Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tess Sinclair looked at herself in the dressing room mirror. She pursed her lips, glistening with red lipstick, and took a hard look at herself in the mirror to make sure she looked perfect. She did, actually; Monica, the makeup artist, had done a fantastic job as usual, and Jesse had styled her hair wonderfully. As usual, it was parted on the left side and fell down her left cheek, ending just above her breast on the right side with the rest of her hair tucked neatly behind her ears, but whatever new product Jesse had used had given her hair a bit more volume and made her curls positively radiant. She raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow, just to make sure everything was in place, and then faked a smile. The mirror reflected it back at her, and the only hint that she wasn't happy was the lack of interest in her green eyes.

Internally, Tess let out a sigh. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She had graduated from college in four years with amazing grades, membership in several clubs, and a double major in Journalism and Economics. With such a resume, she'd had no problem getting picked up by a news organization, and had moved on from there to a position with a local news team in Albuquerque before being tapped for an audition by a talent scout from the Universe News Corporation to fill a spot on Celebrity Manhunt–apparently there had been some behind-the-scenes drama with their former female host, and they needed somebody to step in and fill her shoes quickly.

Tess had never been a big fan of celebrity news, or entertainment news in general–it always seemed like just so much fluff. But it was a well-paying position, with plenty of vacation time and, of course, a reasonable amount of fame, so she'd jumped at the opportunity. Although celebrity-stalking wasn't her cup of tea, she quickly became accustomed to what was expected of her and started putting her own spin on the news. Sure, there was only so much substance that could be added to an expose on Mel Fender's cats (actually, none at all), but her sense of humor and genuine inquisitiveness made her a fan favorite.

More importantly, it made her an interview favorite. She'd always been good at getting people to open up to her, and as it turned out, her willingness to actually let people talk (a trick Josh had never been able to master, although she'd never actually say that) made celebrities want to be interviewed by her. Soon, instead of just hoping for a few soundbites from a B-lister (or having to deal with the camera-hogging tendencies of a desperate D-lister), those B-listers were willing to actually sit down in the studio with Celebrity Manhunt and actually talk–to her, at least. Josh, not so much.

Of course the studio execs caught on to this. It helped that Tess was a triple threat–audiences loved her, interviewees loved her, and she was really good-looking. And that's how Tess found herself being offered her own weekly show on October 24, just ten days after her 25th birthday.

She agreed, of course. Hosting her own show, just over two years after she graduated college? Only having to come in to the studio one day a week? Conducting long-form, in-depth interviews? She'd have to be crazy not to jump at that opportunity. And yet, somehow, Tess was beginning to get the sense that...maybe she was crazy.

Not in the psycho killer kind of way. She'd never felt the urge to skin somebody and feast upon their organs–well, not frequently, at least, and only when somebody was really irritating her. No, she was just...dissatisfied.

She was dissatisfied, and it didn't make sense. Sure, this wasn't her dream job, but it was 95% of the way there! She interviewed people, on television, in front of a wide audience! So what if it was celebrities and the biggest part of her job was to make them feel good about themselves and get the public excited about their newest project? She still had most of what she had always wanted–or at least what she told herself she wanted–and she was a lot closer than she should've ever been expected to get, especially with how young she was. Things might not be perfect, but they was pretty close. And besides, if she wanted to host a hard-hitting news program, or another interview show (perhaps with guests that weren't celebrities), this show would be a fantastic thing to have on her résumé.

Tess shut her eyes and tried to ignore the heat behind her eyelids. She felt that she should rub them, but refrained, both because she didn't want to run the risk of messing up her makeup and because she didn't want to take a chance on dislodging a contact. All things considered, she should be happier.

So maybe she just needed to see a shrink. Or maybe she needed to make a change in her life, since what she was doing wasn't working. Either way, she had an interview to do. Some actor-turned-reality host was here to pimp the next season of his show, and she was going to help him do it.

Tess took a deep breath and put a smile on her face as she got up and stalked purposefully towards the stage door.

"...and that's why my boyfriend no longer wears thongs," the comedian onstage finished.

Tess smiled to herself, genuinely this time. One thing UNC did right was have a roster of comedians before their live shows to warm up the crowd. It made her job a lot easier, since the audience was genuinely interested in watching the show by the time she came on. It meant that the first ten minutes of her show weren't greeted with complete silence.

"And now, I'd like to put your hands together for one of the best reporters in all of Canada, the one, the only, Tess Sinclair!" the comedian announced.

Tess grinned and walked onstage to loud applause. She had to admit, even if she wasn't feeling that happy these days, an audience cheering for her still managed to be one of the greatest thrills she'd ever encountered. It had been strange, working in front of an audience when she started, since everything else she'd ever done had been in a studio and had usually been taped. Still, she'd adapted quickly, and it was impossible to replicate the feeling of a live performance–or, if it was, she'd never experienced it.

"Good evening, friends and enemies, and welcome to another fantastic hour of Talking with Tess!" Tess announced. She'd never been a fan of the name, but it apparently tested well with focus groups. She glanced at the teleprompter. "We've got a great show for you tonight! Greg Fawkes will be talking with us about his new film, including some tales of on-set rivalry you won't want to miss, Lauren Sinova will be with us to tell us about her new single, Heartache in Minneapolis, and Audrey Williams will make an appearance, fresh off shooting the fifth season of Caroline's Strangers! But first, of course, we have the inimitable Chris McLean, here to tell us about the soon-to-be released next season of Total Drama!"

A scruffy-looking man, about 5'3" in height, walked onstage to the sound of applause, although there were several boos hidden underneath the claps. He took a seat on the interviewee's chair and flashed a million-watt smile at the camera before angling his head to look at her.

"So, Chris," Tess said. "Another season, huh?"

Chris grinned. "Yep! Kind of hard to believe we've lasted that long, but hey, when you keep cranking out quality entertainment, why not?"

Tess nodded. "You know, a lot of people thought your last season was a downgrade, and that seems to be the general response whenever a cast gets to continue on to a second season. Despite that, you've had multi-season casts three times now–and it looks like this is going to be the third season for this cast. What's up with that?"

All the mirth went out of Chris's eyes, although he continued smiling. "Actually, Tess, a lot of us at Total Drama thought we did a good job last season. Sure, there were some unexpected hiccups, but a lot of us thought that it was an upgrade from the previous year."

"Right, but–" Tess started to say. Chris cut her off.

"As for keeping the cast on, well, a lot of reality shows like to just introduce players and then get rid of them after one season," Chris said. "C'mon, really? You introduce a bunch of people, you get the audience involved, relating to them, rooting for them, and then just toss them away after one show? We like to make sure that the relationship the audience builds with the cast can, well, y'know, be explored a bit more. Give the audience a chance to really connect, really dig in, really learn what our contestants are all about. And I believe that that's one of the reasons Total Drama has been so successful, along with my dynamite hosting and our fantastic challenges."

Tess pursed her lips. "So, if people really want to see more of your players...why are the sequel seasons often seen as being inferior by fans and critics?"

Chris shrugged. "I think it's just because people get a better idea of what the players are like. It turns out that nobody's perfect, and when that starts to become more apparent–which it always does, nobody can last long enough and get enough screentime in two seasons to be considered a major player and still come off as an angel. It strikes me that that's usually one of the downsides of doing these multiple-season casts–sure, the audience gets to know the contestants better, but it also means that they get to see our players' flaws more clearly."

Tess nodded. Internally, she thought Chris was full of shit. "So, this is the...third season for this cast, correct?"

"That's correct, Tess, although not everyone is returning," Chris agreed.

Tess grinned and looked at the camera. "That's right, and tonight we've got a special surprise for you. Chris McLean is going to reveal the complete list of returning contestants, here, live, on Talking with Tess!"

The audience burst into loud applause. Tess sat back, smiling, and noticed Chris doing the same. Now came the difficult part: she was going to have to get Chris to talk about who was coming back, one by one by one. She didn't want to do this, but the studio had forced it upon her in their notes for this week's show: for some reason, Chris had only agreed to do this interview (which the producers were sure would be a smash success, and which was not being pushed upon her due to "synergy through the Universe brand"–UNC was not the owner of Total Drama's production company, don't be silly!) if he got to drag it out endlessly. Still, she'd watched a few episodes of Total Drama in preparation. She knew his M.O.

"And to make it more exciting," Tess continued once the applause died down, "we're going to go through the cast members one-by-one to find out who returns...and who doesn't."

The audience gasped. Tess turned to Chris again.

"So, Chris," Tess said. "Let's talk about a certain very, very, very angry scientist."

Chapter Text

"Right..." Chris drawled. "That guy."

Chris waltzed into the office, fifteen minutes late as usual. He strutted over to the table in the back of the room and took his seat next to Chef.

"So, Chef, how're things?" Chris asked casually.

"Man, are you sure about this?" Chef asked, sounding nervous.

"Relax, Chef," Chris said. "We're just interviewing previous contestants to see who we can bring back. You've done this before, remember?"

"Not that!" Chef said. He indicated a grandfather clock standing against the wall with his eyes. "That. There's something creepy about that, man!"

"What, our newest producer?" Chris asked. "He's chill. Plus, he got us some extra funding, so–"

"Yeah, about that," Chef said. "I took a look at the books, and, well, some of this stuff–where did you even get it, man? Where'd he get it? I know the network wouldn't spend five thousand dollars on a box of pens."

