The morning sun over Camp Wawanakwa was deceptive, casting a golden glow over the peeling paint of the cabins and the sagging roof of the mess hall. For the remaining campers, the air felt thick with a tension that hadn't been there the night before. The Merge had changed the game, but Chris McLean was about to change the world.
Chris stood at the very edge of the Dock of Shame, his signature blue shirt crisp, his teeth gleaming in a way that usually signaled impending doom. Behind him, Chef Hatchet stood with his arms crossed, looking unusually contemplative.
"Listen up, losers!" Chris's voice amplified across the water, cutting through the morning fog. "Since we've hit the Merge, I decided things were getting a little too predictable. A little too... cozy. So, I've decided to bring back some old faces to spice up your miserable lives! And by spice up, I mean ruin!"
A sleek, black speedboat cut through the glassy surface of the lake, roaring toward the dock. The campers gathered at the shoreline, their faces a gallery of confusion and dread.
As the boat slammed against the wooden pilings, the first figure stepped off. It was Courtney, looking as if she had just stepped out of a corporate boardroom rather than a month of elimination. She clutched a vellum-bound folder to her chest, her eyes sharp and calculating.
The remaining members of the Killer Bass—Duncan, Bridgette, DJ, and Harold—froze in collective disbelief.
"Hello, 'teammates,'" Courtney said, her voice dripping with artificial politeness. She adjusted her cardigan and eyed the group with a mixture of pity and burning resentment. "I hope you're all proud of yourselves for kicking me off on the very first day. It's been a long road back, but here I am."
Duncan was the first to find his voice, letting out a harsh, mocking laugh. "Courtney? Are you kidding me? You're the girl who cost us the first challenge because you were too chicken to jump off a cliff into shark-infested water! You were the first one gone! Why are you back? To watch us win from the sidelines again while you quote your CIT handbook?"
Bridgette winced, her voice soft but wary. "Courtney, we didn't think... I mean, it's been so long. We thought you were back in school."
DJ looked physically pained, clutching his arm. "Man, I still feel bad about that vote, but you really didn't jump, Courtney. It was the rules."
"The rules," Courtney snapped, her eyes flashing, "are exactly why I'm back! My lawyers saw to it, Duncan! My elimination was a legal travesty based on a technicality of team pressure. Get used to my face, because I'm not going anywhere until I win this whole thing and sue this camp into the ground!"
Heather pushed her way to the front, her face contorted in a sneer. "Chris! Are you serious? You said once you're out, you're out! This is a joke! She's an amateur who couldn't handle a ten-foot drop! How can she be in the Merge?"
Chris threw his head back and laughed, a sound that chilled the bones of everyone present. "Hate to break it to you, Heather, but... I lied! Drama is ratings gold, and Courtney's grudge against the people who betrayed her is a goldmine I simply couldn't ignore."
Leshawna rolled her eyes, placing a hand on her hip. "Oh, lord. Like we didn't have enough attitude around here already. Great. More lawyers, less lunch."
Lindsay blinked several times, leaning toward Heather. "Is that the girl who was wearing the sweater vest? I thought she went to go live on a farm with the chickens she was so afraid of."
As the bickering intensified, the second figure stepped off the boat. Trent walked onto the dock with his guitar slung over his shoulder. He didn't look for a fight; he didn't even look at Chris. His eyes were locked on one person.
He walked straight toward Gwen and Ezekiel.
Ezekiel instinctively shifted, stepping half an inch in front of Gwen, his posture stiffening. He didn't look like the naive boy from the first day anymore; his gaze was wary and protective. Trent stopped at a respectful distance, his expression heavy with a mix of sadness and resolve.
"Hey, Gwen. Hey, Zeke," Trent said softly. The noise of the other campers seemed to fade into the background. He took a deep, shaky breath. "Gwen, I came back because I needed to apologize. I've been watching the episodes at home... and I felt sick seeing what I did."
Gwen crossed her arms tightly over her chest. Her face was a mask of stone, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of something—not love, but a deep, lingering hurt. "What do you have to say for yourself, Trent? You want to tell me how the weather was while I was breathing through a straw in a coffin?"
Trent looked down at the wooden planks of the dock, his shoulders slumping. "I panicked. Because of those Mimes. I know it sounds stupid, but those creepy French mimes... they just get in my head. I spent so much time trying to shake them off that... I completely forgot about you. By the time I snapped out of the fear and realized where I was, the challenge was over. I can't believe I let you slip my mind when you were buried underground and needed me most. It was selfish, and I'm so incredibly sorry."
A silence fell over the trio. Owen, who had been watching from the side with a mouthful of a leftover muffin, stopped chewing, his eyes wide. Harold adjusted his glasses, watching the social dynamic with clinical interest.
