[COMMERCIAL]
The screen flickers to black before explosive graphics burst across it—jagged letters spelling "TOTAL DRAMA REBELS" in dripping paint-style font. Dramatic music pulses.
VOICEOVER (Chris McLean's voice, enthusiastic and conspiratorial): "You've seen the challenges. You've watched the eliminations. But what happens when the cameras stop rolling?"
Quick cuts: Campfire at night. Teenagers laughing around a cooking pot. Someone climbing a tree. A group huddled in whispered conversation.
VOICEOVER: "Total Drama Rebels—the show BEHIND the show. Watch what happens when twenty-two teenagers stop competing... and start surviving."
More rapid cuts: Someone setting a snare trap. A makeshift shelter. Kids gathered around a fire pit sharing food. Noah's face appears briefly, looking thoughtful.
VOICEOVER: "They think they're beating the system. They think we're not watching. They're wrong."
Final shot: The Total Drama island at sunset, ominous music.
VOICEOVER: "Total Drama Rebels. Dropping between episodes. Because the real drama? That's off-script."
Screen goes black. Logo appears: "TOTAL DRAMA REBELS - COMING SOON"
[TOTAL DRAMA ISLAND - EPISODE 1][OPENING CREDITS ROLL]
DAWN'S FOREST HOME
Dawn's dwelling existed in a space between worlds—not quite house, not quite forest, but something that breathed with both. Walls woven from living vines that grew in patterns too deliberate to be natural. Windows that opened onto clearings where animals moved without fear, as if they knew this place was sanctuary. The air carried the scent of moss and earth and growing things, undercut with something ancient that had no name in any human language.
It was beautiful. It was peaceful.
It was away. Isolated. Cut off.
Dawn sat cross-legged on a cushion made from woven grasses, hands resting on her knees, trying to keep her breathing steady as she watched the screen. The television was a jarring modern intrusion in this timeless space—all sharp angles and artificial light—but it was also her lifeline.
Her father had given it to her three years ago, after the incident at the market.
She'd been thirteen. They'd needed supplies, and her father thought she was old enough to handle a short trip into town. Just to the edge, to the small general store where people knew them and were mostly kind. She'd been so proud. So determined to prove she could do it.
She'd lasted seven minutes.
Seven minutes of walking past people whose auras pressed against her mind like physical weight. The shopkeeper's grief for his dead wife, still fresh after two years. The teenager's shame about something he'd done that he couldn't take back. The mother's exhaustion and resentment toward her children that she buried under false smiles. The old man's fear of dying alone, so sharp it made Dawn's chest ache.
And beneath it all—the lies. The small ones, the large ones, the ones people told themselves and the ones they told each other. Every human carried them like stones, and Dawn felt them all.
By minute five, her hands had been shaking.
By minute six, she couldn't breathe.
By minute seven, she'd fled, running back toward the forest, her father's worried voice calling after her as she crashed through undergrowth until she couldn't hear anything human anymore.
He'd found her an hour later, curled against a tree, tears still drying on her face.
The television had arrived the next week.
"So you can see them without feeling them," her father had explained gently, setting up the antenna. "So you can learn about the world without drowning in it."
And it had helped. Through screens, she could observe humanity without the crushing weight of their darkness. Could watch their stories unfold without knowing every terrible secret they carried. Could see them as they wanted to be seen, rather than as they truly were.
It wasn't the same as real connection. But it was safer.
Now Dawn watched Chef Hatchet storm across the screen, spoon raised like a weapon, voice booming with aggressive authority. Without her gift active, he was just a large man playing a role. Intimidating, yes, but manageable. She couldn't feel the anger beneath his performance, couldn't sense whether it was real or just for show.
It made him easier to watch.
The tour continued, Chef showing off the camp with theatrical hostility. Dawn found herself studying the forest in the background—the trees that surrounded the camp, their leaves and branches visible in every shot.
They looked... tired. Something about the way they stood, the slight droop of branches, made her chest tighten with concern.
Outside her dwelling, wind suddenly stirred though the air had been still moments before. Leaves scattered across the small clearing visible through the window, swirling in patterns that were too deliberate, too purposeful to be random.
Dawn's attention sharpened. She knew that movement.
"Mother Nature?" she whispered.
The leaves danced in response—a confirmation, a greeting. The voice of the Earth itself, speaking through wind and leaves.
"The forest there?" Dawn asked, understanding the message being conveyed. "At the camp?"
The leaves swirled again, and Dawn read the patterns like language. Sadness. Confirmation. A gentle warning.
"It's hurting," she murmured. "Too many people. Too much disruption. The trees are struggling."
Behind her, from the doorway that led deeper into the dwelling, came her mother's voice—melodic in a way that human voices never were, carrying music in its very existence.
"Peace, little one. The forest has weathered worse."
Dawn glanced back. Her mother stood in the doorway, half-shadowed, watching with eyes that held far more than human wisdom. "But they are..."
"They are," her mother agreed, and even that acknowledgment sounded like song. "But they are also strong. And they are watching."
"Watching what?"
Her mother didn't answer, just tilted her head slightly toward the screen.
Dawn turned back. On screen, the beetle had landed on Lindsay's shoulder. The girl froze, fear written across her face in every line of her body.
Dawn leaned forward, attention caught. The beetle was just going about its business, following ancient instincts toward food and shelter. Innocent. Harmless. Lost, perhaps, but not dangerous.
Then Duncan moved. The axe caught light as it swung—
"No!" Dawn's hands flew to her mouth, heart suddenly racing. Not from feeling the beetle's fear—she couldn't, not through the screen—but from witnessing the sheer unnecessary violence of it. The casual cruelty of choosing destruction over simply brushing it away.
The axe buried itself in wood with a sound that made Dawn flinch. The beetle scurried away, traumatized but alive.
Outside, the leaves exploded into chaotic motion, swirling in distressed patterns. Mother Nature acknowledging the violence, however small, done to one of her children.