Chris shrugged. "They're really fancy pens. Only the best for–"

"It was five thousand dollars per pen!" Chef interrupted. "You're covering something up, man. Something big."

Chris smirked. "Whatever, you crybaby. So how'd the first couple interviews go?"

"Don't know," Chef said, looking down at his notes on the contestants. "They haven't started yet."

"What?" Chris squawked.

"Yeah, since you always show up late, I scheduled the interviews to start a half-hour after you were supposed to show up," Chef said. "I figured that'd save me some trouble."

Chris crossed his arms grumpily. "Well that's just great. What am I supposed to do for the next fifteen minutes?"

Twenty Minutes Later...

"Where is he?" Chris asked, sounding upset. "He was supposed to be here like, ten minutes ago! I'm bored!"

"Maybe you should call him," a voice said.

"See?" Chef said worriedly. "That ain't right, man! That just ain't right!"

"Is he always like this?" the voice asked.

"Always," Chris agreed. "Anyway, what was that about placing a call?"

"I'll do it," Chef said grumpily. "But I tell you, Chris, this is going to backfire."

"What, really?" the voice said. "No, I'm harmless. I promise!"

"You're a talking grandfather clock!" Chef exclaimed. "That ain't right!"

"Oh, just place the call already," Chris said.

Chef grumbled to himself but opened his phone and placed a call. He and Chris turned around to look at the large TV screen behind them as the call went through. The person they were calling appeared on the screen.

"Yello, General Specific speaking!" the man on the other end replied.

"Uh...where's the mad scientist?" Chris asked.

Chef cringed, expecting the usual complaint about the difference between angry and mad. None came.

"Oh, right, you're the guys from the reality show, aren't you," the general said. "Yeah, see, he's not available right now."

"What do you mean, not available?" Chris asked.

"I mean, he's, uh, he's not going to be coming back," the general said. "Yeah. He's needed urgently here at the Top Secret Military Pancake House."

"Didn't you say you just needed him as a scapegoat, sir?" Private Public asked.

"Nobody asked you, Private Public!" General Specific said.

"Yes, sir," Private Public said, leaving the screen.

General Specific cleared his throat. "Yes, so, he won't be returning. He's being punished."

"Are you making him clean the latrines?" Chris asked gleefully.

"Latrines?" General Specific asked, confused. "What's a latrine?"

"The bathrooms," Chef said. "Are you making him clean the bathrooms? With a toothbrush?"

General Specific's eyes widened. "Oh, heavens no! That's why we have a custodial staff."

"Doughnuts are ready!" Private Public called from offscreen.

"Uh, gotta go!" General Specific said quickly. "Very, very important general stuff to take care of. Hush-hush. Uh, bye!"

"I want the pink frosted one with sprinkles!" a voice offscreen said happily.

"NO!" General Specific yelled. The picture cut out before the sound. "That's my doughnut!"

Chris turned to Chef. "So, I take it that's a no?"

Chef nodded. "Yep."

The grandfather clock groaned. "Very disappointing. Very, very disappointing."

Chris looked nervous. Chef noticed, and grew perturbed by this unusual behavior.

"Hey, Chris–" he started to ask.

"Send in the next victim!" the grandfather clock declared.

"Yeah, he's not coming back," Chris said flatly. "Ever."

"Not even if there's another season after this one?" Tess asked.

Chris cracked a grin. "Well, nothing's ever off the table, I would say. But let's focus on the season at hand, shall we? So, who's the next person you want to ask about?"

Tess tilted her head and eyed the teleprompter. "How about Pottsylvania's sole representative in these games."

Chris nodded. "Boris Badenov. He's interesting, I'll admit."

Chapter Text

Unlike the Angry Scientist, Boris was ready when they called him in.

"So, Boris," Chris said casually. "How've things been?"

Boris grinned sinisterly. "Oh, I've got my fingers in a few pies."

"Such as?" Chris asked.

Boris shrugged. "Pumpkin, cherry, lemon meringue."

"Oh," Chef said. "Those kinds of pies."

"What, no apple?" Chris asked.

Boris gasped. "You offend my Pottsylvanian pride!"

"Right..." Chris said slowly. "I guess you know why you're here?"

Boris grinned. "You need more patsies for your next game?"

"Correct!" Chris said happily. "So whaddya say, are you in?"

Boris shrugged. "I dunno. I've got some business I might need to take care of."

"You do business?" Chef asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I do business," Boris said, placing the same emphasis on the word as he used before.

Chris sighed. "Lemme guess. You're gonna try and get us to give you a reason to come back."

"Exactly right," Boris said. "And I don't know what you're going to–"

"Ten thousand dollars," Chris said flatly.

Boris's eyes bulged and he choked. It took him a few seconds to regain control, at which point he burst into a coughing fit.

"That's right!" Chris said, putting on his host persona. "In order to sweeten the pot, if you sign this contract–Chef, show him the contract–you get ten thousand dollars, straight up!"

Chef placed the contract on the table. It was short, only one page in length, and it was typed up in a very readable font. Boris grabbed it and looked it over. When he had finished reading it, he lowered it and stared down Chris.

"What's the catch?" he asked suspiciously.

Chris grinned. "Catch? What catch?"

Boris crossed his arms but continued to hold onto the contract. Chris heaved a sigh.

"Okay, fine," Chris said. "After the last two fakeouts with the finale money, it became pretty obvious that none of you were going to play to win if they didn't think there was actual money at stake. So this contract? It specifies that yes, the winner of this season gets a million dollars in American currency, that it will be paid out in a briefcase filled with hundred-dollar bills, and that by signing the contract you agree to play to win, to not vote yourself off, and that in exchange you will get a ten thousand dollar signing bonus. Are we agreed?"

Boris smirked. "This seems on the up-and-up. I just have one question."

Chris rolled his eyes. "What is it?"

"How does Ruby feel about these rules?" Boris asked smugly. "I take it she's not coming back again."

Chris shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. You're only the second interview, and the first guy's not coming back."

Boris grinned and autographed the page. "Well, you've got yourself a deal. And I'm keeping this pen."

Chris rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Now get out of here, we've got more interviews to do."

"Whatever you say," Boris said, still grinning wickedly. "Whatever you say."

"Yeah, I gotta say, we didn't know whether Boris would come back," Chris said. "On the one hand, he's been around a lot, he's hung out with a lot of our most well-known players from this generation. You might say he is one, but then again, he's never really been in the spotlight, and while he's made it past the merge both times, he never really had that big an impact."

"So..." Tess prompted.

Chris grinned. "Well, Tess, it took a lot of deliberation, but we decided to bring him back. We'll just see how he does this time around."

"I bet we will!" Tess said, faking cheerfulness. "But let's move on to another contestant, one doctor...or is it major? Chris, tell us, will Major Doctor Ghastly be coming back?"

Chapter Text

Major Doctor Ghastly walked in calmly and took a seat in front of the desk.

"So, you probably know why you're here," Chef said.

"To make sure my organization and I wouldn't try to sue you?" Major Doctor Ghastly guessed.

Chris chuckled. "Please. We have contracts for that.

"Didn't the government step in?" she asked.

Silence fell on the room. Chef cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Anyway," Chef Hatchet finally said, "we brought you in today because we thought maybe you'd want to sign on for another season of Total Drama."

Ghastly shook her head. "I don't think so."

Chris choked. "What?"

"Yeah, we uh, thought you needed the money for your evil organization," Chef said.

"Oh, we do," Ghastly told him. "And that's why I can't do it."

"Wait, we haven't told you the important part!" Chris said. "See, everyone who agrees to come back gets ten thousand dollars–"

"Oh, no no no no no," Ghastly said. "No." She paused. "Actually, does everybody know about that?"

"It's not public knowledge, but yes, we're making that offer to everyone," Chef said.

"So how about it?" Chris urged. "We need some...some less overexposed players, let's say."

"No way," the mad scientist told them. "Are you kidding me? With our lack of funds, we've needed to raise all kinds of money! Bake sales, car washes, you name it, we've done it!"

"Right, and–" Chris started to cut in.

"Which means I'm spending lots and lots of time with Hector!" Major Doctor Ghastly gushed. "And you think I'm going to throw it all away to be on some stupid reality show? Heck no! I'm going to stay the course!" She looked uncomfortable. "Just don't tell Hector, okay?"

"Oh, come on," the grandfather clock wheedled. "Please? For me?"

The scientist cast a surprised look at the clock. "A talking clock. That's new."

"So you'll stay?" the clock said enthusiastically.

"Nope!" Major Doctor Ghastly said, sauntering out of the room. "Nope nope nope! Nope nope! Nope nope!"

"Yeah, she's not coming back," Chris said, looking slightly sour for the first time in the interview. "It's a shame, because we really wanted to see her return, but she turned us down."

"Ah," Tess said, nodding. "That makes sense. So what about, um...an eight-year-old? There was an eight-year-old on your show?"

Chris winced.

Chapter Text

Chris groaned as soon as Major Doctor Ghastly left. "This is a disaster!"

"It is?" Chef asked, confused. Chris glared at him. "I mean, yeah! It is! It totally is!" He paused for a few seconds. "Why is it a disaster?"

"Because, we need 18 players!" Chris said. "And we only had 20 to start from, so–"

"Twenty?" Chef asked. "My list said 22."

