The flickering torchlight cast long, dancing shadows across the elimination circle. Chris McLean held the parchment in his hand, a dramatic pause hanging in the air.
"I've tallied the votes," Chris announced, his voice booming across the small island clearing, "and tonight's flushee is... Alejandro!"
A triumphant "Ha!" escaped Heather's lips. Finally, that smug smile would be wiped off his face. Justice in its most satisfying form.
Alejandro, however, remained unfazed. A small, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips. "Oh," he said smoothly, his voice calm and even, "I do not think I am leaving tonight, Chris."
Chris raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Really? Why is that?"
A collective gasp rippled through the remaining contestants.
Alejandro's smile widened slightly. "I have diplomatic immunity."
Chris snorted, a humourless sound. "Just immunity, Alejandro. There's no international law applying to getting flushed on Total Drama."
"You!" Heather practically spat the word, her earlier glee morphing into incandescent fury. "YOUUUU!"
"Hate to interrupt during a well-thought-out argument," Chris interjected, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "but the only vote that wasn't for Alejandro was for you, Heather." He held up the picture of Heather for all to see. "So, you are getting flushed."
Heather's eyes widened in disbelief, her face contorting in horror. "Nooooo..."
Before she could utter another word, the interns were upon her, their grip surprisingly firm. Heather thrashed, her protests echoing across the clearing as she was dragged towards the ominous hole in the dock.
Alejandro watched her go, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, before his usual charming facade settled back into place.
The splash that followed Heather's descent was a final, resounding punctuation mark on her dramatic and unexpected elimination.
The world dissolved into a chaotic swirl of brown and grey. One moment, Heather was screaming defiance at the uncaring sky above the Flush of Shame, the next she was plummeting down a narrow, porcelain tunnel.
The smell was atrocious – a potent cocktail of stale water, something vaguely chemical, and the lingering, undeniable stench of the camp's less-than-hygienic facilities.
The initial drop was surprisingly fast, the slick ceramic offering no resistance. Heather flailed, her arms windmilling uselessly. The light from the elimination ceremony vanished abruptly, plunging her into a claustrophobic darkness.
The only sounds were the whooshing rush of water and her panicked gasps echoing off the smooth walls.
Then came the churning. The narrow passage opened into a wider, turbulent vortex. Heather was tossed and turned, her body bumping against the cold, unforgiving porcelain.
The force of the water pressed her against the sides, making it hard to breathe. She swallowed a mouthful of the disgusting liquid, gagging instantly.
Down, down, down she spiralled, the darkness absolute. She lost all sense of direction, the only constant being the relentless pull downwards and the nauseating sloshing.
Her clothes became heavy and waterlogged, dragging her down further. The cold seeped into her bones, a chilling premonition of something far worse than just being eliminated.
Just when her lungs began to burn and a desperate panic threatened to overwhelm her, the sensation changed again. The tight confines expanded, and the furious churning lessened.
There was a brief, disorienting lull, as if she were suspended in a dark, watery void. Then, a new pressure built from below, a powerful surge that propelled her forward with surprising force.
She tumbled through what felt like a wider pipe, the darkness still complete. The whooshing sound intensified again, but this time it was accompanied by a strange, icy undertone.
The water around her grew noticeably colder, biting at her skin with a new intensity.
Suddenly, there was a brief flash of pale light ahead, growing rapidly larger. The pressure behind her intensified, building to a violent thrust. Heather braced herself, not knowing what to expect, only desperate for this horrifying journey to end.
Then, with a final, forceful surge, she was ejected from the darkness into a blinding white expanse.
The icy rush of the Flush of Shame was even more disorienting than Heather had imagined. One minute she was screaming, the next she was plunged into a frigid darkness, swirling and churning. Then, with a violent expulsion, she was thrust upwards, breaking through the surface of what felt like solid ice.
Gasping, she scrambled onto the slippery bank, water streaming from her sodden clothes. The air bit at her exposed skin with a brutal cold she'd never experienced, not even during Total Drama World Tour. Towering pines, heavy with snow, surrounded her. The silence was vast and unsettling.
"I'M IN THE YUKON!" she shrieked, her voice cracking with a mixture of shock and outrage. She hugged herself tightly, shivering uncontrollably. Every part of her ached with the cold.
Stumbling forward, desperate for some kind of shelter, her vision blurred by the biting wind and lingering disorientation. She didn't see the thick, snow-covered pole until it was too late. Her tongue, still numb from the icy water, made contact with the frozen wood. A sharp, stinging pain shot through her as it instantly adhered.
"Mmph!" she cried out, tugging frantically. The skin on her tongue stretched painfully. Tears welled in her eyes, a mixture of fear and frustration.
Suddenly, a low growl rumbled through the silent forest. Heather froze, her eyes wide with terror. A massive, white figure emerged from behind a cluster of snow-laden trees. Its black nose twitched, and its dark eyes fixed on her. A polar bear.
The creature took a slow, deliberate step closer, its massive paws crunching on the snow. Another, deeper growl vibrated in the air, a primal warning that sent shivers down Heather's spine, even through the bone-deep cold.
Her eyes darted around frantically, searching for any escape, but there was nowhere to go. The bear was too close, too big. Trapped, with her tongue stuck fast to a frozen pole, Heather could only stare in helpless terror as the enormous predator loomed over her, its breath misting in the frigid air.
A high-pitched, bloodcurdling scream tore from Heather's throat, a sound swallowed almost instantly by the vast, unforgiving wilderness of the Yukon. The polar bear remained, its shadow falling over the small, shivering figure, the scream echoing in the desolate silence that followed.
But even as terror gripped her, a flicker of the old Heather ignited. This wasn't some rigged challenge or manipulative alliance. This was raw survival. As the polar bear took another step, she ripped her tongue free from the pole with a sharp, agonising tear, a metallic tang filling her mouth. Ignoring the searing pain, she scrambled sideways, putting the frozen pole between herself and the massive predator.
The polar bear, momentarily surprised by her sudden movement and the raw sound of her pain, paused. It lowered its head, sniffing the air where her tongue had been stuck, a low rumble in its chest. This gave Heather a precious few seconds. Her eyes scanned the snowy ground, desperate for anything she could use. Her hand landed on a jagged piece of ice, sharp and surprisingly heavy.
With a guttural yell that was half-fear, half-rage, Heather lunged forward, thrusting the shard of ice towards the bear's face. The bear roared, recoiling slightly, its thick fur offering some protection. But the sharp edge grazed its snout, drawing a thin line of dark blood.
Enraged, the polar bear swiped a massive paw. Heather yelped, throwing herself backwards as the claws tore through the remnants of her jacket sleeve. She scrambled behind the pole again, using it as a temporary shield. The bear circled slowly, its eyes never leaving her, a low growl building in its chest.
Heather knew the pole wouldn't hold it for long. She needed to move, to find something, anything. Spotting a cluster of sharp, broken branches half-buried in the snow, she dashed them, the bear lumbering after her. She snatched up two of the sturdiest branches, one in each hand, and turned to face her attacker.
The polar bear charged, a white blur of muscle and fury. Heather screamed again, not in terror this time, but in a desperate act of defiance. She jabbed the branches forward, aiming for the bear's eyes. One of the branches glanced off its thick skull, but the other found its mark, scratching across the bear's snout.
The bear roared in pain and surprise, momentarily halting its attack. Heather seized the opportunity, scrambling backwards again, putting more distance between them. She knew this couldn't last. She was freezing, injured, and facing a creature perfectly adapted to this brutal environment.
But the queen bee of Total Drama had always been a survivor. And in the frozen wasteland of the Yukon, her fight for survival had just begun.