The first morning at Camp Wawanakwa didn't begin with the chirping of birds, but with the hollow, metallic clang of a bell that sounded more like a death toll. Ezekiel was already awake. He had spent the dawn hours doing calisthenics in the shadows behind the cabin, his movements silent and practiced. By the time the others were stumbling out of their bunks, he was back in his bed, feigning the slow, groggy awakening of a farm boy.
The Mess Hall was a cathedral of misery. The air was thick with the smell of burnt hair and something Ezekiel could only describe as "chemical despair." Behind the counter stood Chef Hatchet, a man who looked like he had been carved out of granite and spite. He was slopping a grey, translucent, vibrating substance onto plastic trays.
"What is this? Is it alive? I think I saw it twitch," Gwen remarked as she stood at the Gophers' table, poking the mess with a distorted plastic spoon. The sludge let out a soft, wet hiss, a sound that made half the room recoil.
Heather pushed her tray away with two fingers, her lip curled in a permanent sneer. "I am not putting that in my body. It looks like something that died twice, was rejected by hell, and came back to haunt us for a third time. Chris, this is a health code violation!"
Most of the contestants were on the verge of gagging. The Screaming Gophers were already falling into a state of lethargy. Only Owen was shoveling it in with his usual, terrifying gusto, and over at the Bass table, Izzy was happily chewing on an unidentifiable piece of gristle, humming a tuneless song to herself.
Ezekiel sat between Harold and Tyler. He looked at the grey mass, then at his teammates. He could feel the eyes of the group on him. He didn't hesitate. He took a large, brimming spoonful and began to eat. His expression remained as calm and vacant as a stagnant pond. To everyone else, he looked like a simpleton who didn't know any better. To himself, he was calculating the caloric density.
Harold and Tyler stared at him, their eyes wide with a mixture of horror and awe.
"Dude... how?" Tyler whispered, his face a shade of green that matched the pine trees outside. "It's moving, man. It's actually moving."
Ezekiel swallowed slowly, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and leaned in closer to them. He lowered his voice, making it sound confidential, like a farmer sharing weather secrets.
"Listen, guys," Ezekiel began, his tone earnest. "Back on the farm, when you have to clean out the bottom of the grain silo in mid-July... it smells way worse than this. This? This is just boiled oats, probably some fish eyes, and maybe some organ meats. It's fuel. Pure and simple."
He leaned even closer, his eyes locking onto Tyler's. "We don't know what Chris has planned. He's out there smiling like a fox in a hen house. If you go out there with an empty stomach, your blood sugar drops. You'll shake, you'll lose focus, and you'll crash. Don't think about the taste—think about the energy. Do you want to be the reason we lose?"
Harold adjusted his glasses, a spark of analytical fire in his eyes. "A logical assessment of nutritional necessity. The body requires glucose and protein to maintain homeostatic balance during high-stress activities. Impressive, Ezekiel. Your survival instincts are... formidable."
"I just don't want to see you guys faint," Ezekiel said with a shrug, playing back into his "caring but simple" persona.
Inspired by Ezekiel's stoicism, the two began to eat. Ezekiel watched them from under the brim of his hat. He had just ensured his core alliance—the "paws" of his operation—would be the only ones with enough strength to endure what was coming. Across the room, Heather caught his eye. She was watching him eat with a look of intense scrutiny. She didn't buy the "simple boy" act for a second. She saw the way he led Harold and Tyler without them even realizing it.
The 1,000-Foot High Dive
A few minutes later, the campers stood at the edge of the towering limestone cliff. The wind howled through the jagged rocks, and the water below looked like a sheet of dark glass, miles away.
"Okay, campers!" Chris shouted, standing on a hovering platform with a megaphone in one hand and a glass of sparkling water in the other. "Today's challenge: The Thousand-Foot High Dive into the safe zone! If you jump and land in the zone, you get a point for your team. If you refuse, you wear a chicken hat for the rest of the day. And trust me, the humiliation is permanent."
Chris leaned over the edge, grinning. "Oh, and did I mention the sharks? We've been starving them for three days. They're very... motivated. The Killer Bass will go first!"
The Bass erupted into chaos. DJ was already hyperventilating, his massive frame shaking like a leaf. Courtney was reciting the camp's liability waiver at the top of her lungs, demanding to see a notary.
"I'll go," Ezekiel said, stepping forward.
The silence that followed was absolute. Even Chris looked surprised. "Zeke? You sure, buddy? You know this isn't a hayloft, right?"
"Water is water," Ezekiel replied with a dull nod.
He pulled off his hoodie and tossed it to Katie. As the heavy fabric left his body, the true extent of his transformation was revealed. In the bright morning sun, his physique looked like it had been sculpted from corded rope and iron. There was no "bulky" gym muscle here; this was the lean, functional strength of a man who spent his life wrestling cattle and hauling timber.