"Dude, what?" Chris said. "I only remember, like, twenty. And I had the interns check. We started with two teams of two."

"What about the dead girl?" Chef asked. "That's 21."

Chris groaned. "What, you think we can bring a corpse back to compete?"

"Okay, no," Chef admitted. "But there's also this...Kenny McCormick guy?"

"Who?" Chris asked. "I don't remember him."

"Neither do I," Chef said.

"Neither do I," the grandfather clock said.

"Great," Chris said sourly. "A corpse and somebody who may not even exist are the only ones keeping us afloat. Wonderful!"

"Well, he's the next one on the list," Chef said. "Maybe he'll show up."

Right on cue, the door creaked open, and a small boy in a thick orange parka, drawn so tightly that almost nothing but his eyes were visible, walked in. He took a seat in front of the two hosts.

"...Kenny?" Chef ventured.

The boy said something that was muffled behind his parka but might have been assent.

"O-kay, Kenny, nice to meet you," Chris said, flashing his host grin.

The boy muttered something that, if you listened closely, might have sounded a bit like 'fuck off.'

"So, Kenny, let's cut to the chase," Chef intervened. "We want to bring you...back...on Total Drama. Another season, one million dollars, and I guarantee you it's real this time. If you want you can look over this contract."

Chef slid a copy of the contract over to Kenny. The boy looked it over, stopping when he got to the part about getting ten thousand dollars just for competing, and asked a question.

"That's right!" Chris said. "If you agree, you get ten thousand dollars, straight up, no catch. You don't have to give it back, it's yours to do with as you like. We've even got the check right here!"

Chef held up a check. Kenny peered at it for a few seconds and then said something that, although muffled, was very close to 'where do I sign?'

Chris grinned, handed Kenny a pen, and pointed to a few places on the contract. "Here, here, initial here, print here, and signature here."

Kenny obediently signed the indicated spots and then looked up.

"Okay then," Chef said, handing over a check. "Here's your money, and we'll be in contact to get you to the show."

Kenny hopped out of his chair and took off for the door. Right as he reached it, the door swung open and the knob smashed his face in.

"Everything all right in here?" the receptionist asked. "We've got two people waiting outside."

Chef stared straight ahead, shocked. Chris cleared his throat.

"Perfectly fine," Chris said in a stilted tone. "Just...give us a few minutes, okay? We need to take care of something."

The receptionist nodded and shut the door. Chris turned to Chef.

"Chef, retrieve the check and hide the body."

"Yeah, about that..." Chris said awkwardly. "He signed on, but there might be...a conflict."

"What kind of a conflict?" Tess asked, genuinely interested.

Chris coughed. "Well, we're not sure, but there are some, uh, complications with his return."

"So is he coming back or not?" Tess probed.

"...a tentative yes," Chris settled on.

"Well–" Tess started to ask.

"Let's move on!" Chris interrupted. "Who's the next person you wanted to ask about?"

For a moment, she considered pressing the issue, but decided to move on. After all, it was just a reality show. It was probably nothing important.

"Snidely Whiplash," she said. "Will this blue-skinned Canadian villain be returning?"

Chapter Text

Chef and Chris were both calmly seated behind the desk when Snidely entered the room.

"Snidely," Chris greeted him. "Have a seat."

Snidely swooped into the indicated chair, crossed his legs, and fixed the hosts with a wicked grin.

"So, Snidely, we called you in today-" Chris began.

"To tell me I'm the greatest villain ever and you want me to come back on your show again?" Snidely guessed.

Chris blinked. "Okay, yes-"

"And what are you willing to offer me to make this happen?" Snidely asked smugly. "Because the way I see it, I hold all the cards here."

"How's that?" Chef asked.

"Well, Chefy-" Chef bristled, and Snidely blinked nervously. "I mean, Chef Hatchet. Sir. Well, you need a good villain, and if there's anything I've proven I can do, it's villainy. But if you want me back, well..."

"How does ten thousand dollars sound?" Chris asked.

Snidely's mouth dropped open.

"That's right," Chris said smugly. "We're willing to offer you ten. Thousand. Dollars. Just to come back. Interested?"

Snidely blinked several times before his grin reasserted itself and he held out his hand to shake. "I believe you've got yourself a deal."

"Good," Chris said, ignoring the offered handshake and sliding a contract over to Snidely. "If you'll just sign on the dotted line..."

"Oh, believe me, Snidely is coming back," Chris said, flashing a toothy grin at the audience. "He's definitely back on the show!"

The audience applauded. Tess faked a smile and looked at the teleprompter for the next contestant.

"So, the first girl to win from this generation," she said. "Will they return?"

"Ingrid?" Chris asked. "Well, you see..."

Chapter Text

"Well, that went well," Chris said brightly. "Wouldn't you say, Chefy?"

Chef scowled. "Whatever."

"I don't know," the grandfather clock said. "We already have that, um...who's the short guy with the dumb hat?"

"Boris," Chef said. "Why's it matter?"

"I just don't see what value he'll add," the grandfather clock said. "I would've really liked to get that hunchbacked guy back."

"You're the only one who wanted that," Chris pointed out. "Everyone else thought he was just kind of annoying."

"You don't know what I value," the grandfather clock said.

"Actually, I totally do," Chris said, smirking. "So why aren't you upset about the other mad scientist turning us down?"

If the clock could grin, it would have. "I have...other options, let's say."

"Do I want to know what you're talking about?" Chef asked, sounding worried.

"Trust me, you don't," Chris and the clock said in tandem.

Chef sighed. "This is going to wind up hurting me, isn't it."

"What? Hurt you?" the clock asked, adopting an overly shocked tone. "Never! Not in a million years!"

"Whatever," Chef grumbled. "Let's just move on to the next interview."

"Yes, let's," the grandfather clock agreed. "I hope it's someone juicy!"

"Ingrid Third?" Chef suggested.

"Hmm...perhaps," the grandfather clock said.

Ingrid strode into the room and took her seat. She stared at Chris and Chef impassively, green eyes showing no reaction as she looked them over.

Chris cleared his throat. "Ingrid. Nice to see you again."

Ingrid looked at Chef. "Chef. How's it going?"

Chef shrugged. "Can't complain. How're things with you?"

"Same old, same old," Ingrid said. "So, a new season, huh?"

"Yeah..." Chef said. "At least we got a break from filming."

"A long, boring break," Chris said. "So, Ingrid, I guess you know why you're here."

Ingrid ignored him. "Was it enjoyable?"

Chef shrugged. "At least this time I didn't have to go around the country talking to a bunch of freaks to make sure none of them have to be institutionalized."

"You brought Izzy back," Ingrid pointed out.

"Okay, yes, but she's not that bad," Chef said.

"She threw explosives at the contestants," Ingrid said.

"So did Chris," Chef said.

"Hey! That's not true," Chris said. Everyone in the room looked at him. "I just placed them in certain places and detonated them at certain times, usually when there were campers nearby."

Ingrid looked back to Chef. "Fair point. I guess Izzy isn't as dangerous as Chris. But I thought she really annoyed you?"

"Again, Chris," Chef said.

Ingrid nodded. "Makes sense."

"Um, hello?" Chris said, sounding annoyed. "I'm right here!"

Ingrid looked over to him again. "So what?"

"So, as you know, there's going to be a new season," Chris said.

Ingrid looked at Chef. "Is this true?"

"Um, yeah," Chef said. "It's how we started this conversation."

Chris rolled his eyes. "ANYWAY, we want you to come back for this next season, and we've offered certain...concessions...to make this happen."

"Is this true?" Ingrid asked Chef again.

"Still here!" Chris pointed out. "Why do you keep asking him to repeat what I just said?"

"Because he's less likely to lie to me," Ingrid said flatly.

"You don't know that," Chris said.

"No, but Wendy thinks he's more trustworthy than you. Most of us do, actually," Ingrid replied. "So anytime you make a claim, I'm going to ask him to back you up."

"Fine," Chris said sulkily. "Chef, why don't you tell her the terms."

"Fine by me," Chef said.

"Well–fine!" Chris said angrily, turning away and crossing his arms.

Chef shook his head, by now used to Chris's petulant nature, and slid one of the new contracts over to Ingrid. "As you can see, we've got some new contracts."

"Okay, why?" Ingrid asked.

"Apparently we shouldn't give out prizes in play money," Chris said sarcastically, keeping his back turned to them. "Apparently that's highly misleading and possibly illegal! Apparently the Canadian government thinks our contracts are too long and too full of legalese and too intentionally misleading! Apparently that's a reason for them to threaten legislative action! Seriously, don't they have anything better to do? It's a waste of taxpayer money, is what it is!"

Chef waited a few seconds to make sure Chris was done ranting before he continued. "So, there are two big changes. The first one is that the contracts state, explicitly, that you get a million American dollars if you manage to win Total Drama, and to ensure no hijinks with suitcases or exchange rates or huge checks or, well, anything, the money will have to be deposited directly into your bank account."

"Okay..." Ingrid said hesitantly. "I guess that makes sense. Does that apply retroactively?"

Chris snorted. "You're not getting any money from the previous seasons, if that's what you're asking."

"Fine," Ingrid said crisply. "What's the other big change?"

"If you agree to the contract, you get a check for ten thousand dollars," Chef said. "Right here, right now. We've got it written out and ready to cash. All you have to do is sign the contract."

Ingrid's eyebrows raised, but apart from that she had no reaction. "I want to look over the contract."

