I woke up to the kind of silence that always precedes something important. The sort that clings to the corners of a room and presses against your eardrums like a whisper waiting to break. My body was still sore from last night's workout, a personal record I'd forced out just for symbolic closure, but I moved anyway. There would be no rest today.
I turned toward my desk. The laptop's screen still glowed faintly, a cursor blinking on an open strategy document I'd updated at 11:14 a.m. I blinked twice, reaching for my phone.
6:00 AM sharp.
I'd set no alarms. I hadn't needed them in weeks. I was past that now. Discipline didn't come from reminders, it was simply internalized and I'd mastered that a while ago now.
A single vibration hummed against my nightstand and I turned to attention.
I checked it.
New Email – Subject: Final Orientation Notice for Total Drama Candidates]
It was here.
I sat up slowly, every joint stretching like a soldier standing for inspection. My thumb hovered over the notification for just a moment before tapping it open.
> "Dear Mr. Morningstar (Applicant #03921),
>
> Congratulations once again on making it to the final selection pool. You are now required to attend a mandatory orientation and overview briefing.
>
> \_Date: May 1st
> Location: Confidential—Transportation will be provided.
> Departure Time: 6:30 AM
> Duration: One-day Orientation + Psychological Evaluation
>
> You will receive a hardcopy of the contestant handbook at the venue. Please arrive in appropriate attire and with all personal essentials packed.
>
> This will be your only notice.
>
> Best of luck,
> Total Drama Casting Administration"
I reread it twice.
May 1st.
That was two days from now.
Two days until the curtain rises.
---
I stood and turned toward my closet. Not the old one, the one I built with fresh scap. My hands slid across the sliding doors I'd installed myself. Inside hung an arsenal.
Black slacks with pleats clean enough to slice. A powder blue button up with silver pinstripes that shimmered under light like fish scales. Dark leather shoes I'd found at a high-end outlet for 90% off—flawless condition. My armor.And a fresh pair of gym shoes absolutely necessary for Total Drama and it's never ending physical challenges.
I began laying the pieces out across my bed with a surgeon's precision.
Then came the second layer.
The island wasn't just about appearances it was a literal camp. And in camp, you pack more than just fancy clothing. You pack for survival. I grabbed my duffel bag, the one I'd spent a full afternoon customizing with hidden compartments and reinforced seams.
All it needed was some cheap fabric and extra layers of sewing to become invulnerable. Obviously exaggerating but for it's purposeof not breaking in these 11 weekd it was flawless.
The first item I folded in was a set of quick-dry athletic shirts. Neutral tones and easy to wash. I needed something high functioning.
Next came my watch, tucked between layers of fabric. Lightweight resistance tools. Enough to keep my frame sculpted, and asist with calisthenics even under island conditions.
I added my high protein ration bars—seven of them, specifically. One for each day until the first elimination. Just in case.
I took a glance at my notes:
A compact mirror (to maintain image)
A waterproof journal
A hidden pack of blister pads and menthol rub (comfort is bower)
A foldable comb
A watch with a timer
A travel-sized grooming kit
One pair of shades, not only for sunlight but to hide my gaze on others.
Each item had been selected for how it would improve performance, I needed to keep the audiences attention.
I paused only once at the cologne.
The bottle was glass. Sleek. Half-used.
I held it between two fingers and took a breath of its edge. Clean, faint citrus over cedarwood. This was the kind of scent that made people listen longer. Smell was the most primitive of our senses, it bypassed the conscious brain entirely. A scent that lingered made you unforgettable.
One spray. Only one. On the inside of the duffel's lining.
I wouldn't let anything I brought be useless.
---
Once packed, I turned to the dresser. The top drawer opened with a soft pull. Inside, was my ID
I folded it slowly and slid it into the bag's inner seam pocket. Right next to my phone.
Then, the suitcase.
This one was visual—presentation only. When we stepped off the transport for orientation, they'd be watching. Cameras hidden in trees, drones, production crew in reflective shades. Everything from the way I walked to the way I unzipped my bag would be monitored soon.
So I made the suitcase match the illusion.
All black. Matte finish. Gold trim. A single leather tag reading: *L. Morningstar*
Inside I packed the following:
Four clean shirts: collared, breathable, neutral palettes
Two pairs of dress pants, one light denim
one pair of athletic shorts x bundle of socks
One dark hoodie
Swimwear
Underwear: simple, cotton, I wasn't there to feel comfortable but it did help to win.
No jewelry. Couldn't afford the higher quality ones.so there was no point.
I allowed myself one indulgence.
A single laminated 4x6 headshot from the Red carpet. The moment I won Best Young Actor at the age of sixteen. Everyone else saw the trophy. I remembered the three days of fasting before it, the posture coaching, the threats behind the stage from my agent about smiling too wide.
Even if it wasn't the picture from my previous life It would be my goal to attain it once more.
I slipped it into the lining of the suitcase. Not for the sentiment.
For the fury.
May 1st would be orientation.
But for me, it would be coronation.
---
The rest of the day passed in steady rituals.
Meal prep for the next forty-eight hours. Hydration protocols. Cold showers. Self-discipline wrapped in consistency.
I reread the last three chapters of the Total Drama contestant handbook—acquired from a questionable source online. Highlights included: "Minimal contact with crew," "Confessionals are legally binding," and the best one—"Manipulation is discouraged but not explicitly banned."
I had laughed reading that one.
My fingers traced the last sentence I'd underlined:
"At any moment, a contestant may be disqualified for behavior deemed irredeemably disruptive."
I closed the document.
Good. That meant the edge existed.
But they hadn't defined it.
Which meant I would.
---
That night, I didn't sleep. I did need to to make sure I didnt get bags under my eyes.
But instead, I spent the hours in front of my mirror, Practicing how I would react to others triumphs. Feigned ignorance. Maybe even pretend rage.
I would be all things.
But never honest unless I had something to gain.
And never afraid.
---
The morning of April 30th, I stood in front of the apartment window one final time.
Below, the same cracked sidewalk. The same chain-link fences. But they didn't seem to press in anymore. They were a past I had walked through.
The bags waited by the door. Silent.
And with that, I was ready.
Ready for the island.
Ready to conquer.
Not just a contestant.
Not even a villain.
But a legend, born in strategy. And wit.
And crowned under studio lights.