London was draped in a thick, grey mist that clung to the cobblestones of Whitechapel. The air was damp and smelled of old brick and river water. Chris McLean stood under a flickering gas lamp, wearing a Sherlock Holmes-style Inverness cape and a deerstalker hat. He looked like he'd stepped straight out of a Victorian thriller.
"Welcome to the East End, everyone!" Chris's voice was hushed, almost theatrical. "Today, we're hunting history's most elusive ghost: Jack the Ripper. The producers wanted me to put you in real Victorian workhouses, but I told them that was too much paperwork. Instead, you're going to play the ultimate game of Hide and Seek."
He pointed toward the dark alleys.
"Somewhere in these streets, Jack—played by an intern with a very sharp sense of stealth—is lurking. Your job is to track him down and capture him before he 'takes out' your teammates. First team to bring Jack to the Tower of London wins. Last team? Well... they'll be losing more than just their dignity."
The Song of the Changing Guard
As the teams separated into the fog, Team Amazon—now just Heather, Gwen, and a strangely calm Sierra—found themselves blocked by a literal wall of Royal Guards in front of a narrow alley.
Chris appeared on a nearby balcony with a megaphone. "Musical break! Give me something that screams 'British Empire'!"
The beat dropped—a heavy, orchestral remix of a military march.
Heather: (Marching in place, her eyes cold)
"Step in line, keep the pace,
Don't let the fog hide your face!
We're the queens of this game,
Even if the rules aren't the same!"
Gwen: (Sighing, but hitting the notes with a gothic edge)
"The C.I.T. is gone, the air is finally clear,
But I can feel the Ripper, he's standing somewhere near.
We're a trio of shadows in a city of stone,
Trying to survive this tour on our own!"
Sierra: (Her voice steady, clinical, and perfectly on key)
"Data points and history, the clues are in my head,
I've tracked every season, I know what's ahead!
The meds are kicking in, the noise is fading out,
I'm the only Amazon who knows what this is about!"
Chorus (Gwen, Heather, Sierra):
"Changing of the guard! The old world is falling!
Can't you hear the Ripper? London is calling!
We're shifting the balance, we're taking the crown,
Before this whole circus burns to the ground!"
The Rise of the Mastermind
While Team Amazon sang and Team Victory struggled with a map, Noah was doing something no one expected. He wasn't running. He wasn't shouting. He was sitting on a crate, staring at a series of scratch marks on a brick wall.
"Noah, what are you doing?" Cody whispered, looking nervously over his shoulder. "Alejandro said we should head toward the docks!"
"Alejandro is an idiot who thinks drama is the same as strategy," Noah said, standing up. "The intern playing Jack is left-handed. Look at the angle of these posters. He's circling back to the Tower because he knows that's where the finish line is. He's using the 'Hide in Plain Sight' method."
Noah didn't wait for his team. He moved through the back alleys of London with the silence of a cat. He tracked the Ripper through three different districts, using the reflection of store windows and the timing of the Big Ben chimes to predict the intern's movements.
At the gates of the Tower of London, just as the intern was about to slip inside and reset the challenge, Noah stepped out of the shadows. He didn't even break a sweat. He simply threw a weighted net (stolen from a fishmonger) over the "Ripper."
"Gosh... you actually did it," Harold gasped as the other teams arrived, panting and exhausted.
Chris checked his watch. "Unbelievable. Noah, you just completed a ten-hour challenge in forty-five minutes. Do you have any idea what this is doing to my ratings?"
He pulled out a tablet and showed it to Noah. The viewership spike was a vertical line. People weren't just watching the drama; they were watching the intelligence. The "Underdog Genius" was trending globally.
"The producers sent me a frantic email five minutes ago telling me to stop the challenge because it was 'too short,'" Chris laughed, deleting the email in front of everyone. "I told them to shove it. Noah, you just broke the all-time record for a solo challenge. Team Myrmidon wins!"
The Bridge to Betrayal
But the victory for Noah's team came at a heavy price for Team Victory. During the chase,
Bridgette had become separated from the group near Tower Bridge.
Alejandro, sensing that Noah's rising popularity was a threat to his own power, decided he needed to eliminate another strong player to keep the spotlight on himself. He found Bridgette leaning against the railing, looking lost in the fog.
"Bridgette... mi amor," Alejandro said, his voice dripping with false concern. "I saw the Ripper heading toward the bridge. I came to warn you."
"Alejandro? Oh, thank god," Bridgette sighed, her guard dropping. "I lost the others."
"It is a dangerous city," Alejandro whispered, stepping closer. He looked into her eyes, using the same soft, rhythmic tone he'd used on DJ.
"But you don't have to be afraid. You are the heart of this game, Bridgette. So pure. So... loyal."
He leaned in, his face inches from hers. Bridgette, confused and overwhelmed by the sudden intensity, didn't pull away. Just as their lips were about to touch—an act of ultimate betrayal to Geoff—the "Ripper" (the second intern Chris had sent out as a decoy) jumped out from behind a stone pillar.
Bridgette gasped, but Alejandro stepped back with a smirk. "Watch out, Bridgette!"
Because she was distracted by the "near-kiss," Bridgette tripped over her own feet. The intern tagged her instantly.
"Bridgette is 'captured'!" Chris's voice boomed over the speakers. "And since Team Myrmidon already brought the real Jack to the Tower, Team Victory is officially in the bottom."
The Drop of Shame
Back at the plane, the atmosphere was funereal. Ezekiel, Harold, Leshawna, and Lindsay sat in a circle. They looked at Bridgette, who was crying silently.
"I'm so sorry, guys," Bridgette sobbed. "I got distracted. I... I almost did something terrible."
"We know, sugar," Leshawna said, her voice soft but firm. "Alejandro is a snake. But we can't afford a weak link right now. We're down to five people, and we need every ounce of focus we've got."
Lindsay patted Bridgette's hand. "It's okay, Bridget. You can go back to Geoff now. He's probably really worried about your hair in this humidity."
The vote was unanimous. Bridgette stood by the cargo door, looking out at the London skyline.
"Be careful, guys," Bridgette warned them. "Alejandro isn't just playing a game. He's breaking people. Don't let him get to you."
With a final wave, she took the Drop of Shame, falling toward a giant safety net shaped like a Union Jack.
The New Reality
Chris stood in the cockpit, watching the footage of Noah's solo victory. He felt a surge of genuine pride. The producers were silent now—the numbers were so high they couldn't argue. He had proven that he didn't need their cruelty to make a hit show.
"Chef," Chris said, leaning back. "Next stop: Greece. I think it's time we see if Noah's brain can handle a real Olympic challenge. And let's see if Heather can finally take Alejandro down a peg."
"You're playing with fire, McLean," Chef grumbled, but he was smiling.
"Maybe," Chris replied. "But at least I'm the one holding the matches."