The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting long, dramatic shadows across the clearing. The air was thick with the smell of burnt hair, onions, and skunk, but for the final five, the only thing that mattered was the shiny, air-conditioned Luxury Trailer parked just a few yards away.
Harold, Gwen, Lindsay, Leshawna, and DJ stood in a line. They were the survivors of the first round, each having faced their fears (or, in Lindsay's case, a barrel of fish guts) and come out on top.
"Alright, finalists!" Chris shouted, pacing in front of them like a drill sergeant. "You've survived the warm-up. But round two isn't about just surviving—it's about elimination. No more picking targets. Now, the Wheel decides your fate directly. If you fail your task, you are out. No second chances, no excuses!"
Gwen looked over at Ezekiel, who was watching from the sidelines. He gave her a thumbs-up and mouthed, "You can do it, eh!" Gwen felt a surge of confidence. She wanted that trailer, not just for the bed, but to prove she could outlast the best of them.
"First up to face the new and improved Wheel of Pain... Harold!" Chris announced.
Harold stepped forward, wiping his glasses on his shirt. "My chi is balanced. My focus is absolute. Bring it on."
He spun the wheel. It was heavier now, weighted with even more "misfortune." It landed on an icon showing a swarm of angry, buzzing insects.
"Oh, a classic with a twist!" Chris grinned. "The Killer Bee Beard! Harold, Chef is going to release five thousand Africanized honeybees onto your face. You have to stand perfectly still for fifteen seconds. If you swat, run, or get stung and scream... you're done."
"Five thousand?!" Leshawna gasped. "Chris, that's a death sentence!"
"Actually," Harold said, his voice surprisingly calm, "if I maintain a low heart rate and emit a calming frequency through my breathing, they won't perceive me as a threat. It's a technique I learned from a monk in a basement in Ohio."
Chef produced a box that was literally vibrating with the sound of angry bees. He opened it near Harold's chin. Within seconds, Harold's lower face was covered in a thick, crawling, golden-black mass.
* Lindsay: (Covering her eyes) "Is he still under there? Is he turning into a bee-man?!"
* DJ: (Whimpering) "Stay still, Harold... stay real still..."
"One... two... three..." Chris counted.
Harold looked like a statue. He didn't blink. He didn't twitch. He was in a deep, "Mad Skillz" trance. The bees crawled over his lips and near his nostrils, but he remained a silent monument of nerd-bravery.
"Thirteen... fourteen... FIFTEEN!"
Chef used a smoker to disperse the bees. Harold stood there, unstung and victorious. He let out a long breath. "The bees and I... we are one."
"Impressive!" Chris admitted, sounding almost annoyed. "Harold moves on to the final round! Next up... Gwen!"
Gwen stepped to the wheel. She looked at the icons, her heart racing. She gave it a spin, and the arrow landed on: The Septic Tank Dive.
"Gross!" Gwen groaned.
"You have to retrieve a small golden key from the bottom of a tank filled with... well, let's just say 'camp leftovers,'" Chris explained. "Ten seconds. Go!"
Gwen took a deep breath, plugged her nose, and dove into the brown, murky sludge. It was the most disgusting thing she had ever done. She felt around the bottom, her fingers brushing against things she didn't want to identify. Finally, her hand closed around the cold metal key. She popped up, gasping for air and dripping with filth.
"I... got it!" she choked out, holding the key high.
"Gwen is safe!" Chris yelled. "Clean her off with the hose, Chef! Lindsay, you're next!"
The atmosphere in the clearing was electric. Chris McLean was pacing back and forth, staring at his stopwatch and then at the five campers standing before him. He looked genuinely baffled—a rare sight for a man who usually had everything under his control.
"I don't believe it," Chris muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Lindsay? You survived the 'Chainsaw Haircut' without losing a single strand? Leshawna, you actually out-wrestled a mechanical grizzly bear? And DJ... you sat through an entire educational film about the history of beige without falling asleep?"
"It was actually quite informative, man," DJ said, though he still looked a little dazed.