Chef nodded. "Take your time."

"No!" Chris cried. "Don't take your time! We're on a schedule!"

Fifteen minutes later, Ingrid had read the contract four times over and checked it meticulously for small print. Unlike the previous Total Drama contracts, though, this one was short, to the point, and surprisingly free of legal tricks.

"I guess this is in order," Ingrid said. "Where do I sign?"

Chris spun back around and quickly pointed at the places on the contract she'd need to sign.

"Signature, signature, initial, print, signature," he said quickly. "Sign it, and let's go!"

Ingrid dawdled over putting her name down, intentionally annoying Chris. When she had finally finished, Chris grabbed the paper from her.

"Good. Now let's get a move on," he said. "Next!"

"...there were some questions," Chris allowed. "But she eventually decided to go along with us, and, well, yes. She's coming back."

"Good to hear!" Tess said. Of all the people on the show, Ingrid was one of the few she knew the name of. As she scanned the teleprompter, she realized the next name was also familiar. "How about Nazz?"

Chapter Text

As Ingrid approached the door, it swung open. She was not pleasantly surprised when she saw who was on the other side.

"Nazz," she said flatly.

"H-hey, Ingrid," Nazz said nervously. "How's everything been?"

"Fine," she said curtly, sweeping past Nazz and leaving. Nazz looked after her until the door shut, at which point she redirected her attention to her interviewers. She walked over to the provided chair and took a seat.

"So why'd you want to see me?" she asked them.

"Imagine, if you will, going from place to place, always waking up somewhere new," Chris said grandly. "Seeing exotic locations! Hanging out with friends! And most importantly, competing for a grand prize of one! Million! Dollars!"

Nazz crossed her arms. "You want me back for another season?"

"That's right!" Chris said. "A whole new season of thrills, spills, and-"

"Yeah yeah yeah," Nazz interrupted. "Why should I come back?"

"Uh, hello?" Chris said. "A million dollars?"

"Yeah, the last two times you paid out in board game money," she said. "Not happening."

"Um, actually, we can't do that anymore," Chef said. "For legal reasons. Which is why we called you in; we need you to sign a new contract. But the million dollars is legit, and in American dollars."

"Which are usually worth more, by the way," Chris pointed out.

"Hmm...not sure I buy that, but fine," Nazz said. "I'm probably not going to win it anyway. Why else?"

"Friends?" Chris suggested.

Nazz glared at him. "You of all people know that nobody on your show wants to be my friend."

"What about Marlowe?" Chris guessed.

Nazz wavered for a second. "Well..."

"Didn't you say you were planning to turn over a new leaf?" Chris asked. "This is an opportunity to prove it."

Nazz looked reluctant. "But...will anyone believe me?"

"Nobody will believe you if you don't try," Chef pointed out.

"Oh!" Chris exclaimed. "And I almost forgot the most important part! If you sign the contract you get $10,000!"

"...that would be useful for college..." Nazz admitted.

"And all you have to do," Chris said, sliding the document over to her, "is signature here, signature here, initial here, print here, and signature here."

Nazz looked at Chef. "Do you think they'll forgive me?"

Chef shrugged. "You'll never know if you don't try."

Nazz looked down at the contract.

"Is Nazz coming back?" Tess asked.

"Yes! She! Is!" Chris proclaimed proudly.

"I'm sure the fans are glad to hear that!" Tess said, faking enthusiasm. "But how about another one, who isn't that popular but has done both very well and very poorly? Tell us, is Aunt Grandma coming back?"

Chapter Text

Priscilla Jones walked into the office in her typical businesslike manner and took her seat, instinctively shifting into perfect posture and crossing her shins. She looked at the hosts with a small smile that didn't quite reach her angry eyes.

"So you want me to come on your show, again," she said in a chipper tone of voice.

Chris nodded. "Chef, tell her why."

Chef sighed. "Because this time around, we have to give out a million dollars in actual American currency. And if you sign the contract, you get ten thousand dollars."

Aunt Grandma pursed her lips. "I could do with the money...fine. I'll sign."

"Good!" Chris said delightedly. "All you have to do is sig-"

"I've signed contracts before," Aunt Grandma interrupted, taking the offered pen. "But first, I have some questions."

"But you just said you'd sign," Chef said confusedly.

"I know that," she said. "And I will."

"So why should I answer your questions?" Chris asked.

"Because if you don't, I'll just draw this out as long as possible," she replied. "I know you can't conduct another interview as long as I'm here, and I know you want me to sign this contract, so you're not going to throw me out."

Chris looked stunned. "You-you-"

"Alright, let's make a deal," Chef cut in. "We'll answer your questions honestly, but for each question we answer you have to sign the contract again. Since there are five places to sign, that's five questions. Do you agree?"

Priscilla contemplated the arrangement for a few seconds before nodding. "All right."

"Dude!" Chris complained.

Chef glared at him. "You're the one who complained about being bored when the first guy was a few minutes late. Do you really want to be stuck here with her?"

Chris scowled, crossed his arms across his chest, and slumped in his chair. "Fine."

Chef nodded to their interviewee-turned-interviewer. "What's your first question?"

"Why American currency?" she asked. "This is a Canadian production."

"Because a lot of our contestants are Americans this time around," Chef said. "Dale, Andy, Wendy, you..."

"Fair enough," she said, putting her first signature down. "So where will this season take place? On the island again, or are we changing locations?"

"All around the world," Chris said flatly.

"Meaning?" Aunt Grandma said, pausing before she could write her name.

"Meaning it's going to be all over the place, okay?" Chris said, sounding upset. "It's not going to just take place in one location! It's gonna go everywhere! Does that answer your question?"

"Yes," she said, putting her name down again. "Initial the next one?"

"Yes," Chef said.

"That doesn't count as my question, by the way," she pointed out.

Chris groaned. "Fine. What's your question?"

"Why did you let Steve cheat his way through the game?"

Chris smirked. "It was more dramatic that way. Also, I wondered how long it would take someone to figure it out."

Aunt Grandma scowled but initialled the required line. "Fine. Why'd you bring back Wendy and Snidely?"

"Again. Drama," Chris said.

"Fine..." she said, printing her name.

"You've got one more question," Chris said.

Aunt Grandma signed her name and slid the contract over to Chris. "What's with the creepy grandfather clock?"

"I have a name, you know," the grandfather clock said.

Aunt Grandma looked shocked. "You can talk?"

"No," the grandfather clock said.

"Okay, interview's over," Chris said. "You signed the contract, so get out."

Aunt Grandma scowled but headed for the door. Before she opened it to leave, she paused.

"Wait," she said quizzically. "You said you have a name. What is it?"

The grandfather clock chuckled. "I believe you're out of questions."

Priscilla's expression soured, and she stormed out of the room.

"She's...yeah, she'll be coming back," Chris said. "It took a bit of convincing, but not too much, and she'll be returning to the show."

"That's great!" Tess said. "A lot of people returning from the previous seasons, that's always awesome. How about...wait, this can't be right."

Chapter Text

"What can't be right?" Chris asked.

"It says..." Tess began. She paused. There was no way this wasn't a prank. "Mohatmas Gandhi?"

"Oh. Right," Chris said. "That guy."

It had been ten minutes since Aunt Grandma left, and their next candidate still hadn't entered the room. Chris was beginning to get restless.

"C'mon, Chef!" he whined. "Let's just call the next one in and forget this person!"

Chef sighed. "We don't even know if the next person on the list has arrived. Just sit tight for a few more minutes, okay?"

"But I'm bored!" Chris complained.

Chef groaned. The next five minutes would take forever if Chris kept complaining the entire time. Which, of course, he would.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and a tall, balding man with thick glasses strode in. He was wearing a lab coat and yellow rubber gloves, and was accompanied by a short robot wearing a red sweater.

"Ah, it's Total Drama!" the man proclaimed. "And his assistant, Angry Black Man!"

"Those aren't their names," the robot correctly. "Wesley..."

Chris blinked a few times. "I'm sorry, WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE?"

"I am Princ-"

The robot cut him off. "Wesley! Ixnay on the amesnay!"

"Oh. Right," the man said, chastened. "Who we are is not important! What is important is that you are going to put Gandhi back on your show!"

"I thought he was Gary Coleman?" Chef spoke up.

"Only when people in India protest!" the man proclaimed. "And who cares about them, anyway? They're only the second-most populous country in the world. So! Gandhi! Coming back! And winning! Yes?"

"We can't actually make him win," Chris pointed out. "That would be cheating."

"You let redhead guy cheat! All last season!" the man said. "So why not cheat for somebody who deserves to win? Like me!"

Chef and Chris glanced at each other.

"Because you're not on the show?" they said at the same time.

"Of course I'm not! Do I look stupid?" the man asked.

The robot rolled its eyes in response.

"No, Gandhi will be the one winning!" the man said.

Chef crossed his arms. "We're not rigging the game."

"Oh, I understand," the man said. "I understand perfectly! Wink."

"Wink?" Chris asked.

"I'm winking ostentatiously to communicate my true intention!" the man said. "Now, let's get Gandhi back in the game...and winning!"

"We'd need him to actually be here to sign a contract," Chef said.

The man scoffed. "Is that all? Give me that contract, I'll sign it!"

"No, he needs to sign it," Chef said.