Dawn's hands slowly lowered, but her heart still pounded. "They didn't even try to help it. They just... attacked."
"They fear what they don't understand," her mother said softly, that melodic quality making even sad truths sound beautiful. "And react from that fear."
"But it was just a beetle." Dawn's voice came out smaller than she intended. "Just a harmless creature. And they saw danger."
"This is why you struggle in their world, dear heart." Her mother's voice held infinite gentleness. "You see too much. Know too much. Feel too deeply. Their comfortable illusions cannot hold under the weight of truth you carry."
Dawn nodded, throat tight. She knew this. Had known it since she was old enough to understand why other children avoided her, why adults looked uncomfortable when she was near. Even without trying, even without meaning to, her gift leaked through. People sensed that she saw their darkness, knew their secrets, and it made them afraid.
And when she tried to be around them anyway, when she pushed herself to interact despite the overwhelming flood of their emotions and lies and hidden pains, it became too much. The weight of humanity's collective darkness had driven her to develop enochlophobia—a fear of crowds that was really just her mind's desperate attempt at self-preservation.
Better to stay in the forest, where the only emotions she felt were clean and simple. A deer's contentment. A bird's joy in flight. A tree's slow, patient growth toward sunlight.
Safer to watch people through screens, where she could observe without drowning.
On screen, the tour continued. Chef showed them the fire pit, explained voting ceremonies with aggressive enthusiasm. The contestants followed with varying reactions—excitement, fear, resignation.
But Dawn's attention had caught on one teenager in particular.
A boy standing slightly apart from the group. Dark hair, sharp eyes, posture that suggested careful observation. He watched Chef with the same analytical distance Dawn recognized in herself—not quite removed, but maintaining space. Learning without fully participating.
Noah, according to the introduction she'd seen earlier.
There was something different about him. Dawn almost wished she could sense his aura through the screen— feel whether his detachment came from fear or calculation or something else entirely—but she could not. She could just observe. The way he helped others without drawing attention. The way he studied situations before acting. The precision in his movements, like he was playing a role that didn't quite fit but he was determined to make it work anyway.
"That one is interesting," Dawn said softly.
Outside, the wind changed direction so suddenly it made the window shutters creak. Leaves that had been swirling in distressed patterns now moved with focused intent, all flowing in one direction.
Toward the screen.
Toward Noah.
Dawn felt her mother's presence intensify in the doorway behind her, drawn by the shift in Mother Nature's attention. Both of them watching now—Dawn through normal sight, her mother through senses Dawn was still learning to understand, and Mother Nature through the language of wind and leaf and earth.
All three of them focused on the strange, careful boy on screen.
"Why?" Dawn whispered. "Why is she watching him?"
Her mother was quiet for a long moment, and when she spoke, her melodic voice carried a note Dawn had never heard before. Something like recognition. Something like anticipation.
"Because he is different," her mother said simply. "Because he sees what others do not. Because he walks through this world but is not entirely of it."
Dawn watched Noah help another contestant—casual assistance, barely acknowledged, already moving on before they could thank him. Watched him notice details others missed. Watched him maintain that careful distance even while being part of the group.
"He's like me," she breathed. "Separate even when surrounded."
"Perhaps," her mother agreed. "Or perhaps he is something else entirely. Time will tell."
The leaves outside continued their deliberate dance, and Dawn felt something shift in the very air of their home. Mother Nature had taken notice of this boy, and when the Earth itself watched someone with such focus, it meant something significant was coming.
Dawn found herself leaning forward, studying Noah's every movement, trying to understand what made him worthy of such attention.
What it meant for his future.
What it might mean for hers.
THE HENDERSON HOUSEHOLD - LIVING ROOM
Margaret Henderson had been preparing for this viewing for three hours.
The living room was prepared- immaculate pillows arranged just so on the couch, snacks laid out on the coffee table in coordinating serving dishes, the television positioned at the perfect angle for optimal viewing. Her husband Tom sat beside her, looking vaguely bemused by the level of preparation his wife had put into watching their daughter's summer camp appearance on television.
"It's just a TV show, Maggie," he'd said that morning while she'd been fretting over whether to serve chips or veggie straws.
"It's our daughter," she'd corrected firmly. "On television. For eight weeks. This is important."
Now they sat together, Margaret's hands clasped in her lap, Tom's arm around her shoulders, both of them watching their little Katie stand on that island looking small and scared and so far away.
Margaret had cried when the pier collapsed. Tom had tensed when Chef Hatchet had started yelling. But they'd held together, reminding each other that Katie was strong, that she'd wanted this adventure, that she'd be fine.
And then came team selection.
Margaret's hand flew to her mouth when she saw the fear in Katie's eyes, the way her daughter looked at Sadie like losing her was the worst thing that could happen.
"Oh no," she whispered. "Oh, Katie..."
Tom's arm tightened around her shoulders. "She'll be okay."
"But they've never been apart. Not since they were six years old. This is going to devastate her."
On screen, Katie was clearly holding back tears, looking between Noah and Sadie like she couldn't decide whether to argue or break down.
"That boy's going to say something," Tom observed, nodding toward Noah. "Look at his posture. He's thinking."
And then Noah spoke, and Margaret found herself leaning forward, listening to this sixteen-year-old boy tell her daughter that being apart from her best friend might actually be a good thing.
"Oh, that's..." Margaret started, then trailed off, not sure whether she was impressed or concerned.
"Smart," Tom finished. "That's really smart, actually."
They watched Noah talk Katie and Sadie through their panic with calm logic and gentle encouragement. Watched him reframe separation from tragedy to opportunity. Watched both girls slowly accept that maybe, just maybe, they could handle this.
When Katie finally said she could do it, her voice small but steady, Margaret felt tears prick her eyes again—but different ones this time. Proud ones.
"Who is that boy?" she asked quietly.
Tom was already pulling out his phone, fingers moving across the screen. "Noah... Reed, according to the cast list. Sixteen. From Toronto. Lists his interests as 'reading' and literally nothing else. Helpful."
