The descent into Switzerland was nothing like the chaotic, engine-screaming drop the producers had planned for Japan. Instead of plunging through a typhoon, the Total Jumbo Jet glided through the crisp, crystalline air of the Alps, the snowy peaks reflecting the morning sun like jagged diamonds.
Inside the plane, the atmosphere had shifted. The usual tension was still there, but it had changed shape. It was no longer the frantic terror of survival, but the quiet, calculating hum of a new game being born.
The Unlikely Coalition
Heather sat in the back of the plane, her eyes fixed on the clouds, but her ears tuned to the cabin. She had barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard Chris's voice from the confessional—not the booming, arrogant host, but the man admitting he was a puppet on a string.
She stood up, smoothed her shirt, and walked toward the cargo hold. She didn't look for Alejandro. She didn't look for Courtney. She looked for the guy who was currently leaning against a crate of prop yodeling outfits, reading a medical journal.
"Noah," she said, her voice low and sharp.
Noah didn't look up. "If you're here to recruit me for a 'Let's-Backstab-Gwen' club, I'm busy. I'm currently enjoying the fact that we aren't being struck by lightning over Tokyo."
"I know why we aren't in Tokyo," Heather hissed, sitting down opposite him. "And it's not because of the weather. I heard him, Noah. In the confessional. With Sierra."
That got his attention. Noah closed his book, his dark eyes narrowing. "You heard McLean? Let me guess, he was practicing his 'I'm-a-God' speech in the mirror?"
"No," Heather whispered, leaning in so the hidden microphones (which she hoped Chris had disabled) wouldn't catch her. "He gave her the meds back. He admitted he's on beta-blockers. He admitted the producers are threatening to replace him if he doesn't break us. He's... he's sabotaging the network, Noah. He's taking us to Switzerland to get supplies and to rewrite the challenges because the ones they sent were 'too sadistic' even for him."
Noah was silent for a long time. The sarcasm that usually draped over him like a shield flickered. "So, the sociopath has a soul? Or he's just afraid of a heart attack?"
"Both," Heather said. "But here's the thing: if Chris goes down, the producers send in someone who actually is a monster. Someone who doesn't care about blood pressure. We need Chris to stay in that chair. And we need to get rid of the people who thrive on the producers' version of the game."
"You mean Alejandro," Noah said.
"I mean Alejandro," Heather confirmed. "He's the producers' dream. He's the chaos they want. If we don't stop him, and if we don't help Chris keep the ratings up without killing us, we're all finished."
Noah leaned back, a slow, calculating smirk spreading across his face. "A secret alliance to save the host and sabotage the network? That is so meta, I actually don't hate it. I'm in. But we need a third. Someone they'd never suspect."
Heather looked toward the front of the plane, where Sierra was sitting calmly, braiding Cody's hair with surgical precision. "I think I know just the girl."
The Mountains of Cheese and Glory
When the cargo door opened, the contestants were met with the freshest air they had ever breathed. They were on a plateau high in the Alps, surrounded by green pastures and cows wearing bells the size of Owen's head.
Chris stepped out, wearing a high-end designer parka and sunglasses that cost more than a mid-sized sedan. He looked... refreshed. His face wasn't that terrifying shade of purple anymore.
"Welcome to Switzerland, campers!" Chris announced, grabbing a megaphone. "The producers told me to make you climb a frozen peak with no gear while they pelted you with frozen turkeys from a helicopter. I told them that sounded expensive and stupid. So instead, we're doing something classic. Something... rustic."
Chef Hatchet stood behind him, holding a massive tray of local cheeses.
"Challenge part one: The Great Alpine Roll!" Chris pointed to a winding, narrow path leading down the mountain. "Each team gets a five-hundred-pound wheel of Gruyère. You have to navigate it down to the village at the bottom. First team to the village with an intact wheel wins. Part two: The Chocolate Tempering. You'll use the milk from those cows to create a confection that doesn't taste like despair. Simple, right?"
"Wait," Alejandro stepped forward, his smile charming as ever, though his eyes were darting around, sensing the change in the air. "No life-threatening traps? No hidden landmines? Chris, are you feeling alright, amigo?"
Chris's smile didn't waver, but it felt sharper. "I'm feeling better than ever, Al. Now, get moving, or I'll let Chef eat your appetizers!"
The Redemption of the Homeschooler
The race was a disaster for most. Team Chris is Really Really Really Really Hot (a name Chris now muttered with a visible wince) was struggling. Alejandro was trying to lead, but Izzy kept trying to "tame" the cheese wheel like a wild animal, and Owen kept taking bites out of the cargo.
Team Amazon was doing better, but the internal bickering between Courtney and Gwen about the "proper physics of cheese rotation" was slowing them down. Only Sierra was working with terrifying efficiency, her eyes locked on the goal.