"No problem! I've forged his signature before. In fact, I forged his signature the first time to get him on this show!" the man said.

"Fine," Chris said, handing him the contract. "Forge it and then give it back to us."

"With pleasure!" the man said, pulling out a pen and filling out the contract.

"Thanks," Chris said, taking it back. "Now get out!"

"Oh, I will!" the man proclaimed. "Wink!"

As soon as the man had left, Chef turned to Chris, irate. "What was that? You just let him forge a contract!"

Chris grinned. "I also saved us ten thousand dollars. You're welcome."

Chef shut his eyes in pain. "Let's just...let's just...who's next, anyway?"

"You can not seriously be bringing the historical Gandhi back to compete on a reality show!" Tess said irately. Indeed, she could scarcely believe that something like this would be on the list.

Chris sighed. "Look, we don't know if he's the actual Gandhi, or a clone of Gandhi, or some guy pretending to be Gandhi, but he's sixteen years old, he's a party animal, and he's coming back."

For pretty much the first time in her career, Tess was at a loss for words.

"Now, is there anybody else you'd like to ask me about?" Chris prompted.

Tess sighed. "Elise."

Chapter Text

Elise walked into the room, eyes moving back and forth suspiciously. She approached the table but chose not to sit, instead standing in front of the two interviewers.

"Elise," Chris greeted her. "I take it you know why we called you here."

Elise feigned disinterest by pretending to examine her fingernails. "No."

"Oh," Chris said sarcastically. "Well then. I don't suppose you'd like to guess?"

"No."

"Oh," Chris said. "Well, we called you back here because we wanted to know if you'd like to sign up for another season!"

"No."

Chris frowned. "Was that your way of telling us you didn't know that but now you'd like to come back?"

"No."

"So are you coming back?" he asked desperately.

"No."

"Well why not?" Chris exclaimed, upset. "Why wouldn't you want to come back?"

Elise raised her gaze from her fingernails to look him directly in the eyes. "The first time around, I got kicked off because you got the RCMP to arrest me on charges that were completely fraudulent and that I was cleared of within a week. The second time, I was the first one voted out by my team, entirely because Steve rigged the votes to get me kicked off and you refused to do anything about it, not just then but for the entire season. And now what, I'm supposed to come back only to lose again? Yeah, I don't think so."

Elise turned and started walking away.

"Wait! Chef!" Chris said desperately. "Tell her what she gets if she agrees!"

"Uh, ten thousand dollars just for signing on?" Chef suggested.

Without breaking her stride, Elise put her hand up to signal she wasn't listening and walked out the door.

"Wow," Chef said, stunned. "She came all the way up here just to tell us to screw off."

"Yeah, Elise isn't coming back," Chris said decisively. "That's been made pretty clear."

Tess shrugged. "Okay. Since we've talked about one blonde teenage girl, how about we talk about another?"

Chapter Text

"Megan Allman?" Chris pretended to guess.

Tess nodded. "Exactly."

Megan Allman stormed into the room with a scowl on her face and took a seat in front of Chris and Chef.

"Why do you want me here?" she asked. "Just making sure I won't sue?"

"Does she even have standing?" the grandfather clock asked.

Megan looked over her shoulder, the expression on her face instantly replaced with one of shock. "Who said that?"

"I did," the grandfather clock said. "But that doesn't answer my question."

"No, she doesn't have standing," Chef answered. "And, in response to your question-" he pointed at Megan "-no, that's not why you're here."

"Oh," Megan said lamely. "So why-"

"We're doing a new season and inviting you back," Chris interrupted. "Are you interested?"

Megan smiled. "Of course I am." Suddenly, she stopped smiling. "Wait. What's the catch?"

"No catch," Chris said.

Megan glanced over at Chef.

"No catch," Chef agreed. "Because of...issues, involving the prizes of the two previous seasons, you have to sign a new contract."

"A new contract?" she asked suspiciously.

"It guarantees that the prize is a million American dollars and that you get $10,000 cash, American, just for signing," Chris said testily. "Now are you going to sign or what?"

Megan narrowed her eyes at him. "I want to see the contract first before I sign it."

Chris sighed heavily and pushed a contract over to her. She snatched it up and read through it. Finally, she lowered the piece of paper.

"Is this really all there is?" she asked suspiciously.

"Yes," Chris and Chef said simultaneously.

Megan shut her eyes for a few seconds.

"Pass me a pen," she said when she reopened them.

Chef did as requested, and Megan signed the contract.

"It took some time to come to a conclusion," Chris said. "But, in the end, there was only one possible response."

Chris paused for several seconds to draw out the tension.

"Yes!"

The audience burst into cheers. Inwardly, Tess rolled her eyes, but she kept her hostess smile plastered on.

"Well that's good, and since we're at the halfway mark, I think we should summarize," Tess said. "Returning to the show, we have Aunt Grandma, Megan Allman, Nazz Van Bartonschmeer, Ingrid Third, Kenny McCormick, Boris Badenov, Snidely Whiplash, and Gandhi!"

She paused for the audience to finish applauding.

"And, the contestants who have been confirmed not to return are Elise, The Angry Scientist, and Major Doctor Ghastly," she concluded. "So, Chris, let's talk about Steve."

Chapter Text

"Steve, huh?" Chris asked. He nodded. "Yeah, he's an interesting fellow."

Steve scowled as he sat down in front of the Total Drama hosts. He didn't speak, though, and they sat in silence for several minutes before one of them finally decided to say something.

"So, Steve-" Chris started to say.

"Lemme guess," Steve said sourly. "You want me to go on another season of Total Drama."

Chris blinked. "Uh, yeah. How'd you guess?"

"It was pretty obvious," Steve said. "So let me just ask you why I would ever agree to go back on your show?"

"Because we're giving out actual money this time?" Chris hazarded.

Steve grinned mirthlessly. "That'd be useful if I had a chance in hell of winning."

"What?" Chris asked, feigning shock. "You were a finalist last time! You really don't think you can win?"

Steve scowled at him. "Everybody knows how I got to the finale. And that's why I'm just going to be cannon fodder if I come back."

"That seems like a good reason for you to come back to me," Chef said. He chuckled when Steve looked at him angrily.

"Okay, look, let's cut to the chase," Chris said. He held up a contract and a check. "This? This is a contract for the new season. If you sign it, you get this. A check for ten thousand dollars. And I know you can't pass that up. So what's it gonna be? Are you gonna sign and take the money, or refuse to sign and leave with nothing?"

Steve didn't say anything, but his expression turned doubtful as he glanced back and forth between the check and Chris.

"Take the deal," Chris said. "You need to."

Steve scowled. "Lousy unemployment..."

"And he came crawling back as soon as we came calling!" Chris proclaimed. "Yes, Steve will be back! Will he stay for long? Heck, I dunno. I just host the season. But we'll see what his fellow competitors think of him pretty darn soon!"

"Speaking of his fellow competitors," Tess said, "...Triana?"

Chapter Text

Triana had a frown on her face when she entered the room, and it only grew deeper as she approached her interviewers. She took a seat, crossing her ankles, and stared them down for several seconds before speaking.

"Something's not right."

Chris snickered. "Why, whatever do you mean?"

"You know," she said flatly. "You know there's something wrong, and you know what it is. I'd put even money down that you're the cause of it." She fixed her eyes on Chef. "You know there's something wrong, but you don't know what it is, and you're uncomfortable about it."

Chris clapped sarcastically. "Good job. Been practicing your cold readings?"

Her eyes flashed. "Trust me, I don't do cold readings."

Chris smirked. "That sounded more impressive in your head, didn't it."

Triana sighed. "Fine. What do you want?"

"Come back on our show," Chef said bluntly. "You get ten thousand American dollars, and the prize is guaranteed to be a million dollars in American currency. All you have to do is sign here."

Chef slid a contract over to Triana. She glanced at it.

"Oh, I'll be back," she said. "But not because of the money."

"If you don't want the money, we'll keep it," Chris interjected.

Triana's lips twitched upward in a brief imitation of a smile. "I can do with the money. But no." She scanned the contract for ill intent, and finding none, began to sign it. "I'm coming back because I know you're up to no good. And I'm going to stop you."

"Big talk from a barely-out-of-high-school goth," Chris said smugly.

Triana finished signing the contract and slid it back over to Chef. "Whatever. But think about getting rid of that clock."

Triana stood up and walked out of the room, paying attention to the clock out of the corner of her eyes. The door slammed shut behind her.

"Was it something I said?" the clock finally asked.

"Oh, yeah, Triana's coming back," Chris said. "She was actually pretty easy to get ahold of."

"That's fantastic news!" Tess chirped. "So, of the remaining nine, tell me this: will Æon Flux be coming back?"

"Well, all things considered, I have to say..." Chris drawled.

Chapter Text

"No."

Tess blinked. "Really? It's that simple?"

Chris shook his head. "Things were just too complex."

"Well, okay," Tess said uncomfortably. "So, um, Voltar. Will Voltar return?"

"What are we waiting for?" the clock asked.

Chris looked uncomfortable. "Well, we can't really, uh...do this."

"What do you mean?" Chef and the clock asked in stereo.

"Well, like...remember how we sent them all into those corridors to figure out who'd be on the second season?" Chris asked.

"Oh yes! That was fun," the clock said, letting out a deep, sinister chuckle.

"Wait, what?" Chef said, confused. "When did this happen?"