"He was kind to her," Margaret said, eyes still on the screen where Noah had already moved on, giving Katie space to process. "He didn't have to do that. He could have left them to figure it out alone. But he helped."
"And he was smart about it," Tom added. "Didn't baby them, didn't dismiss their feelings. Just... gave them a different way to think about the situation."
Margaret watched her daughter on screen, watched Katie exchange one last look with Sadie before the teams began to separate. There was still fear there, still uncertainty, but also something else. Something that looked almost like determination.
"I think Katie might be okay," Margaret said softly. "With him there. I think she might actually be okay."
Tom squeezed her shoulder gently. "Our girl's stronger than we think."
"She is," Margaret agreed. Then, quieter: "But it's nice that someone's looking out for her anyway."
They settled in to watch the rest of the episode, Margaret's earlier anxiety easing into something more manageable. Katie would struggle—that was inevitable. But at least she had someone patient and thoughtful on her team.
At least she had Noah Reed.
JULIA'S APARTMENT - TORONTO
Julia sat on the couch, trying to keep her breathing steady, trying to convince herself everything would be fine.
She'd wanted all of them here. Had called Marcus, Vanessa, Melissa, Charles, Dominic—tried to get the whole family together for this. But life didn't cooperate. Marcus had his daughter. Vanessa had exams. The others had work, had commitments, had lives scattered across Canada.
But they'd promised to watch from home. Promised to be on call, to text, to be there even if they couldn't physically be there.
At least the twins came.
On her right sat Rachel, twenty-seven years old with short spiky brown hair dyed half green, half purple—the colors changed every few months depending on her mood. She managed a recording studio, loved her work with an intensity that left little room for anything else, but she'd dropped everything to drive here today. She sprawled comfortably, wine glass in hand, watching the screen with the same focused attention she gave everything.
To the side, in the armchair, sat Derek. Rachel's other half, her twin, her opposite in some ways and her mirror in others. His leg bounced constantly—that restless energy that never let him sit still for long. His hands were covered in colourful smudges, remnants of the makeup work he'd just finished on set. He was twenty-seven, shameless pervert who slept with more woman than she dared to imagine, but he'd driven two hours to be here without hesitation.
For family, Derek always showed up.
They'd been watching together—the very first episode of Total Drama Island. There'd been laughs already. Julia's heart had swelled with pride watching Noah handle himself so well. The way he'd helped those two girls process being separated, the way he navigated social dynamics with surprising skill for her quiet, sarcastic little bookworm.
But now the cliff loomed on screen, and Noah stood at the edge preparing to jump, and Julia couldn't breathe.
Take the hat, she thought desperately, hands clenching together. Please, petit génie, take the chicken hat. No prize is worth your life.
Noah didn't take the hat.
He jumped.
Time seemed to slow. Julia watched him fall, watched the water rush up, watched him hit and disappear beneath the surface. Watched him come up—
Wrong. Something was wrong.
"He's outside the boundary," Derek said, voice sharp. All his usual movement had stopped. "Rachel, he's outside—"
"I see it."
The sharks turned.
Julia's hands flew to her mouth, cutting off the sound trying to escape. No. No, this couldn't be happening. Not Noah. Not her petit génie, her little brother, the boy she'd raised, the boy she'd protected—
The sharks were getting closer.
Rachel was on her feet, wine glass abandoned. "Someone needs to—why isn't anyone—"
"Move," Derek whispered. "Come on, kid, move—"
But Noah didn't move. Stayed perfectly still in the water, sharks circling, getting closer, and Julia couldn't breathe couldn't think couldn't do anything but watch—
Noah dove. Grabbed something from the lakebed. Surfaced and threw.
"Smart," Derek breathed. "That's smart, he's distracting them—"
Two sharks turned toward the splash. But the third kept coming, closer, so close Julia could see its dead eyes through the camera—
The airhorn blast made all three of them jump.
The recovery boat appeared. Geoff's hand reached down. Noah grabbed it, got pulled up, collapsed in the boat—
Safe.
Julia's legs gave out. She sat down hard on the arm of the couch, hands shaking so badly she had to clasp them together. Rachel dropped back onto the cushions, one hand pressed against her chest. Derek's leg had started bouncing again—rapid, agitated, the only outward sign of his distress.
"Oh my god," Rachel whispered. "Oh my god, I thought—"
"He's okay." Derek's voice was unsteady. "He's okay, he's safe, he's—"
Julia's phone erupted.
Texts flooding in so fast the screen couldn't keep up. Calls coming through one after another. She stared at it, hands still shaking too badly to answer.
Rachel grabbed the phone, started reading. "Marcus: 'IS HE OKAY.' All caps. Vanessa: 'That was statistically improbable survival.' Melissa's sent about fifteen crying emojis. Charles: 'WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.'" She scrolled faster. "Dominic: 'I'm going to throw up.' More from Marcus: 'Julia call me right now.'"
The phone rang. Marcus's name on the screen.
Rachel answered, put it on speaker. "She's here, she's fine, we're all fine—"
"IS NOAH OKAY?" Marcus's voice boomed through the speaker, that deep rumble cracking with something Julia had never heard from her oldest brother before. Fear.
"He's safe," Julia managed, finding her voice. "He's—Marcus, he's safe. They got him out."
"I'm watching it right now and I can't—" A pause. Breathing. Marcus trying to compose himself. "That was too close. That was way too close."
"I know."
Another call beeping in. Derek glanced at the screen. "Vanessa."
"Conference her in," Rachel said.
A click, and Vanessa's voice joined—usually so logical, so measured, now fast and tight. "Julia? I just—I need to confirm he's uninjured. The footage shows he made it to the boat but I need verbal confirmation—"
"He's fine," Julia said. "Shaken but fine."
"Okay. Okay good." Vanessa took a breath. "The probability of that situation resulting in actual injury was approximately—"
"Nessa," Rachel cut in gently. "You don't have to calculate right now."
