The industrial air conditioners in Soundstage 4 had been cranked down to sub-zero temperatures. Fog rolled across the floor, clinging to the heavy steel bulkheads and flickering neon light strips of the "USS Wawanakwa." The air was thick with the scent of ozone and the rhythmic, terrifying thump-hiss of the ship's artificial ventilation.
The Aftermath Studio: Infrared Insights
Back at the Aftermath desk, the studio lights were dimmed to match the mood. Gwen was wearing a pair of green-tinted night-vision goggles, while Ezekiel sat next to a large thermal monitor.
Mr. Coconut was positioned between them, wearing a tiny silver space helmet. Ezekiel leaned in close as the coconut sat perfectly still.
"He says the humidity in the soundstage is a nightmare for his husk, eh," Ezekiel translated, his eyes glued to the screen. "But more importantly, he's tracking a massive heat signature in the ventilation shafts. Mama Alien is on the move, and she looks hungry for vengeance... or maybe just a raise."
"It's Chef in a rubber suit, Zeke. Let's not give him too much credit," Gwen remarked, though she couldn't hide a wince as she watched the thermal signatures of her friends move into the dark. "But Harold looks... surprisingly focused. Look at those heat patterns. He's moving like a predator."
Noah, typing away at the side-desk, chimed in. "The ratings for the 'Killer Grips' are plummeting every time Courtney opens her mouth. If she doesn't stop quoting her contract, the piranhas from the last episode might start looking for a career change."
The Challenge: The Nest of Eggs
"Attention, space-cadets!" Chris McLean's voice echoed through the ship's intercom, sounding tinny and distant. "Deep in the heart of this vessel lies the Alien Queen's nest. Your mission: find the glowing green alien eggs and carry them back to your team's extraction zone."
He paused, a chuckle vibrating through the speakers. "But beware! Mama Alien is patrolling the corridors. One touch from her pressurized slime-gun and you are 'impregnated'—which in this show means you have to sit in the 'Decontamination Chamber' and listen to a loop of Chef singing show tunes for the rest of the day."
"Go!"
The Killer Grips (Lindsay, Tyler, Beth, Justin, Owen, Izzy, Courtney, and Trent) huddled in a dimly lit cargo bay.
"Okay, according to the ship's schematics provided in the orientation packet—which none of you read—the nest is in Deck C!" Courtney barked, pointing a flashlight at a confusing blueprint.
"Is Deck C the one with the sparkly stars or the one with the scary noises?" Lindsay asked, checking her reflection in a piece of chrome plating.
"It's the one where we win, Lindsay!" Courtney snapped. "Justin, you take the lead. Your face is... distracting. Use it to blind the alien."
Justin crossed his arms, looking horrified. "And risk getting green slime on my pores? Slime is highly acidic to my aesthetic, Courtney. No way."
"Oh, for the love of—Trent! Say something!" Courtney demanded.
Trent looked between the bickering leaders and the dark hallway. "I think we should just stay together. Owen, Izzy, where are you going?"
Owen and Izzy were already five meters deep into a dark corridor.
"We're looking for the space-buffet!" Owen shouted back. "Izzy says the aliens keep the best snacks in the egg-room!"
The Screaming Gaffers: The Ninja and the Queen
Meanwhile, the Screaming Gaffers (Harold, Leshawna, Heather, Geoff, Cody, Katie, and Sadie) were moving with uncanny precision.
Without Duncan's constant bullying, the team felt lighter—and Harold had stepped up.
"Listen up," Harold whispered, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly 'stealth-mode.' "I've logged over four thousand hours in Alien Extraction 4. The Queen follows a predictable patrol pattern based on the ship's thermal vents. If we stay low and move during the hiss of the steam pipes, we're invisible."
Leshawna grinned, patting Harold on the back. "I don't know what half those words mean, sugar, but you look like you know your way around a spaceship. Lead the way."
Heather rolled her eyes, but she followed. Cody, still feeling the adrenaline from his win against Duncan, stayed close to Harold. Katie and Sadie clung to each other, whispering about how "alien-chic" the fog was.
They reached the center of the ship—a massive, dripping chamber filled with pulsating green eggs. In the center of the room, a twenty-foot-tall Mama Alien (Chef in a high-quality animatronic suit) swung its tail, holding a double-barreled slime-gun.
"Target sighted," Harold whispered. He pulled a small mirror from his pocket and used it to check the Alien's blind spot. "On my signal... Leshawna, you're the distraction. I'll go for the eggs."
Leshawna stepped into the light. "Hey, Big, Green, and Ugly! Over here!"
Chef turned the massive suit, a mechanical growl emitting from the mask.
SPLAT!
A glob of neon-green slime flew past Leshawna's head.
She ducked and rolled, laughing. "You missed a spot, Chef!"
While Chef was focused on Leshawna, Harold moved like a shadow. He vaulted over a slime-covered crate, snagged two eggs, and was back in the shadows before the Alien's head could swivel back.
The Killer Grips, meanwhile, had walked straight into a trap. Justin and Courtney were so busy arguing over the map that they didn't see Mama Alien dropping from a ceiling vent.
"My hair!" Courtney shrieked as she was coated in slime.
"My skin! It's suffocating!" Justin wailed.