Gwen's expression finally softened. She didn't move toward Trent, but the ice in her gaze melted into a weary sort of acceptance. "Trent... thank you. Honestly, that was what hurt the most. It wasn't the mimes or the fear. It was the fact that I was under there, counting the seconds, and I realized you weren't coming. Being forgotten is worse than being hated. I appreciate you being man enough to say that."
Trent then looked at Ezekiel. There was no malice in his eyes, only a quiet acknowledgment. "Zeke, I saw the footage. Every second of it. You never forgot her. Not for a single heartbeat. You stayed right there in the dirt while I was running away from shadows. You deserve to be with her, man. You're a better man than I was that day. Take care of her."
Ezekiel blinked, clearly taken aback. He had expected a confrontation, a battle for Gwen's affection. Instead, he found a man admitting defeat with dignity.
Zeke gave a firm, respectful nod, his hand finding Gwen's and squeezing it. "Eh, that was a stand-up thing to say, Trent. I appreciate the honesty. It takes guts to admit you messed up that bad on national TV."
The somber moment was suddenly, violently shattered. A manic, high-pitched scream echoed from the treeline above the dock.
"WAAAA-HOOOO!"
A blur of orange hair and green clothing plummeted from the towering pines, performing a chaotic triple-flip in mid-air before landing in a perfect, silent crouch directly in front of Chef Hatchet.
Chef actually stumbled back, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. His jaw dropped in a rare display of total, unadulterated shock. "You?! Girl, how in the name of all that is holy did you get back here? The RCMP had you in a tactical helicopter! I saw the handcuffs!"
Izzy looked up, her eyes wide and dancing with a chaotic fire. She laughed, a sound that made the birds in the nearby trees take flight. "Handcuffs are just shiny bracelets, Chef! They're surprisingly easy to pick with a bobby pin and a little bit of earwax! I escaped over the swamp, camouflaged myself with mud for two days, and lived on nothing but swamp water, adrenaline, and a very confused snapping turtle! I'm a ghost in the machine! You can't cage the Izzy!"
Chef Hatchet looked at the mud-stained girl, then at the distant horizon, then back at her. He slowly began to shake his head, a ghost of a grin playing on his lips. "Well, I'll be... she actually ditched the feds. In the middle of the Canadian wilderness. That's some high-level stealth right there. I didn't think you had it in you, kid."
Chris was doubling over with laughter, pointing at Chef's shocked face. "Oh, man! I didn't even invite her! This is the best day of my life! Since Izzy wasn't technically voted off—she just fled the law in a spectacular fashion—the producers say she's still legally in the game! Welcome back to the nuthouse, everyone!"
Owen let out a joyous yell, despite the awkwardness of the moment. "IZZY! You're alive! And you smell like a marsh! That's awesome!"
Heather looked like she was about to have a private meltdown. "So let me get this straight. We have a lawyer, a quitter, and a fugitive back in the game? This is a nightmare!"
"No, Heather," Chris said, his eyes glinting with a dark promise as he clapped his hands together. "This is Total Drama Island. Now that we've settled the past and everyone's had their little cry, let's ruin the present! Follow me to the clearing, lúzerek! It's time for the Wheel of Misfortune!"
The campers began to follow him, a disjointed group of old rivals and new lovers. Chris leaned in close to the camera, whispering.
"The winner today gets a Luxury Trailer. It's got a real bed, silk sheets, AC, and a private fridge stocked with everything Owen dreams about. But to get it? They're going to have to suffer.
As they walked, Ezekiel kept his arm around Gwen, his eyes scanning the new arrivals. Courtney was already whispering to herself about strategy; Trent was walking quietly at the back, looking relieved; and Izzy was trying to eat a dragonfly.
The game had just become very, very complicated.
The clearing in the center of the forest was dominated by a massive, creaking wooden wheel. It was painted in faded, peeling colors, and each segment was inscribed with a different, terrifying icon: a skunk, a beehive, a pair of rusty clippers, and several things that looked like medieval torture devices.
Chris stood next to the wheel, patting it affectionately as the campers gathered around, still reeling from the arrival of the newcomers.
"Alright, listen up!" Chris shouted, his voice echoing through the trees. "Since we have three 'zombies' back from the dead, the island is getting a little crowded. My budget for hairspray and Chef's budget for 'meat-like' substances is stretched thin. So, today's stakes are higher than ever!"
He held up two fingers, a wicked glint in his eyes.
"Not one, but TWO campers will be leaving tonight!"
A collective gasp went up from the group. Bridgette gripped her hair, DJ whimpered, and Heather's eyes darted around, immediately calculating who she could throw under the bus. Courtney pulled out a pen and started frantically making notes on her legal pad.
"The winner of the challenge gets the Luxury Trailer," Chris continued, "and immunity. Everyone else? You're at the mercy of the most brutal campfire ceremony yet. Now, who wants to be our first victim? I mean... contestant!"
To be continued....