"I'm trying to—" Vanessa's voice cracked. "I'm trying to make sense of it."
"There's no sense to make," Derek said quietly. "It just happened and it's over and he's okay."
More texts rolling in. Melissa: "Please tell me he's okay please please please." Charles: "I'm getting in my car. Should I drive there? Should I come to Julia's?" Dominic: "I saw him get out but please someone tell me he's alive before I have a panic attack."
Julia took the phone back with shaking hands, sent a group text to all of them: "Noah is safe. Scared but safe. I love you all."
Responses came immediately. Relief, anger, more crying emojis from Melissa.
On screen, the episode had continued. Noah on the beach now, surrounded by teammates. That girl Katie reaching him first, clearly terrified. Noah deflecting with sarcasm, making jokes, trying to play it off—
But the camera caught his hands shaking before he shoved them in his pockets.
"He's hiding it," Julia said quietly. "Look—he's pretending he's fine but his hands are shaking."
Rachel leaned forward, studying the screen. "Because that's what we taught him. All of us. Be strong. Handle things. Don't let people see you struggle."
"I didn't mean to—"
"None of us did." Rachel's voice was gentle but firm. "But he grew up watching you hold everything together, Jules. Watching you be strong when Mom and Dad checked out. Watching you, still teenager yourself, stepping up for him without breaking. Of course he learned to do the same thing."
"He shouldn't have to," Julia whispered. "He's sixteen."
"No," Derek agreed, his usual motion finally stilling as he focused on the screen. "He shouldn't. But look—he's already helping the others calm down. Already making them laugh. Already being what they need even though he's the one who almost died."
They watched Noah accept a crushing hug from Owen, watched him joke with Gwen, watched him let Geoff clap his shoulder while carefully not letting anyone see how badly he was still shaking.
"He's exhausting himself," Julia said. "Managing everyone else's emotions while dealing with his own trauma."
"It's survival," Rachel said softly. Her eyes had gone distant, like she was seeing something beyond the screen. "When you grow up having to be the strong one, the reliable one, you learn to compartmentalize. You deal with your own shit later because right now people need you to be okay." She looked at Julia. "You did it for years. Raised him when Mom and Dad couldn't be bothered. When we - the older ones should have been the ones to step in- you did it in our place. We fucked up Jules. We left you to it and never noticed how hard it was for you. And you never let us see how hard it was.
"I didn't want you to worry—"
"And now Noah doesn't want them to worry." Rachel gestured at the screen. "You taught him that. Not on purpose, but he learned anyway. Kids always do."
Julia felt the words like a physical blow. She'd tried so hard to protect Noah, to give him stability, to be the parent their actual parents refused to be. And somehow in doing that, she'd taught him to hide his pain, to be strong for others, to never ask for help.
"I didn't know," she whispered.
"How could you?" Derek said quietly. "You were nor even adult yourself when you took over. You did the best you could."
Julia's phone rang again. This time Melissa, voice thick with tears. "Jules? Is he really okay? I can't stop crying. I keep watching that part over and over and I can't—"
"Don't watch it again," Julia said firmly. "Mel, please don't torture yourself. He's safe."
"But he almost wasn't."
"I know. But he was smart, he kept his head, he survived. That's what matters."
Her phone kept buzzing. Group chat exploding with her siblings all talking at once, trying to process, trying to reassure each other.
On screen, the aftermath continued. Noah helping his team, already integrating, already indispensable.
"He's going to be okay," Rachel said, squeezing Julia's hand.
Julia wanted to believe her.
But all she could see was her little brother in the water, sharks circling, too close to death.
THE CHEN RESIDENCE - LIVING ROOM
Alicia Chen sat in the armchair with perfect posture, hands folded in her lap, watching her brother prepare to jump off a cliff.
She was fifteen years old. Small, delicate-featured, with long black hair that fell in a perfect curtain down her back. Pretty in a way that made people stare—porcelain skin, features that seemed almost too symmetrical to be real.
And a face that showed absolutely nothing.
Not because she'd trained herself to be expressionless. Not because she worked at hiding emotion. She just... didn't show it. Never had. Her face remained calm and smooth regardless of what she felt inside, the same way some people couldn't help smiling or frowning. It was simply how she was built.
Her mother had gone to bed an hour ago. Her father was working late. The house was silent except for the television.
But she wasn't alone.
Emma sat in the other armchair—eighteen years old, serious, composed. Kitty sprawled on the floor in front of them, fifteen like Alicia but so different it was almost funny. Where Alicia was still and quiet, Kitty was energy and noise. They were her friends. When Alcia told them she is going to watch episode alone- they arrived at her doorstep faster than she could put the phone dawn.
On screen, Owen stood at the cliff's edge. Big, blond, enthusiastic in a way that seemed to have no off switch. Everything Alicia wasn't—loud where she was quiet, messy where she was clean, expressive where she was blank.
Her opposite in every way.
Her brother.
He cannonballed off the cliff, laughing the entire way down.
Alicia's face didn't change. But inside her chest, something warm settled. Relief mixed with that familiar exasperation-fondness she'd felt her whole life watching Owen be exactly himself without apology.
Of course you did, she thought. Of course you turned it into joy.
"Your brother has no fear!" Kitty laughed.
"He has fear," Alicia said, voice soft and even. "He simply doesn't let it stop him."
"He's already so popular," Emma observed as the episode continued. "Everyone seems to like him."
"Yes," Alicia agreed simply.
They kept watching. Owen helped his team, made people laugh, was everywhere at once with his enthusiasm. The camera loved him—kept cutting back to his reactions, his jokes, his genuine happiness.
Alicia watched without smiling.
But inside, beneath the calm she was bubbling happily.
Owen gave so much of himself to everyone around him. Made himself indispensable through his happiness. She was happy and proud of him.
I hope you will make some true friend on the island. And maybe loose some kilos… ok that's not likely. -She sighed inwardly. Owen constantly increasing weight worried her. She did want him to get sick.
