The floodwaters had receded, but the nightmare was just beginning. Chef Hatchet stood before the Final Four, holding two heavy survival bags. His face was like granite, and his eyes were hidden behind his mirrored aviator shades.
"Listen up, maggots!" Chef barked. "The camp is North. First team to return and touch the totem pole wins invincibility. If you lose, one of you is going to the Boat of Losers. Now move!"
He paired them up: Gwen and Heather (who exchanged looks of pure dread) and Duncan and Ezekiel.
As Chef turned to leave, Duncan did something completely out of character. He lunged forward and threw his arms around Chef's waist, sobbing theatrically. "Don't leave us, Chef! It's dark! There are squirrels with shifty eyes! PLEASE!"
Chef, disgusted, shoved him off. "Get off me, you pathetic punk! Suck it up!" He climbed into the helicopter and roared away.
Heather narrowed her eyes. "He's up to something. Duncan doesn't hug people unless he's stabbing them in the back."
The Heist and the Omen
Once the helicopter was out of sight, Duncan stopped "crying" and let out a sharp, jagged laugh. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pair of high-tech, military-grade Night Vision Goggles.
"Look at this, Zeke!" Duncan grinned, tossing them in the air. "Chef's favorite toy. We're gonna navigate this forest like pros while the girls are tripping over roots."
Ezekiel didn't laugh. He broke out into a cold sweat. "Duncan... eh, you shouldn't have done that. Those aren't just goggles. Chef got those from a war buddy who didn't make it back. They're... they're sacred to him. You just stole a ghost's eyes, man."
Duncan rolled his eyes. "Relax, Prairie Boy. It's just gear. What's he gonna do? Scream at me? I'm used to it."
The Girls' Truce
Miles away, Gwen and Heather were actually making progress. The "Castaway" experience from the previous day had changed them. Heather wasn't complaining as much, and Gwen was using her tracking skills to keep them on the North path.
"I can't believe I'm saying this," Heather muttered, ducking under a branch, "but you're actually a decent navigator, Gwen."
"And you haven't tried to push me into a ravine for at least twenty minutes," Gwen replied. "Progress."
They moved with a singular focus: Touching that totem pole before the boys could use whatever dirty trick Duncan had planned.
The Wrath of Chef Hatchet
Back at camp, Chef Hatchet reached for his belt and froze. His hand patted the empty holster where his goggles usually sat. His face went from dark to purple, then to a terrifying, deathly white.
"My goggles..." he whispered, his voice trembling with rage. "He took... the goggles."
Chef didn't call Chris. He didn't check the cameras. He went to his private locker, pulled out a camouflaged ghillie suit, and grabbed a jar of black greasepaint. He wasn't a host anymore. He was a Hunter.
The Tom & Jerry (with a Vengeance)
In the woods, Duncan was laughing, trying on the goggles. Suddenly, a shadow dropped from a tree behind them. SNAP!
Ezekiel spun around. "He's here, eh! I told you!"
Out of the bushes, a terrifying figure emerged. It wasn't the Sasquatchanakwa. It was Chef, looking like a Special Forces nightmare, wielding a net gun and a bag of flour bombs.
"GIVE. THEM. BACK!" Chef roared.
What followed was a scene straight out of a twisted cartoon. Duncan turned to run, but Chef was everywhere. He swung from vines, set tripwires, and at one point, literally clotheslined Duncan out of mid-air.
Ezekiel stood back, holding his head in his hands. It was exactly like watching Tom and Jerry, but if Tom was a 250-pound drill sergeant and Jerry was a punk-rocker about to be pulverized. Duncan was ducking, diving, and screaming as Chef "metaphorically" (and literally) delivered a lifetime's worth of karma.
"It's just a prank, bro! IT'S JUST A PRANK!" Duncan yelled as he was catapulted into a mud pit.
The Finish Line
While Duncan was being hunted like a rabbit, Gwen and Heather stumbled into the main camp clearing. They were exhausted, scratched, and covered in leaves, but they were alone.
Together, they lunged forward and slammed their hands onto the Totem Pole.
"WINNERS!" Chris shouted from his lawn chair. "Gwen and Heather have invincibility! Which means... the boys are in trouble."
An hour later, a traumatized Duncan crawled into camp, his clothes in shreds, followed by a calm but tired Ezekiel. Behind them, Chef walked slowly, buffing his recovered goggles with a silk cloth, a terrifyingly satisfied smile on his face.
The Elimination:
At the campfire, the tension was dead. Duncan knew it. Ezekiel knew it.
"Duncan," Chris said, holding the last marshmallow. "Stealing from Chef is one thing. Stealing his sentimental military gear? That's just asking for a one-way ticket on the Boat of Losers."
Duncan didn't even argue. He was too busy checking if his ribs were still intact.
Eliminated: Duncan.
The Boat of Losers drifted slowly toward the dock of the luxury resort. Duncan sat on the edge of the deck, looking like a man who had gone through a meat grinder. He was covered in Chef's flour bombs, his clothes were shredded from the thorns, and his pride was non-existent.
"Whatever," Duncan muttered, staring at the approaching lights of the spa. "At least it's over. No more Chef, no more mud, just a soft bed and a steak. I can handle that."
But as he stepped off the boat and onto the wooden pier, he noticed a figure standing in the shadows of the palm trees. Courtney was waiting for him. She wasn't yelling, and she wasn't holding her legal clipboard. Instead, she had a chilling, icy smile that made the hair on the back of Duncan's neck stand up.
"Hey, Duncan," Courtney said, her voice silky and terrifyingly calm. "I heard you had a rough day in the woods. I thought you might need a little... grooming."
Suddenly, a sharp, mechanical buzzing sound filled the air.
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT!
Duncan's eyes went wide.
In Courtney's hand was a high-powered set of electric hair clippers. She stepped into the light, the blades whirring with a menacing hunger.
"Wait, Courtney, hold on!" Duncan stammered, backing away. "Let's talk about this! You're a CIT! This is assault! This is against the rules of—"
"Rules?" Courtney laughed, a glint of madness in her eyes. "I'm a loser now, remember? Losers don't have to follow rules."
From the bushes behind her, a high-pitched giggling erupted. Izzy popped her head out, clutching her stomach from laughing so hard. Beside her, Mr. Coconut marched out into the moonlight. The coconut crossed his little twig-arms and gave a sharp, judgmental nod toward Duncan's green mohawk.
It turned out that after the "peace speech" earlier that evening, Mr. Coconut and Izzy had pulled Courtney aside. Through a series of frantic gestures (and Izzy's wild translations), they had convinced Courtney that true justice wasn't found in a ballot box—it was found in a stylish revenge.
"This was their idea?!" Duncan yelled, pointing a trembling finger at the walking fruit. "You're taking advice from a nut and a girl who talks to bears?!"
"Maybe," Courtney replied, closing the distance as she raised the clippers toward his scalp. "But I have to admit, Mr. Coconut has a surprisingly sharp mind for 'eye-for-an-eye' justice."
Duncan's last desperate scream echoed across the entire resort as he was cornered at the end of the pier.
Back in the shadows, Izzy and Mr. Coconut shared a high-five—or rather, Izzy patted the top of the coconut's head in a job well done.
Duncan's punk-rock era was officially coming to a very bald end.
The Final Three remain on the island: Gwen, Heather, and Ezekiel.