"Remember how you knocked them all out with that grenade at the end of the first season?" Chris said. "And how the next day, we had 12 campers?"

"...yes?" Chef ventured.

"Yeah, we just transported them into an alternate dimension," Chris said flippantly. "It was easier that way. But unfortunately, we can't go back there again or we'll probably get killed."

"Wait, what?" Chef asked incredulously. "Alternate dimension?"

"It's more like a completely different universe, actually," the clock said.

Chef ran his hand over his face. "This is just getting weird."

"Don't think about it too much," Chris said calmly. "Seriously, don't."

"Wait, hold on," Chef asked. "How'd they get back here?"

"Like I said, don't think too much," Chris said.

"And why wasn't I informed about this?" Chef asked angrily.

"I SAID DON'T THINK ABOUT IT!" Chris yelled.

Silence fell on the room.

"I still don't see why we can't go get her," the clock said.

"Because it's in the middle of an apocalypse, and they've got the location closed off," Chris said, annoyed. "We had to get rid of all the evidence just in case they started pouring through here."

"Why not send-" the clock started to ask.

"Because we can't use interns as cannon fodder anymore, okay?" Chris asked, sounding immensely frustrated. "If we want this plan to come to fruition, we have to accept that she's not coming back."

The clock groaned. "Really? We're just closing off that option?"

"Hey, we had to do some preliminary tests," Chris snapped. "That was the first time we made sure we could get them all to a dimension besides this one. You ordered it, we did it, and for now we can't go back there."

Chef scowled. "I'm completely lost and I want some explanations."

"Believe me," the clock said. "It will all become clear in...how many contestants do we still have to interview?"

"Eight," Chris and Chef said simultaneously.

"TWO HOURS!" the clock declared. "Give or take."

"So after we finish the interviews, you'll explain everything to me?" Chef asked suspiciously.

If the clock had a face, it would have grinned. "Believe me, you'll learn a lot."

"Voltar's not coming back either," Chris said bluntly.

Tess goggled. "Really? The reigning champion refused to return?"

"We didn't really want him back," Chris said nonchalantly. "I mean, the guy's a joke. He only won last time because of a fluke. And c'mon, who'd ever want to see more of him?"

Tess nodded gingerly. "So...no Voltar."

"No Voltar," Chris agreed.

Chapter Text

A short figure clad entirely in red strode into the room, antennae proudly erect. It walked over to a chair much taller than he was and climbed onto it, managing to pull himself up and into it. He righted himself and looked at the two interviewers proudly.

"The mighty Voltar has arrived!" he declared.

"Right," Chris said flatly. "I take it you know why you're here?"

"Well obviously you wanted to congratulate me on my amazing victory," Voltar said.

"Yes," Chef lied. "That's why. And also, we wanted to invite you to take part in another season."

Voltar looked dumbfounded. "What."

"Imagine it," Chris said excitedly, spreading his arms to share his vision. "Another season of twists, turns, and drama. Exciting challenges, mismatched teams, and at the end, one winner!"

"Oh, you mean me?" Voltar interrupted.

Chris grinned. "Yes. Just think about it."

"Meh," Voltar said, waving him off. "I'm not interested."

Chris's smile dropped off his face. "What?"

"Well I mean, what's in it for me?" Voltar asked.

"If you sign on, you get ten thousand dollars, straight up," Chris said. "And if you win, you get one! Million! Dollars!"

Voltar smirked. "Please, who needs money?"

"Uh, everyone?" Chris said, a note of desperation entering his voice. "Everyone needs money!"

"Not the League of Super Evil!" Voltar declared. "And if we did, I'm sure Doktor Frogg would have said something."

In point of fact, Doktor Frogg had repeatedly complained to Voltar about the lack of funding he had to pursue mad science (and, consequently, pure evil). True to form, Voltar ignored him whenever the topic came up, and as soon as the good doktor stopped ranting Voltar would immediately forget his comments about the League's precarious fiscal situation and spend all their money at the local ice cream truck.

"Well, wouldn't you like to prove you're the most evil?" Chef suggested.

"I am the most evil!" Voltar declared.

"Then prove it," Chef said flatly. "Defend your title."

Voltar scoffed. "My title needs no defense."

"Doesn't it, son?" Chef asked darkly. "Because some might argue that it was a fluke. Some might say you won due to pure luck. Some might say that you didn't really deserve to win."

"Why should I care what stupid people think?" Voltar asked. "I have never cared what other people thought of me! That's what evil is!"

Voltar actually cared deeply what others thought of him.

"Then prove it," Chef said. "Prove that it wasn't just a fluke, and that evil always prevails in the end."

"Believe me, it does," the grandfather clock said.

Voltar leapt upright. "Who said that?"

"I did," the grandfather clock said.

"Oh," Voltar said. He waved at the clock. "Hi."

"So what do you say?" Chris asked. "Are you gonna come back?"

Voltar's eyes twinkled. "Nope."

"What?" Chris, Chef, and the grandfather clock blurted out simultaneously.

"I'm not going to come back on your show, Chris," Voltar declared.

"Well-well why not?" Chris protested.

"Because, Chris, evil only has to win once," Voltar said. "You can claim it doesn't count. You can claim that I was lucky. You can claim that I'd never win again. But you know what? I still won. And if you want to whine and claim that I have to win again to prove it, you can go right ahead. But you're wrong." He hopped off the chair and strode toward the door. "Good luck finding other people willing to pretend they can live up to me, though. Because honestly, who would be stupid enough to think they were as great as the mighty Voltar?"

Chapter Text

"Well alright, how about the Texan?" Tess asked. "Dale. Will he be coming back one more time?"

Chris smirked. "Funny you should ask. See, Dale wasn't exactly responsive when we asked him..."

"Why would I come back?" Dale asked.

Chris slid over a contract. "See for yourself."

Dale read over the contract, goggling when he came to the part about a guaranteed ten thousand dollars.

"I don't trust you," Dale said flatly.

"That's probably for the best," the grandfather clock said.

Dale raised an eyebrow but chose not to look. "But ten thousand dollars would be useful, especially if Joseph ends up going to college. So yeah, I'll play along."

Chef handed over a pen, and Dale signed the contract.

"...but, after some intense negotiations, we managed to get him to agree to come back," Chris concluded.

"That's wonderful!" Tess said. "So we're down to our final six, unless I miss my guess."

"You don't," Chris said.

"Then tell me, Chris: will Andy return?"

Chapter Text

Andy walked into the room and took a seat across from his two interviewers. He crossed his arms across his chest and stared at them with half-lidded eyes.

"I don't trust you," he said, breaking the silence.

Chris faked a laugh. "Andy, you're such a kidder."

"I'm not joking," Andy said flatly. "You know that."

Chris stopped laughing and frowned. "Fine. Let's just get this over with."

Andy kicked back and put his feet on the table. "Get what over with?"

"You coming back on the show again," Chris said.

Andy smirked. "Now why would I do that?"

"One million dollars!" Chris declared.

Andy snickered. "Yeah, it's not like you've ever lied about that before."

Chris scowled. "This time it's for real."

"We have new contracts guaranteeing it," Chef pointed out, sliding one over to Andy. "And you get ten thousand dollars just for signing on."

Andy didn't even glance at the contract. "Show me the money."

Chef placed a check facedown on the contract. Andy picked it up, glanced at it, and then put it in his pocket as he stood up.

"Hey, wait," Chris said worriedly. "Where're you going?"

"I'm gonna cash this check," Andy said.

"But you didn't sign the contract!"

Andy shrugged. "Consider this payment for the first two seasons."

"Now hold on," Chef said authoritatively. "If you don't sign the contract, and you try to cash the check, we can get you arrested for theft."

Andy shrugged. "You really think so?"

"Boy, I was in the war," Chef said, his voice growing deep and threatening. "Don't make me chase you down."

Andy tilted his head to think.

"C'mon," Chris said. "You want the ten thousand dollars, we want you on the next season...let's make this work."

Andy thought for a few more seconds and then sat down and signed the contract with a pen Chef handed over. He clicked the pen shut and stuffed it into his pocket next to the check.

"I'm keeping this pen," he said.

Chris smirked. "Whatever floats your boat."

"Yes, Andy will return!" Chris declared happily.

"That's great news!" Tess said, faking cheeriness. "What about the three teenaged redheaded girls? What can you tell us about their return?"

Chapter Text

Silence reigned in the room as Wendy Corduroy stared down Chris and Chef. All three of them were waiting for someone else to make the first move.

Chris was the first to crack. "Okay, what is this?"

Chef stared at him, confused. "What is what?"

"This!" Chris exclaimed. "Why is nobody talking?"

"We're talking," Chef said.

"But she's not!" Chris complained.

Wendy sarcastically saluted the duo.

"Relax, man," Chef said. "I'm sure we'll get to the matter at hand soon enough. Why haven't you brought it up?"

Chris groaned. "You can't just bring things like this up out of the blue! You need an opening."

"That's what these meetings are for," Chef pointed out.

Chris scowled. "Fine. Wendy, wanna come back on the show?"

Wendy shook her head. Chris blinked.

"Did you just say no?" he asked incredulously.

Wendy nodded.

"Well why not?" Chef asked.

Wendy broke her silence. "Because I'm not going to win, and the torture's not worth it."

"What do you mean, you're not gonna win?" Chris asked, surprised. "You came in third last season!"