Kitty hugged her suddenly. She did not resist or react. She looked back at the screen. To continue to watch her brother's adventures. Cheering for him inside her heart.
ZOEY'S BEDROOM
The glow from Zoey's laptop cast soft blue light across her face. Her streaming setup was modest—a secondhand webcam, a cheap microphone her mom had gotten her for her birthday, fairy lights strung around her room to make the small space feel less empty.
The chat window scrolled beside the video player. Eighty-nine viewers. More than she'd ever had before.
It made her feel less alone.
On screen, the Gophers team stood around massive piles of crates on the beach. Chris had just explained the hot tub building challenge, and Zoey leaned forward slightly, curious how they'd handle this.
Then Heather stepped forward, and immediately started giving orders.
"Oh," Zoey said softly. "She's taking charge."
TDI_Fan_2007:heathers gonna be a problem
xXGamerGurlXx:bossy much??
ChatMod_Jenny:At least someone's organizing them!
Zoey watched Heather assign tasks—efficient, direct, no room for argument. Trent and Gwen handling loading. Owen pulling the cart. Katie and Noah on ropes.
Then Leshawna opened her mouth to protest, and Heather rounded on her immediately.
The confrontation was sharp, immediate. Heather's voice cutting, Leshawna's defensive. The tension crackling through the screen.
Zoey's hands twisted together in her lap. "Oh no. They're fighting. They just won together and now they're already fighting."
TDI_Fan_2007:DRAMA
xXGamerGurlXx:leshawna vs heather i am HERE for this
Anonymous_Viewer:this team is gonna implode
ChatMod_Jenny:They need to work together!
"They need each other," Zoey said, voice soft but worried. "Both of them are strong, but if they can't work together... it's going to hurt everyone on their team, not just them."
She watched Leshawna back down, muttering. Watched the team start working, but the tension was visible even through the screen—in body language, in the way people positioned themselves, in the careful distance between Heather and Leshawna.
"That's not resolved," Zoey observed quietly. "That's just... postponed. It's going to come back."
The camera shifted to Noah and Katie working on the ropes. They were talking, and this time the audio was clear enough to hear.
Justin walked past, and Katie's eyes tracked him automatically. Then she stopped, looking confused.
"That's weird. I just... I was about to comment on how hot Justin is, but... I don't actually think he's that attractive? Like, objectively yes, obviously. But to me personally? Nothing."
Zoey tilted her head, listening carefully.
Noah asked why she'd been about to comment then, and Katie's response made Zoey's chest tighten with recognition.
"Because... because that's what Sadie would do. And I'd automatically agree with her. I've been doing that for years. Just... echoing her opinions on guys because that's what we did. But I don't think I ever actually figured out what I find attractive."
"Oh," Zoey breathed. "Oh, Katie."
TDI_Fan_2007:wow thats actually deep
xXGamerGurlXx:poor katie
ChatMod_Jenny:That's such a good question!
Anonymous_Viewer:identity crisis
The confessional played—Katie looking genuinely unsettled, asking how she'd spent ten years not knowing what she actually liked.
Zoey felt tears prick her eyes. "That's so sad. To realize you don't know yourself because you've been copying someone else for so long. Like... who are you when you're not being half of something? How scary must that feel?"
TDI_Fan_2007:zoey ur gonna make me cry
xXGamerGurlXx:this is hitting too close to home
ChatMod_Jenny:You're so empathetic Zoey
On screen, Noah asked Katie what she found attractive now that she was thinking about it.
"I have no idea. Isn't that pathetic? Sixteen years old and I can't tell you what kind of boy I like."
"It's not pathetic. It's honest. Most people don't figure themselves out until way later."
Zoey smiled through the tears threatening to fall. "He's so kind to her. He could have made a joke or made her feel worse, but he just... validated her feelings. Made it okay that she doesn't know."
Then Katie asked Noah what he found attractive.
After a moment of hesitation, Noah answered—explaining he preferred girls who were slim, caring, smart, with their own opinions but willing to follow his lead when he asked for it.
Katie stopped working, eyes wide. "Wait. Isn't that... isn't that kind of misogynistic?"
Zoey's stomach dropped. "Oh no." Her hands twisted together anxiously. "Did I—did I misjudge him? I thought he was kind, but if he wants someone who just obeys..."
TDI_Fan_2007:oh shit
xXGamerGurlXx:yikes
ChatMod_Jenny:Wait let him explain!
"What? No." Noah looked genuinely surprised. "Why would it be?"
Katie explained her concern about the "follow your lead" comment, and Zoey leaned closer to the screen, desperate to hear his explanation. "Please don't be what it sounds like. Please."
Noah clarified—not obedience, but compatibility. Someone naturally inclined toward a more submissive role in relationships, about matching personalities rather than enforcing gender roles.
Zoey exhaled slowly, tension draining from her shoulders. "Okay. Okay, that's... that's different." She processed his words carefully, turning them over in her mind. "He's talking about relationship dynamics. About finding someone whose natural personality matches his. That's not... that's actually about respect. About finding someone compatible instead of trying to force someone into a role."
TDI_Fan_2007:okay that makes sense
xXGamerGurlXx:i was worried for a second
ChatMod_Jenny:Communication!
"And he didn't get defensive," Zoey added softly, more to herself than the chat. "Katie challenged him—asked if it was misogynistic—and he just... explained. Calmly. He took her concern seriously instead of getting angry. That says something about his character."
Katie's expression on screen shifted to understanding, accepting his explanation.
"She gets it," Zoey murmured. "She understands what he meant. And she's not uncomfortable—look at her body language. She's actually thinking about it. Considering it."
The confessional played—Katie talking about realizing she might naturally prefer to follow rather than lead, that it wasn't weakness but just who she was.
Zoey's eyes got misty. "Oh, Katie." Her voice was thick with emotion. "That's so brave. To figure out something about yourself and just... own it. To say 'this is who I am' even when it might not be what people expect."