"The point is," Chris shouted, throwing his hands up, "nobody failed! You five are like the cockroaches of reality TV—you just won't go away! Harold, Gwen, Lindsay, Leshawna, and DJ... you are all officially in the Final Round."
The "Loser Zone" erupted in cheers.
* Ezekiel: "That's my girl! Go Gwen! You guys are legends, eh!"
* Owen: "Five winners?! Does that mean the trailer gets five beds? Because I'm pretty sure it only sleeps two comfortably!"
* Courtney: (Checking her PDA) "This is a statistical anomaly. The probability of five consecutive successes on a high-risk randomized wheel is less than 0.03%!"
Chris turned toward the massive Luxury Trailer, then back to the finalists. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face.
"Since you're all so tough, the Wheel of Misfortune is retired," Chris announced. "For the final round, we're going to do something... different. Something that tests your heart, your stomach, and your sanity all at once."
Chef Hatchet walked out carrying a massive, silver platter covered by a dome. When he lifted the lid, a thick, purple fog rolled out, smelling like old sneakers and sour milk.
"This," Chris said, pointing to five small, glowing green cupcakes, "is the 'McLean Mega-Muffin.' Each one is filled with every gross thing you've faced today—leeches, fish guts, hot sauce, and a secret ingredient I like to call 'Chef's Mystery Meat.'"
Lindsay looked like she was going to faint. Gwen turned a shade of green that matched the muffins.
"The rules are simple," Chris grinned. "First person to finish their muffin and stand up wins the Luxury Trailer for themselves and one guest of their choice. The other four? You get to sleep in the communal cabins with the skunk smell. On your marks... get set..."
"EAT!"
The five finalists stared at the glowing green muffins as if they were live grenades. The smell alone was enough to make a vulture gag. Harold was trying to use a "gastric expansion" meditation technique, Gwen was mentally preparing for the worst, and Lindsay was poking her muffin with a manicured finger, hoping it was just a dream.
"GO!" Chris screamed.
Leshawna started strong, shoveling a huge chunk into her mouth, her eyes watering instantly.
Gwen took a bite and looked like she was fighting the urge to sprint for the bushes.
Harold was chewing methodically, his face turning a strange shade of yellow.
But then, something happened that no one expected. DJ looked at the muffin. He looked at the Luxury Trailer. Then, he looked at Bridgette sitting on the loser bench, still smelling faintly of skunk. He remembered how she had comforted him earlier, and how much she deserved a night of luxury after the day she'd had. A sudden, primal hunger—not for food, but for victory—took over.
DJ grabbed the muffin, unhinged his jaw like a python, and literally inhaled the entire thing in two massive gulps. His eyes bulged, his throat worked overtime, and his face turned several colors at once, but he didn't stop.
While the others were still struggling with their first three bites, DJ let out a thunderous, earth-shaking burp that echoed through the forest.
He slammed his hand onto the table and stood up, his massive frame towering over the clearing.
"DONE!" DJ roared, his voice thick with the taste of mystery meat.
The clearing went silent. Chris looked at his stopwatch, then at DJ's empty plate.
"I... uh... wow," Chris stuttered, actually impressed. "In a shocking turn of events, the man with the most sensitive stomach on the island just set a world record for the fastest consumption of a Mega-Muffin! DJ IS THE WINNER!"
The "Loser Zone" went wild. Owen was cheering the loudest, jumping up and down.
"THAT'S MY BOY! BIG DJ FOR THE WIN!"
Gwen, Leshawna, Harold, and Lindsay all slumped over, relieved they didn't have to finish the rest of those disgusting muffins.
"Well, DJ," Chris said, walking over and handing him a shiny, gold-plated key. "The Luxury Trailer is yours for the night. You get a king-sized bed, a private shower, and a fridge full of non-Chef food. And, as promised, you get to pick one guest to share it with."
DJ wiped his mouth with his sleeve and didn't even hesitate. He turned toward the bench and pointed.