But the real story was Team Victory.
They were lagging behind, the heavy wheel threatening to crush DJ's foot at every turn. Harold was trying to use "ancient ninja friction techniques" to slow the wheel, but it wasn't working. They were on the verge of another loss. They could see the village, but the path was blocked by a narrow, rocky ridge that the cheese wheel wouldn't fit through.
"It's over, eh," Ezekiel muttered, looking at the ridge. "We're gonna lose. Again. I'm gonna be the one they send home. I can feel it."
"No!" Bridgette shouted. "There has to be a way!"
Ezekiel looked at the slope. He looked at the grass, the way the wind was blowing, and the way the cows were huddled near a specific patch of clover. His farm-boy instincts, buried under years of wanting to be "cool," suddenly surged to the surface.
"Wait... the cows!" Zeke yelled. "They don't use the ridge! They use the goat-path under the overhang! It's steeper, but it's smooth limestone! If we tip the wheel on its side and slide it like a dinner plate, we'll bypass the village gates and land right in the town square!"
"Zeke, that's insane!" Leshawna yelled. "We'll lose control!"
"Trust me, eh! I've moved hay bales bigger than this on ice!" Ezekiel grabbed the edge of the wheel.
With a roar of effort, the homeschooler guided the team. They tipped the five-hundred-pound cheese wheel onto its flat side. It hit the limestone path and took off like a rocket. Ezekiel jumped on top of it, using a stick to steer it like a makeshift rudder.
"WOOOOOOO-HOOOOOO!" Zeke screamed, his hat flying off as he zoomed past Team Amazon and Team Chris.
The cheese wheel slammed into the town square, landing perfectly on the judging scale with a thunderous BOOM. Ezekiel stood on top of it, panting, covered in grass and dirt, but grinning from ear to ear.
"Team Victory wins!" Chris shouted into the megaphone, his voice filled with genuine shock. "I don't believe it! The homeschooler actually did it! That was... that was incredible television!"
The cameras zoomed in on Ezekiel's face. For the first time in Total Drama history, he wasn't a joke. He was a champion. Back in the production offices in New York, the monitors were lighting up. The "Underdog Story" was trending. The ratings weren't just steady—they were skyrocketing. People loved a winner, but they loved a loser who finally won.
The Fallout and the Rebranding
As the sun set over the Alps, Chris stood on the village stage. He looked at the final tally. Team Victory was celebrating, hugging Ezekiel like he was a king. Team Amazon took second place, largely due to Sierra's renewed focus.
And then there was Team Chris is Really Really Really Really Hot. They stood in a line, looking miserable. Alejandro was fuming, his perfect hair out of place. They had come in dead last.
Chris looked at them, then at his clipboard. He looked disgusted.
"You guys," Chris sighed. "You were pathetic. Owen, you ate ten pounds of the cheese. Izzy, you tried to start a cult with a mountain goat. And Tyler... you tripped over your own shadow three times."
Chris rubbed his temples. "And that name. God, I hate that name. It was a product of my ego when my blood pressure was through the roof. It's vain, it's stupid, and it's inaccurate because right now, none of you look 'hot.' You look like losers."
He looked at Team Amazon, who were standing tall and proud.
"From now on," Chris barked, "you aren't 'Team Chris-Whatever.' If the girls are the Amazons, then you're going to be something that actually fits. You're Team Myrmidon. Google it, Owen. It means soldiers who follow orders. Maybe if you have a tougher name, you'll stop acting like toddlers in a ball pit."
"But Chris!" Owen whined. "I liked being hot!"
"Shut it, Owen! You're going to the elimination ceremony!" Chris turned to the camera. "And as for the rest of you... stay tuned. Because things are finally starting to get interesting."
The Private Victory
Later that night, as the teams boarded the plane, Chef Hatchet walked up to Chris. He handed him a tablet.
"Ratings are up thirty percent, Chris," Chef said, his voice low. "The 'Zeke-Saves-The-Day' clip has five million views already. The producers... they're quiet. They don't know what to say."
Chris took a sip of a green juice (mostly kale and sanity). He looked at the screen, watching Ezekiel being hoisted onto the shoulders of Harold and DJ.
"Of course they're quiet, Chef," Chris said, a genuine, small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "They wanted blood. I gave them a miracle. It's much harder to fire a man who's making you a fortune."
Behind them, in the shadows of the boarding ramp, Heather and Noah exchanged a look. The plan was working. Chris was safe, the producers were silenced for now, and the game was finally becoming theirs.
"One down," Noah whispered.
"One to go," Heather replied, her eyes tracking.
Alejandro as he walked onto the plane, looking more dangerous than ever.
The Alps were behind them, but the real climb was just beginning.