She watched Katie explain how she'd been following Noah's guidance and feeling better for it, how her dynamic with Sadie had worked the same way.
"That's beautiful," Zoey whispered. "She's discovering that what Noah described isn't some abstract thing—it's actually her. She's finding herself through understanding what he said. That's... that's really special."
TDI_Fan_2007:character growth
ChatMod_Jenny:Self-discovery!
xXGamerGurlXx:this is so good
Then Katie blushed on screen. "Also, um, I might be figuring out what kind of boy I like faster than I expected."
Zoey's breath caught. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh. Oh, Katie, you're falling for him."
Tears spilled over, and Zoey wiped at them quickly, smiling. "She's realizing she has feelings. Because he was honest about himself and it helped her be honest about herself. Because they actually communicate. Because he sees her and she sees him and they're both figuring out who they are together."
TDI_Fan_2007:im not crying
xXGamerGurlXx:SHIP IT
ChatMod_Jenny:This is so sweet!
"And he has no idea," Zoey said, voice breaking slightly with affection and sympathy. "Look at him—completely oblivious. He thinks they're just becoming friends. He doesn't know she's developing real feelings. That's... that's going to be complicated later. When she has to decide whether to tell him. When he has to figure out his own feelings."
She hugged her pillow, watching them continue working on screen—Katie processing her revelation, Noah unaware of the shift happening beside him.
"I hope it works out for them," Zoey said quietly. "I hope they both figure it out. Because what they have—that honesty, that understanding—that's rare. That's worth holding onto."
The transport continued. They reached the halfway point, and Katie stopped, looking embarrassed.
"Um, Noah? This is really awkward, but... I really need to use the bathroom. Like, woods bathroom. And I don't want to go alone with the cameras everywhere..."
Zoey's face went bright red. "Oh! Oh no, that's—"
"Say no more. I'll stand guard. Make sure no one wanders over."
"Really? You don't think that's weird?"
"Katie, we just jumped off a cliff into shark-infested water. Standing twenty feet away so you have privacy is the least weird thing that's happened today."
Zoey covered her face with both hands, embarrassed for Katie but also touched by Noah's immediate understanding. "That's—that's actually really thoughtful? Oh my gosh, I would be so mortified if I had to ask that, but he just... he made it not weird. He helped without making her feel embarrassed."
xXGamerGurlXx:why am i crying
TDI_Fan_2007:noah best boy
ChatMod_Jenny:Basic decency but it hits different!
Anonymous_Viewer:the bar is in hell but also this is sweet
Zoey peeked through her fingers, watching Noah position himself with his back turned, arms crossed, deliberately looking bored. Standing guard without making it a thing.
"He's protecting her privacy," Zoey said, voice muffled by her hands. "In a situation where privacy is almost impossible. That's... that's what good people do. They help without making you feel small for needing help."
The confessional played—Noah's dry explanation about basic decency not being complicated.
Zoey lowered her hands, eyes shining. "He's right. It shouldn't be complicated. But the fact that it feels so remarkable says something about... about how we're used to being treated. When someone is just genuinely kind without expecting anything back, it feels special. And maybe that's sad, but also... also it's good that people like that exist."
TDI_Fan_2007:zoey stop im gonna cry
xXGamerGurlXx:this stream is making me FEEL THINGS
ChatMod_Jenny:This is why we watch with you!
Katie emerged, looking relieved, and they rejoined the group. The transport continued until they reached camp.
Zoey settled back slightly, wiping at her eyes. The episode would continue—more challenges, more drama, more moments. But she'd keep watching, keep streaming, keep sharing this experience with the people in her chat.
"Thanks for being here, everyone," she said softly. "This is why I love doing this. Watching together. Feeling things together."
TDI_Fan_2007:we love you zoey
ChatMod_Jenny:Best stream ever!
xXGamerGurlXx:we are with you to the end!
Her viewer count had reached one hundred and twelve, and the episode continued playing as Zoey and her chat watched on together.
JOHNSON FARM - LIVING ROOM
Dale Johnson sat in his worn recliner, fifty-three years old with hands calloused from decades of farm work. The television played—some reality show his boy had insisted on joining. Eight weeks away from the farm, away from proper guidance, surrounded by city kids who didn't understand the real world.
Dale had been against it from the start. But his wife Mary had said maybe it would be good for the boy. Help him learn to interact with others. Give him experiences they couldn't provide on the farm.
Dale had relented, but the worry sat heavy in his gut.
Mary sat on the couch beside him, knitting needles clicking quietly. She'd been doing that all evening—knitting to keep her hands busy while her mind worried about their son on that island.
On screen, the Bass team sat in the mess hall, arguing about elimination. Ezekiel was visible in the frame, sitting quietly, listening.
"There's our boy," Mary said softly.
Dale grunted acknowledgment.
Then he saw it—the shift in Ezekiel's posture. The way his mouth opened, like he was preparing to speak. That look Dale recognized from years of raising him. The boy was about to say something he'd been taught.
Dale leaned forward slightly, curious what wisdom his son would share.
But then that Noah kid from the other team stood up. Walked past the Bass table. Said something to Ezekiel that made the boy light up. Asked him outside.
And Ezekiel followed.
"What's that about?" Mary asked, needles pausing.
"Don't know," Dale muttered, suspicion rising. "Don't like it. That city boy pulling our son away from his team."
They watched the door close behind the two boys. The Bass team continued their discussion, not noticing Ezekiel's absence.
The scene cut to outside—evening air, sunset colours, the lake in the background.
Noah leaned against a tree, expression calm. "Actually, I mostly wanted to get you out of there before you said something you'd regret."
Dale's jaw tightened. "What's he talking about?"
On screen, Ezekiel looked confused. Noah explained about body language, about how Ezekiel had looked ready to say something that wouldn't land well.
"Your team's elimination discussion. You looked like you were about to jump in. And I got the feeling whatever you were going to say wasn't going to land well."
Ezekiel deflated. "Oh. You could tell, eh?"