"After being brought back after the merge," Wendy said. "And besides, only the mediocre and cruel win this game."

Chris looked angry. "Who told you that?"

Chef coughed uncomfortably.

"Why would you tell her that?" Chris asked angrily.

"Well it's, it's true, isn't it?" Chef retorted.

"You still shouldn't tell her that!" Chris said. "Thanks to you, she's not coming back. Great job, Chef."

"Come on, Wendy," the grandfather clock wheedled. "Come back just one more time."

Wendy looked stunned. "A talking grandfather clock?"

"That's what I am," the grandfather clock said.

"Yeah, no," Wendy said, standing up. "If I was on the fence before, I'm not now. If I was even considering approaching the fence, no way am I doing that now. That clock's got something bad about it-"

"Oh, what would you know?" the grandfather clock snapped.

Wendy stared directly at its face. "More than you'd think. And enough to leave before something bad happens."

"What could possibly happen?" the grandfather clock asked.

Wendy didn't respond, instead running out the door as fast as possible.

Chapter Text

"Well this is just great," Chris said sarcastically. "Someone else bails on us!"

"Hey, relax," Chef said. "We're doing fine. A lot of them said they'd come back, and we didn't have to strong-arm most of them."

"Yeah, well, at this rate, we're not even going to be able to get twelve campers!" Chris complained.

"We already have twelve," Chef pointed out.

"Fantastic," Chris said sarcastically. "We need eighteen."

"It could happen," the grandfather clock said.

"Fine," Chris said. "Who's next?"

Chef looked at the list and winced. "Ruby Gloom."

Chris scowled.

Ruby took a seat, crossing her right leg over her left, and looked at her interviewers with a smile on her face.

"So why did you want to see me?" she asked.

"Ruby," Chris said, choosing his words carefully, "you're one of the most popular contestants of the past two seasons. Everybody loves you, and everyone wants to be your friend. And I don't know if you know this, but we liked you as a competitor, and we want you to come back for another season."

The smile dropped off of Ruby's face. "Why?"

"Well, for one thing..." Chris started to say. "Chef?"

"Huh?" Chef said, surprised. "Oh. Well, uh, you...you're popular with the fans, you've got friends in the cast, and, uh, uh, you...haven't made any enemies, which is always surprising."

Ruby looked confused.

"Almost everyone makes an enemy at some point in the game," Chris elaborated. "You haven't. Not really."

"So? Why does that matter?" Ruby asked.

Chef sighed. "Remember how you got sick of the game because everybody was at each other's throats?"

"Yes," Ruby said flatly. "That's why I don't want to come back."

"Yeah, but you helped keep the peace," Chef said. "I don't know if you know this, but things got worse after you left."

"So why do you want me back?" Ruby asked. "I thought you liked it when everyone was at each other's throats."

"Things get tenser every season," Chef explained. "We need a peacekeeper or two to make sure things...don't go horrible."

"And you think that's me," Ruby said.

"Exactly," Chris said. "You've certainly shown the ability and inclination."

"Well–why would I want to come back?" Ruby asked.

Chef slid a contract over to her. "To make sure the friends you made on Total Drama don't get hurt."

Ruby walked out of the room a few minutes later. As soon as the door shut behind her, Chris glared at Chef.

"We need a peacekeeper? Really?" he asked angrily. "We do not need a peacekeeper."

"Hey, she signed, didn't she?" Chef shot back.

Chapter Text

Marlowe took her seat across from the hosts.

"Lemme guess," she said, before either Chris or Chef could speak. "You want me to come back for another season?"

Chef nodded. "That's right."

"Sure, I'm in," she said. "But I do have a couple questions."

"Go ahead," Chef said, sliding a copy of the contract changes over to her.

"So why do you need me to sign a new contract?" Marlowe asked.

"New regulations," Chef said.

"I take it that's why you had me come in? You couldn't just force us all onto a new season?" Marlowe guessed.

"That's right," Chef said.

She slid the filled-out contract back to Chef. "So what's with the grandfather clock? It's kind of giving me the creeps."

"That is not important!" the grandfather clock proclaimed. "And I do not give anyone the creeps! I am beloved! By! All!"

Marlowe opened and shut her mouth a few times before turning back to Chef. "Kind of hammy for a clock, isn't it?"

"You get used to it," Chris said as Chef handed over Marlowe's check.

"If you say so," Marlowe said dubiously. "Is the grandfather clock going to be on the show as well?"

Chris grinned. "No. The 'grandfather clock' will not be on the show."

Chapter Text

"Ruby Gloom and Marlowe will be returning to the show!" Chris proclaimed. "Unfortunately, Wendy will not be coming back."

"Really?" Tess said, feigning surprise. "I'd have thought you'd want to have her back, seeing as she's one of the more popular characters on your show."

Chris's smile grew strained. "Well, Tess, we didn't want to overuse a popular contestant. We all saw what happened with All-Stars."

"All the same, you'd think that Wendy would be brought back for a third season," Tess probed.

Chris continued to smile. "We mixed it up a bit. It's always good to mess with expectations. Now how about we move on?"

"Alright," Tess said doubtfully. "What's happening with Hoagie Pennywhistle Gilligan Junior?"

Chris looked confused. "What?"

"He also calls himself Number Two," Tess clarified.

The detective walked into the room like a tiger walks into a cave: not particularly happy to be there, but ready to take care of business. He stalked up to the desk and stared down the two people seated there, gaze as steely as the barrel of the gun hidden in his shoulder holster. His adversaries looked back at him, as unsuspecting as a woman confronted with the amazing studliness of Hoagie P. Gilligan, Jr. for the first time.

"This kid's kinda creeping me out," Chef whispered to Chris.

"Oh really?" Numbuh Two asked, somehow picking out what Chef had said. "What is it that scares you, exactly?"

Chef raised the left side of his eyebrow. "I ain't scared of you, ya little punk. I just said–"

"Wait," Chris said, cutting Chef off. "Are you doing the detective thing again?"

"Who wants to know?" Numbuh Two asked.

"He's doing the detective thing again," Chris told Chef. The large cook rolled his eyes.

"That wasn't even fun the first time around!" the grandfather clock complained. "Why do it again?"

"Did that clock just talk?" Numbuh Two asked, dropping the detective act.

"Why do people keep asking if I talk?" the grandfather clock asked. "Isn't the answer obvious?"

"Clocks usually don't talk," Chef pointed out.

"And I am a clock, so of course I don't talk!" the grandfather clock said.

"But you just talked!" Numbuh Two complained.

"No I didn't," the clock said.

"You totally did! Just now!" Numbuh Two insisted.

The clock chuckled. "Everyone knows clocks don't talk."

"You're talking right now!" Numbuh Two said.

"Okay, Numbuh Two, why are you arguing with my clock?" Chris asked.

Numbuh Two was left speechless for a couple of seconds before admitting "I don't know."

"Good, then let's get down to business," Chris said. "Chef, if you would do the honors?"

"We want you to come back on the show for another season," Chef said gruffly. "But first, we need you to sign a new contract. Sign it, and you get ten thousand dollars. Are you in?"

Numbuh Two stared down at the contract Chef put down in front of him. "Really?"

"Really," Chris said. "All you have to do is sign."

Numbuh Two's face wrinkled up with uncertainty, but he sighed and took the pen.

"Great!" Chris said as soon as Numbuh Two finished signing. "Now get outta here, we've got somebody else coming in."

"Whatever," Numbuh Two muttered, dropping the pen on the desk. "Your clock's stupid anyway."

"Yes, Numbuh Two will return," Chris said. "And that leaves us with just one more to go...unfortunately."

"Chaz Monoranian?" Tess guessed.

Chris nodded. "Yeah. That guy."

Chapter Text

Chaz swooped into the room with a huge grin on his face. "Hey hey, it's your favorite contestant!" he greeted them. "The Chaz!"

"Hi Chaz," Chris grumbled.

"Now, I know why I'm here, and I'm just gonna say, yes," Chaz said. "Yes, I will host the show for you next season!"

"Wait, what?" Chris said, startled.

"I know, I know, last season, total letdown," Chaz said. "You need to make a big splash, with a younger, more fabulous host, instead of the old, tired, worn-out Chris McLean!"

"I'm not worn out!" Chris complained.

"Oh, those bags under your eyes say different," Chaz said. "And there's no shame in stepping down before you hit rock bottom. Especially if it means you're making way for the Chaz!"

Chris pursed his lips angrily. "You know what, fine. Chef, give him the contract."

"Really?" Chef said, surprised. "Well, okay, but we don't have one drawn up right now."

"Of course we do," Chris said through teeth gritted in a grin. "There's one right here!"

Chris pulled out one of the normal contracts and slapped it on the table.

"But that's–oh, right!" Chef said, catching on.

Chaz smirked. "Okay, I know you're both lying. What's this contract really for?"

"Making you the new host," Chris said.

At the same time, Chef said, "Getting you onto the next season."

Chaz's smirk grew deeper. "Be honest."

"It's a contract for the next season," Chef said. "Sign it, and you're agreeing to come on the next season of Total Drama."

"Plus you get a check for ten thousand dollars!" Chris cut in.

"Don't sign, and you're not on the show," Chef said. "So what do you say?"

"Let me get this straight," Chaz said. "You lure me here under false pretenses, lie to my face, offer me a pittance to come on your show, and expect me to accept?"

