance. He really needed it.

Until the morning of the next episode.

He scoffed to himself. How different could it be?

---

(A Few Days Later)

"Okay, let's get this bloodbath started."Chris clapped his hands together, grinning. "You're gonna choose schoolyard style. Boy, girl, boy, girl. Ladies first. Since we have no ladies here... Gwen."

Gwen blinked, still groggy from waking up way too early. She sighed, rubbing her temple as she glanced at her options. She needed someone who could handle all kinds of challenges.

"I don't know…"She looked around before making her decision. "Geoff?"

"Awesome!"Geoff grinned, stepping behind her.

Trent remained quiet, watching the selection process with a focused expression. Everyone expected him to pick one of the Screaming Gophers next—

"Ezekiel." Trent said with solenm look...

A beat of silence.

"What?"Gwen blurted out.

"What?"Eva echoed.

"What?"Chris raised a brow.

"What?"Every single member of the Killer Bass said in unison.

Ezekiel blinked, taking a second to process what just happened before speaking up.

"Not gonna lie, didn't see this one coming."

And just like that, the episode was already off to a chaotic start.