The reactions were visceral. Gwen's face turned a deep shade of crimson; she looked away, but her eyes immediately darted back. Bridgette let out a soft, unconscious sigh. Heather narrowed her eyes, her brain working overtime to figure out how a "pincushion" had turned into a threat.
Ezekiel didn't give them time to think. He took three powerful, explosive strides and launched himself off the cliff.
He didn't flail. He soaring. In mid-air, he performed a tight, professional somersault, spinning with the grace of a diver who had practiced for thousands of hours—which, in his secret training, he had. He opened up at the last possible second into a perfect, razor-sharp swan dive.
Chris McLean's Reaction:
Up on his platform, Chris's jaw literally dropped. He looked at the monitor in his hand, then back at the falling boy. "Now that is what I call a ratings grabber!" he laughed to himself, his eyes gleaming with professional delight. He loved the "farm boy" narrative Ezekiel was selling, but as a producer, he was starting to fall in love with the secret reality even more. This was the kind of dark horse story that won awards.
Ezekiel hit the water with a clean thwack, right in the center of the safe zone. As he surfaced, a shark fin sliced through the water toward him. To the campers above, it looked like he was about to be eaten. But Ezekiel was ready. He dove under the surface, eyes open in the salty brine. As the shark lunged, he delivered a sharp, calculated kick to the predator's sensitive snout. The shark recoiled, confused and stunned, and retreated into the depths.
Ezekiel climbed onto the floating dock, shaking the water from his hair like a dog. He looked back up and cupped his hands around his mouth.
"Come on, Tyler! It's just like jumping into the pond back home! Just aim for the center and don't look down!"
Tyler, seeing Ezekiel's success and hearing the encouragement, felt a surge of misplaced adrenaline. "Yeah! Pond! I got this!"
Tyler screamed as he jumped, but his coordination failed him halfway down. He flailed wildly, his limbs spinning like a broken windmill. He missed the water entirely, his head smacking against the edge of the safety buoy with a sickening THUD. He bounced off the inflated rim and slid limply into the safe zone.
Ezekiel was there in a second, pulling Tyler out of the water.
"You made it, man! You landed in the zone! That's a point for the Bass!"
Tyler, dazed and seeing three Ezekiels, gave a weak thumbs-up. "Did... did I win the Olympics?"
"You did great, Tyler. You're a warrior," Ezekiel said, helping him stand.
The Domino Effect:
The rest of the Bass followed, influenced by the momentum Ezekiel had created. Izzy jumped next, cackling like a hyena the entire way down, spinning like a top before splashing into the water and immediately trying to wrestle a shark.
Courtney, however, remained at the top. "I am a C.I.T.! I am not jumping into shark-infested waters for a reality show!" She received the first chicken hat, her face turning a vibrant shade of purple from embarrassment.
Katie and Sadie held hands. "For Ezekiel!" they shrieked, their voices echoing off the cliffs. They hit the water with a massive belly-flop that sounded like a gunshot, but they were in the zone.
Duncan, Eva, and Geoff all performed solid jumps. Geoff, however, was visibly bothered. He looked at the way Katie and Sadie were hovering around Ezekiel on the dock, and how Bridgette—still on the cliff—was staring down at the farm boy. The "party guy" was feeling his social territory being invaded.
DJ was the biggest hurdle. He was crying. "I can't do it, Mama... I can't do it!"
Ezekiel called up to him. "DJ! Remember the food! You have the strength! Just close your eyes and step!"
But DJ couldn't move. He became the second "chicken" of the team.
Finally, Harold stood at the edge. Everyone expected him to fail. But Harold remembered the "fuel" conversation. He remembered Ezekiel treating him like an equal. "I will show them the power of the crane!" he screamed, launching himself into a bizarre, limb-twisting jump. He landed just inside the buoy, gasping for air.
The Killer Bass Total: 9 Jumpers, 2 Chickens.
Ezekiel stood on the dock, his arms crossed, his wet skin glistening. He looked up at the Screaming Gophers. Specifically, he looked at Heather. She was staring back, her gaze cold and piercing. She didn't look at the water; she looked at the way Ezekiel had organized his team.
"Nice work, Bass!" Chris barked. "Gophers, you're up! Bridgette, you're first! Show your old team what they threw away!"
Ezekiel watched as Bridgette stepped to the edge. She looked lonely over there, surrounded by Gwen's stoicism and Heather's malice.
Ezekiel gave her a small, supportive nod—not enough for his team to see it as betrayal, but enough for Bridgette to feel it. He wanted her to feel like he was the only friend she had left on the island.
The manipulation was working perfectly.