"Yes?" Chris said uncomfortably.

A grin split Chaz's face. "I'm totally in! I mean, that's all stuff I would do, and you know I'm all about giving the world what it wants. And you know what the world wants?"

"More Chaz?" Chef guessed sourly.

"More Chaz!" Chaz exclaimed, signing the contract. "I will BE THERE!"

Chapter Text

"So, unless I miss my count, that's everybody," Tess confirmed.

Chris grinned. "Darn straight that's everybody."

"So there you have it!" Tess announced. "Total Drama is returning for another season with 16 contestants vying for the grand prize!"

"Eighteen, actually," Chris corrected her.

Tess frowned. "I only counted sixteen."

"That's because the other two...are surprises!" Chris said. "Who are they? Who will win? Who will lose? Who will look like an enormous idiot on international television? Find out, on Total! Drama! Cartoon Multiverse: Dimension Hopping!"

The lights went down, and Tess took a sip of water as the set burst into movement to get things ready for the next guest. Chris was escorted offstage by the stage manager, and as she watched him leave, she realized the problem: everything was the same. Day after day, regardless of whom she interviewed or what they talked about, nothing ever changed. It was just the same routine time and time again, and it was...well, it was dull.

She avoided gritting her teeth, but her mind was only half on her job as the stage settled down again and her next guest took a seat beside her. Even when the cameras started rolling and she conducted the interview, her mind was whirring, thinking of what could be done to shake this malaise and figure out what she wanted to do instead–what the next step was to get herself doing something meaningful. It would take some work, and she'd need to figure out what she even wanted, but–yes, breaking out of her rut was achievable. She could do it.

When the hour ended, she left the stage to the sound of applause.

"You okay?" Jimmy, the stage manager, asked. "You seemed a bit off tonight."

Tess smiled. "I think...I just had to think about some things. I'll be better next show."

Jimmy nodded. "If you're sure."

Chapter Text

"Okay, we've got a problem," Chef noted once Chaz left. "We're supposed to have 18 contestants for this season, and we only got 16. How are we going to get another two?"

Chris smirked. "Relax, my man. I've got it all under control." He got up and started to walk down the hall. Chef followed, not noticing the grandfather clock trailing after them.

"That's not good enough!" Chef complained. "You had Pahkitew Island under control too, and that blew up in our faces! You had control of Wawanakwa, and that sunk underwater! Telling me you have something under control is the opposite of reassuring!"

"Oh really?" Chris asked. He opened a door. "Would this convince you otherwise?"

Chef stepped inside the room. His jaw dropped.

"What is that?" Chef asked, horrified.

Behind him, the grandfather clock silently slunk into the room. Chris shut the door softly.

"That, my man, is the future," Chris explained.

In front of them, Courtney was suspended in a tube of liquid, eyes shut in a manner that suggested she was sleeping.

"That doesn't explain anything," Chef said, starting to freak out. "Chris, man, what did you do?"

"He opened a door," the grandfather clock explained.

Chef spun around to stare at the grandfather clock.

"Okay, time out!" Chef declared. "You! What's your deal!"

The grandfather clock changed its shape, shifting into a giant, grinning snake.

"My deal?" the former grandfather clock asked. "I'm just a fan of...quality entertainment."

"Then why are you here?" Chef asked, trying to mask his fear with bravado.

"Chef," Chris interrupted, "where do you think we got our contestants from?"

"I dunno," Chef said. "I guess they just submit audition tapes or something? Same place we always do! Quit trying to distract me!"

"What if I told you they came from other universes?" Chris asked.

Chef blinked at him.

"What if I told you that the snake over there knew how to open doors to other universes?" Chris asked.

"Why on earth would we want to do that?" Chef asked. "We can do just fine with people from this universe!"

"Can we, Chef?" Chris asked. "Can we really?"

"Uh, yeah," Chef said. "We've been doing fine so far! Now quit your–"

"Chef," Chris said, "you were in a war, right?"

Chef was stunned by the question but quickly recovered. "You know I don't like to talk about that."

"That's fine," Chris said. "But...who was in your squad?"

"...what?"

"Who was in your squad," Chris repeated. "What were their names? In fact, what's one person?"

Chef fell silent for several seconds.

"I can't remember," Chef admitted. "Why can't I remember? I should be able to remember something so important!"

"Do you have a wife?" Chris asked.

Chef scratched his head. "No?"

"What about exes?" Chris asked. "I know you must have some failed relationships somewhere in your background. Everyone does. Right?"

"Okay!" Chef barked. "What's the point of this?"

"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players," Chris recited. "They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts."

Chef looked confused. "What?"

"What?" Chris asked.

"I know you," Chef said. "There's no way you came up with that yourself."

"Right you are," Chris agreed. "But who wrote it?"

"I dunno, man!" Chef complained. "You're making no sense!"

Chris smirked. "It's from another universe. But it doesn't apply exactly. Because you see, Chef, we are not the players." He looked the other man dead in the eyes. "We're the parts."

Chef merely looked confused and annoyed. "What are you talking about?"

"You can't remember anything beyond your role on Total Drama, right?" Chris asked. "You have no history beyond Total Drama and whatever you've said about your past on the show, right?"

Chef kept his mouth shut.

"That's because we aren't real people," Chris continued. "Or perhaps we're more than real. Hyperreal. Because we are the ones that matter in this universe. The universe is the show, and everything exists for the purpose of the show. All the viewers are backdrop–you've never met one that wasn't a contestant, but you're sure they exist, right? But they don't, not really, and if they did they'd only be real for as long as they were part of the show. We almost never ran into anybody in World Tour, even when it made no sense; after all, there's no way they'd really shut down the Louvre just to film a cheap Canadian reality show. And yet, somehow, that's exactly what happened. An island collapsing into the ground? An island that's a completely artificial machine? An abandoned movie lot that conveniently hasn't been repurposed for other uses despite being in Toronto? None of this should exist, and yet it does. Why? Because it's best for the show."

"The show is all that matters, Chef. And we only matter as long as the show exists. Otherwise, we cease to exist."

"Tell me, Chef. What happens when the cameras stop rolling? Where do you go? What do you do?"

Chef didn't say anything, but the expression on his face became progressively more worried as Chris's monologue went on.

"That doesn't explain–" Chef started to say, before stopping to swallow heavily. "That doesn't explain–the whole..." He pointed at Courtney. "THIS!"

"But it does, Chef," Chris said. "Because this isn't even the main world. It's derivative. A fanfiction. And oddly enough, that makes it...freer."

"That makes no sense!"

"Really?" Chris asked. "Because new characters can appear for no reason and no explanation. The world can do insane things for no purpose. There's no studio demanding the show make sense for the audience. There's no internal logic required. There's no issues with intellectual property rights because there's no profit. And there's nothing saying that I can't reach into other universes and pluck out characters. All that's needed...is something to pave the way."

"And what, Courtney in a jar does that?" Chef spat. "You're nuts, and I'm leaving!"

In a flash, the snake wrapped around Chef.

"I don't think so," the snake hissed. "We still have much to do."

"I'm afraid he's right," Chris agreed. "You see, Courtney in a jar doesn't allow us to complete our plans. We need a much more main character for that."

"What are you talking about?" Chef snapped.

Chris popped open another tube. "Don't worry about it. This won't hurt...well, it won't hurt me, at least."

"You can't do this!" Chef yelled as the snake forced him inside and Chris shut the door. He pounded on the sides of the tube. "Let me out! This isn't funny! You can't–"

With a hiss, the tube filled with liquid. Chef's eyes slammed shut, although his mouth was frozen open in a scream.

"Well, I'm glad that's over!" Chris said. "Now, let's–"

The snake pulled the other tube open, and Courtney fell out. She got up coughing.

"CHRIS!" she yelled angrily upon catching sight of the host. "I SWEAR TO GOD, I WILL–"

The snake wrapped its tail around her mouth, stifling her complaints.

"I don't think you'll do anything," the snake said smoothly. "Unless, of course, you want to go back in that tube."

"Do you?" Chris taunted. "Just nod if you do, and we'll put you back in."

Courtney said something angrily that was muffled by the snake's tail.

"Good," Chris said. "Now then, if you'll just sign here..."

Chris produced another contract and a pen. Courtney grumpily took the pen and signed.

"Excellent!" Chris said. "That's a typical NDA along with you waiving your rights to sue the show in perpetuity. Let her go."

The snake released Courtney, and she fell to her knees, gasping for air. When she could finally breathe again, she pushed herself to her feet.

"Contracts signed under duress are ineligible in a court of law!" she complained.

Chris grinned. "Yeah, but we've got better lawyers, you can't prove it was signed under duress, and if you try anything we'll get you back for it, and you know it."

Courtney glared at him. "I hate you."

"Yeah, I don't care," Chris said, waving her off. "Now go away. Me and my associate have actual important things to discuss."

With one final glare at Chris, Courtney left. Chris turned to the snake.

"So, you said you had plans for this," Chris said. "What are they?"

"Well, I believe you'll need a co-host," the snake said. "I think I can do that."

With that, the snake shifted into a green-skinned woman with short, close-cropped black hair and bright red lips wearing a tight black dress and a pair of black gloves.

"Nice!" Chris said appreciatively. "And as for the lack of contestants?"

"I think I can find some...original characters," the woman said.

As if on cue, she and Chris both burst into raucous laughter a few seconds later.