"What was he going to say?" Mary asked quietly.
Dale knew. He knew exactly what Ezekiel had been about to say, because Dale had taught him. Had raised him with the truth about how the world worked. About men and women and their proper roles.
On screen, Noah asked Ezekiel what he'd been planning to say.
"Just that I was surprised we lost, eh? Your team had more girls, and usually that means—" Ezekiel stopped himself, finally reading Noah's expression. "That's... that's what you meant, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
Dale's hands clenched on the armrests. "Boy's just speaking truth. Nothing wrong with what he was going to say."
"Dale—" Mary started, but he cut her off with a sharp gesture.
Noah on screen started talking about courage, about Ezekiel's jump. Building him up before tearing down what Dale had taught.
"I know what your Pa said," Noah interrupted gently. "But did you watch the challenge today? Really watch it?"
"Don't you dare," Dale muttered at the screen. "Don't you dare tell my boy I'm wrong."
Noah talked about Eva—her strength, her work ethic. Contrasted her with Tyler's failure. Asking Ezekiel who was the better team member.
"That's different," Dale said loudly. "Eva's an exception. One exception doesn't make the rule."
"Dale." Mary's voice was quiet. "Maybe listen to what he's saying."
"I am listening! He's filling our boy's head with city nonsense! Telling him everything I taught him is wrong!"
On screen, Noah talked about Courtney—her leadership, her intelligence, her courage despite fear.
"Your Pa learned what he knows from his Pa, right? Going back generations?"
"Yeah, eh. Family knowledge."
"And maybe a long time ago, when the world was different, those ideas made sense. But we're living right now."
"Those ideas STILL make sense!" Dale's voice rose. "The world hasn't changed that much! Men and women have roles, have strengths and weaknesses—"
"Dale, please." Mary had set down her knitting, hands folded in her lap. "Just... listen."
He glared at her but fell silent.
Noah on screen continued, his voice level and patient: "And right now, today, you saw with your own eyes that girls can be just as strong, just as smart, just as capable as guys. You seem like a good guy, Ezekiel. Kind heart, good instincts. Don't let old ideas make you look stupid. You're better than that."
Dale's face flushed red. "Old ideas? STUPID? I raised that boy right! Taught him the truth about how the world works! And this city kid with his modern nonsense thinks he knows better?"
Ezekiel on screen was quiet, staring at the lake, processing.
"Thanks for telling me, eh," he said finally. "I'll think about it. Really think about it."
"NO!" Dale stood abruptly, chair rocking back. "Don't think about it! What I taught you is TRUE! Don't let some know-it-all sixteen-year-old make you question—"
"He's questioning," Mary said quietly. "Look at his face. He's actually thinking about it."
The confessional played—Ezekiel looking thoughtful, talking about maybe watching what people actually do instead of assuming. About it feeling weird to question his Pa but maybe it being okay sometimes.
Dale stared at the screen, something hot and uncomfortable burning in his chest. Anger, yes. But underneath it—fear. Fear that his son was slipping away. Fear that everything he'd taught, everything his father had taught him, was being dismissed as "old ideas."
"That boy," he said, voice tight, "is filling Ezekiel's head with lies. Making him doubt his own father."
"Or," Mary said gently, "he's helping Ezekiel see things for himself. Make his own observations instead of just accepting what he's been told."
Dale turned to look at his wife. Really look at her. She sat there calmly, hands folded, meeting his gaze steadily.
"You agree with that city boy?" His voice was quiet now, dangerous. "You think what I taught Ezekiel is wrong?"
Mary was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was measured. "I think... I think maybe the world has changed more than we realize. And maybe Ezekiel seeing that isn't the worst thing."
"He's our son—"
"And he's his own person," Mary interrupted, firm now. "He has to figure out what he believes. Not just repeat what we told him."
Dale wanted to argue. Wanted to rage against this, against Noah, against the whole modern world that told him everything he'd been taught was wrong.
But he looked at his wife—this woman who'd stood beside him for thirty years, who'd never once directly challenged him, who was now meeting his eyes with quiet steel—and felt something shift.
Not acceptance. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
But the tiniest crack in his certainty.
"I don't like it," he said finally, sitting back down heavily.
"I know," Mary said. "But maybe that's okay."
They sat in silence, watching the rest of the episode play out. Ezekiel laughing with his team. Ezekiel participating without saying anything ignorant. Ezekiel being... fine.
Being better than fine, maybe.
Dale's hands stayed clenched on the armrests. His jaw stayed tight. The anger didn't fade.
But he kept watching.
And somewhere deep down, beneath the anger and the fear and the stubborn certainty that he was right...
He wondered.
DAWN'S FOREST HOME - LATER
Rebels episode had just started. And blond girl was sitting in front of tv wanting to see more of people that had fascinated her. On screen now there was a morning light - golden, soft, the kind of light that made everything look peaceful.
Dawn sat forward slightly as the camera showed a figure slipping out of the boys' cabin while everyone else still slept. Noah, moving quietly through the pre-dawn camp, crossing into the treeline with practiced ease.
"He's going into the forest," Dawn murmured, a small smile touching her lips. "Alone."
Behind her, from the doorway, her mother's presence stirred. Interested.
The camera followed Noah through the trees. He moved differently here than he did around other people—more relaxed, more natural, like he'd shed some invisible weight the moment he left the camp behind.
Dawn recognized that movement. She moved the same way in her own forest. At home among trees and earth in a way civilization never quite allowed.
"He's comfortable here," she said softly. "Look at his shoulders—he's not tense anymore."
On screen, Noah checked snares he'd apparently set the evening before. Two rabbits—caught cleanly, humanely. He knelt beside them, and Dawn leaned closer, watching carefully.
This was the part that would tell her what kind of person he truly was.
Noah's hands moved with practiced care as he dispatched the rabbits. Quick. Clean. No unnecessary suffering. Then he paused, head bowed slightly, lips moving in words too quiet for the camera to catch.