One by one, the Grips were picked off. Tyler tried to do a "space-hero" leap but tripped over a cable, landing face-first in a puddle of slime. Beth tried to hide, but her glasses fogged up in the cold, and she walked right into Chef's leg.
By the time Harold and Leshawna delivered the final eggs to the extraction zone, the Screaming Gaffers had a clean sweep.
"Gaffers win!" Chris announced over the intercom. "And since Harold and Leshawna were the MVP duo, the whole team gets the Zen-Movie Reward! Five professional massages and a soak in a luxury hot tub!"
The Reward: Bubble Baths and Tension
As the Gaffers relaxed in the steaming water outside their bus, the mood was celebratory. Harold was being fanned with a leaf by Geoff, while Leshawna relaxed with cucumbers over her eyes.
"You did good, baby," Leshawna murmured. "Real good."
Heather sat on the edge of the tub, sipping sparkling cider. "I suppose... for a nerd... you weren't entirely useless, Harold."
The Killer Grips: The Fallout
The Killer Grips sat in their Platinum Palace, but the chocolate fountain couldn't hide the tension.
"We lost because someone couldn't read a map," Courtney hissed, glaring at Justin.
"We lost because you won't stop bossing everyone around!" Trent snapped, finally losing his cool. "Courtney, we're a team, not your legal interns."
Lindsay, Beth, and Tyler huddled together in a corner.
"We're still a team, right?" Beth whispered.
"Totally," Lindsay said, though she looked worriedly at Courtney. "But Courtney is getting really... scary-movie-villain-y."
Owen and Izzy were just happy they found some "alien-themed" jerky in the kitchen, seemingly oblivious to the impending elimination.
The Elimination: The Gilded Gavel
The Killer Grips gathered at the ceremony.
"Tonight," Chris began, "the hero of the first episode is on the chopping block. Or maybe the lawyer. Or maybe the pretty boy. Let's see who the 'Academy' hates the most."
The statues went to: Lindsay, Tyler, Beth, Owen, Izzy, and... Trent.
Only two remained: Courtney and Justin.
"Justin," Chris said. "You refused to lead because you were afraid of slime. Courtney, you led everyone straight into Mama Alien's maw."
The last statue goes to...
The tension at the Gilded Gavel ceremony was thick enough to cut with a prop chainsaw. Justin was busy applying "post-alien-trauma" moisturizer to his face, while Courtney sat with her arms crossed, her eyes darting between her teammates like she was calculating exactly how much a lawsuit for "emotional distress caused by green goo" would be worth.
"The final statue goes to..." Chris paused for five full seconds, the dramatic music swelling. "...Justin!"
Justin let out a sigh of relief that sounded more like a whistle. "Of course. The camera loves me too much to let me go."
"WHAT?!" Courtney stood up so fast her chair tipped over. "This is a violation of the 'Protagonist Clause' in my contract! I led this team! I have leadership skills! You're choosing a guy who's afraid of his own shadow because it might have a blemish?!"
"Sorry, Courtney," Trent said, not looking sorry at all. "The team has spoken. We need a leader, not a warden."
Courtney turned to the Lame-O-Zine, her face turning a terrifying shade of purple. She began to storm toward the rusted limousine, screaming about her lawyers, when Chris held up a hand.
"Wait, wait, wait! Hold your horses—or your legal briefs!" Chris grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "The network executives called. They said the ratings for the Screaming Gaffers have been a bit... too peaceful since Duncan left. They need a 'disruptive element' to keep things cinematic."
Chef Hatchet stepped forward, still wearing the Mama Alien legs but with his normal shirt on. He pointed a thumb toward the Gaffers' trailer. "Courtney, you aren't going home. You've been traded."
"You're moving to the Screaming Gaffers," Chris announced. "Consider it a 'script rewrite.' Duncan's out, so we need a new villain for the Gaffer bus."
The Screaming Gaffers (who were watching from the hot tub) all froze. Heather dropped her sparkling cider. Leshawna stood up, the cucumbers falling from her eyes.
"OH HELL NO!" Leshawna yelled. "We just got the 'crazy' out of this house, we don't need a 'lawyer-crazy' replacing him!"
Courtney's expression shifted from fury to a cold, predatory smirk. She adjusted her collar and looked toward her new teammates. "Fine. If the Grips are too incompetent to recognize talent, I'll lead the Gaffers to victory. Heather, Leshawna—start clearing a bed for me. A top bunk. Away from the draft."
Heather narrowed her eyes. "This studio isn't big enough for two queens, Courtney. Better watch your back."
The Aftermath Reaction
Back in the studio, Gwen was staring at the screen in pure horror.
"She's in my old team?!" Gwen whispered. "With Heather?! And Leshawna?! The bus is going to explode within forty-eight hours. I'll bet my share of the prize money on it."
Ezekiel shook his head, looking at the thermal monitor which now showed Courtney's heat signature moving toward the Gaffers. "Mr. Coconut says this is like putting two scorpions in a very small, very rusty jar, eh. It's bad for the scorpions, but great for the people watching the jar."
Noah was typing faster than ever. "The 'Courtney vs. Heather' hashtag is already trending. I've never seen the internet this angry and this excited at the same time. Eva, get the extra security ready for the next Aftermath—we're going to need it when the first Gaffer gets kicked out."
Eva just cracked her knuckles. "I'm ready."