"Bridgette," he said with a shy, gentle smile. "You had a rough day with that skunk, Bridge. You deserve a real shower and a good night's sleep."
Bridgette's face lit up, a deep blush creeping across her cheeks. "Really? Oh, DJ, thank you! You're the best!"
Ezekiel nudged Gwen, smiling. "Eh, that was a real gentleman move. DJ's a good guy."
Gwen nodded, leaning her head on Zeke's shoulder. "Yeah. He really is."
"Alright, alright, enough mushy stuff! And Congratulations, DJ, enjoy the luxury! But the Wheel of Misfortune has one final, cruel twist," Chris said, pointing a finger at the machine. "Today isn't just about rewards. Today, the Wheel eliminates someone!"
The campers' faces turned pale.
"You can't do that!" Gwen shouted. "That wasn't in the rules!"
"I am the rules, sweetie!" Chris shot back. "DJ is safe because he won. And Heather..." Chris glared at the girl, who triumphantly held up her Invincibility Statue, "...well, she's safe too because she's holding onto that little carved curse."
Chris shoved the wheel. It spun madly, finally slowing down as everyone held their breath. The arrow flickered past Gwen, Lindsay, and Leshawna... finally clicking to a stop on Harold.
"Harold!" Chris declared. "The Wheel has spoken. Head to the Boat of Losers!"
Leshawna immediately rushed over, pulling the boy into an embrace so tight Harold's glasses nearly flew off his face.
"I'm gonna miss you, you little ninja," Leshawna whispered, planting a firm kiss on his cheek.
Harold turned bright red, but he stood tall. "My chi will always be with you, Leshawna."
Harold walked through the group, trading fist-bumps and high-fives with everyone (even a respectful nod from Duncan) before marching down the dock with his head held high.
"But wait!" Chris shouted. "Since I'm in an extra-cruel mood today, we're having an immediate, traditional vote-off as well! Chef, bring the marshmallows!"
The ceremony was agonizing. Heather and Lindsay were whispering. Heather knew exactly who she had to remove. When Chris handed the final marshmallow to Gwen, the truth came out.
"Leshawna, you don't get one," Chris said simply.
Leshawna looked at Heather in shock, who just gave her a wicked little wave.
"You betrayed me, you little viper!" Leshawna yelled. "But know this: I'm leaving with my head held high!"
But as Leshawna reached the dock, her anger vanished. There was the Boat of Losers, and waiting on the deck was Harold, with a wide grin and open arms.
"Looks like fate didn't want us apart!" the boy shouted.
Leshawna laughed and hopped up beside him. As the boat pulled away, everyone saw the two outcasts standing side-by-side, waving into the distance. At least they were together.
A Night of Luxury
While the others tried to sleep in the drafty, stinking cabins, the atmosphere inside the Luxury Trailer was completely different.
The interior was cool from the air conditioning, and the air smelled like fresh cookies instead of swamp mud. DJ and Bridgette sat on the edge of the massive, soft king-sized bed, sharing a bowl of fresh fruit.
"This... this is incredible, DJ," Bridgette said softly, swinging her legs. "Thank you for picking me. After that skunk, I thought I'd spend the whole night in the lake just trying to wash off the smell."
"You earned it, Bridgette," DJ replied, clearly blushing in the dim light. "You were the bravest one today. Besides... I wanted to spend some time with you, you know... without Chris and the cameras everywhere."
Bridgette turned toward DJ and gently placed her hand over his massive palm. DJ didn't pull away; instead, he softly squeezed her fingers.
"You really are a true gentleman," she whispered.
"My momma raised me right," DJ joked, but his eyes said something much more serious.
For a long time, they just sat there in the silence, listening to the crickets outside and the soft hum of the trailer's fridge. Bridgette's head slowly drifted down onto DJ's shoulder. He carefully put his arm around her, making sure not to squeeze too hard. In that moment, all the horrors of Total Drama Island and Heather's schemes felt miles away. There, in their little bubble of luxury, something real and beautiful was starting to grow.