A thank you, Dawn realized, something warm blooming in her chest. He's thanking them for their sacrifice.
"He understands," she breathed.
This was the natural order. Animals died to feed others—that was the way of things, the cycle of life that kept the world turning. Dawn had never been upset by death itself. Death was necessary, sacred even, when done with respect and gratitude.
What upset her was needless death. Killing for sport. For ego. For cruelty masked as entertainment.
But this? Noah taking only what he needed, thanking the animals for their gift, handling them with care even in death?
This was right.
On screen, Noah moved to the lake. Set up a fishing line, waited patiently. While he waited, he foraged—touching plants gently before harvesting, taking leaves from some, berries from others, always leaving enough behind for the plants to recover and grow.
"He knows," Dawn said, delighted. "He actually knows which parts to take without hurting the plant. Most people just grab whatever they want."
Her mother's presence intensified in the doorway, drawn closer by Dawn's enthusiasm.
Noah caught fish—two bass, decent sized. Again, that same quick efficiency. Clean kills. No prolonged suffering. He worked with the kind of calm competence that spoke of experience, of genuine understanding rather than just following instructions from a book.
"He's done this before," Dawn observed. "Many times. This isn't new to him."
Outside, wind began to stir through the clearing. Leaves lifted from the ground, started to swirl in those purposeful patterns Dawn knew so well.
Mother Nature was watching again.
Dawn felt her mother step fully into the room now, no longer just a presence in the doorway but an actual figure—tall and ethereal, with features that seemed to shift depending on the angle of light. Her hair moved as though in a constant gentle breeze, dark as rich soil one moment, green as new leaves the next. From underneath them a pair of pointed ears poked through. Her eyes held the depth of old forests, ancient and knowing. She wore robes that looked woven from living plants, colours shifting from brown to green to gold as she moved.
Beautiful in a way that was slightly unsettling, slightly inhuman. The kind of beauty that reminded you the natural world could be gentle or terrible, nurturing or devastating, depending on its mood.
She stood behind Dawn now, watching the screen with those ageless eyes.
On screen, Noah built a small fire, started preparing the food. His movements were economical, practiced. Nothing wasted. Every part of the animals used.
"He respects what he takes," Dawn's mother said, her melodic voice carrying approval. "Takes only what he needs. Wastes nothing. Honors the sacrifice."
"He's different from the others," Dawn agreed. "Most of them see the island as a challenge to overcome. But he sees it as... as a partner? Something to work with instead of against."
"Yes." Her mother tilted her head, studying Noah on the screen. "He walks between worlds. Not quite wild, not quite tame. Understanding both but belonging fully to neither."
The wind outside intensified, leaves dancing faster now. All of them flowing toward the screen, toward Noah, as though Mother Nature herself was reaching out to touch him.
"She really likes him," Dawn said, something almost like amusement in her voice. "I've never seen her pay this much attention to a human before."
"She recognizes kinship," her mother replied simply. "He may not have gifts like yours, no way to hear the forest's songs or feel its heartbeat. But he understands it nonetheless. Through observation. Through respect. Through simple, genuine care."
On screen, other people began to arrive—Gwen first, looking tired and grumpy. Then Cody, tripping over roots. The peaceful solitude broken by human chaos.
Dawn expected to feel disappointed, wanted to keep watching Noah alone in his element. But instead she found herself curious about how he'd handle the intrusion.
He didn't get angry. Didn't hoard the food he'd gathered or resent having to share. Instead he... taught. Explained fishing techniques. Showed them how to identify edible plants. Turned his solitary survival into a lesson for anyone willing to learn.
"He's generous," Dawn said softly. "He could have kept all that knowledge to himself. Made himself valuable by being the only one who knows how to find food. But he's sharing it freely."
"Because he understands abundance," her mother said. "The forest gives to those who respect it. There is always enough for those who know how to look and are willing to learn. Hoarding knowledge serves no one."
More people arrived—Owen, Harold, Ezekiel. The quiet morning turned into something louder, more chaotic. But Noah remained patient throughout, answering questions, correcting mistakes gently, making sure everyone understood not just what to do but why it mattered.
Dawn watched him explain something to Harold, saw the care he took to teach without condescending. Watched him help Owen with fishing despite Owen's enthusiastic incompetence. Watched him acknowledge Ezekiel's skill with snares without making the others feel inadequate.
"He's a good teacher," she observed. "Patient. Kind. He wants them to succeed."
The scene continued—cooking, eating, laughter around the fire. The Breakfast Club, as Owen had apparently dubbed them, bonding over food they'd gathered and prepared themselves.
And through it all, Noah remained at the center. Not dominating, not controlling, just... present. Helpful. Teaching without preaching. Leading without demanding.
Dawn smiled at the screen, something warm and hopeful settling in her chest.
Outside, the wind finally began to calm. The leaves settled back to the ground, their focused dance complete. But the message was clear—Mother Nature had taken notice. Had marked this boy as worthy of attention.
"I hope I meet him someday," Dawn said quietly. "I'd like to talk to someone who understands. Who sees what I see."
Her mother's hand came to rest gently on Dawn's shoulder—warm, solid, more real than she usually allowed herself to be.
"Perhaps you will," she said, melody and promise mixed together in her voice. "The Earth watches him for a reason. And what the Earth watches, it often brings together."
Dawn leaned back slightly into her mother's presence, eyes still fixed on the screen where Noah was laughing at something Owen had done, looking more relaxed and genuine than he had at any other point in the episodes.
And she wondered what it would be like to walk through a forest with him. To share that understanding. To not be the only one who saw the world that way.
"I hope so," she whispered.
On screen, the Breakfast Club continued their morning, and Dawn watched with a smile, feeling less alone than she had in a very long time.
Behind her, her mother sighed. She knew path she previously planned for her daughter was no longer appropriate. That meant she would have do something that will bring her daughter a lot of pain and fear but also help her grow and develop beyond what was previously possible.
"I'm sorry little one" She whispered to quiet for her daughter to hear.