Hour 12 - Third Bathroom Break & First Eliminations
"BATHROOM BREAK! FIVE MINUTES!"
People moved like zombies toward the facilities. Twelve hours awake after running twenty kilometers. Everyone was running on fumes.
I went quickly, washed my face again with cold water. The shock helped, but only temporarily.
When I returned, I noticed Owen hadn't moved. He was still lying in the same spot he'd been in for the last hour, eyes completely closed now. His breathing had evened out into sleep.
An intern marked it down immediately.
"AND WE HAVE OUR FIRST CASUALTY!" Chris announced gleefully through his megaphone. "OWEN! Hour twelve! The big guy is DOWN! Gophers lose their first member!"
Confessional - Katie:She's exhausted, eyes red. "Owen was the first one to fall asleep. Twelve hours. He fought so hard—you could see him trying to keep his eyes open. But his body just shut down." She pauses. "At least he made it to twelve hours. That's impressive after everything."
Katie looked at me with concern. "That's one from our team."
"First overall," I pointed out. "Everyone else is still fighting. We're still in good shape."
But Sadie was done too. Her head dropped forward one more time, and this time it stayed there. Her breathing evened out into sleep.
"SADIE!" Chris announced. "Hour twelve! Killer Bass loses one! You're OUT!"
Confessional - Eva:She looks frustrated but understanding. "Sadie lasted twelve hours after running twenty kilometers. This wasn't her challenge, but she tried. That counts for something."
Katie looked sad but not surprised. She'd known Sadie was struggling.
Two people down total. Owen from Gophers, Sadie from Bass. Nineteen still fighting.
And the real endurance test was just beginning.
Hour 13
Darkness had fallen completely.
The challenge area was lit by a campfire at the center—Chris's concession to not having contestants freeze to death on camera—but the flames weren't enough to read by, and they did little to combat the cold for anyone not sitting directly beside them.
I'd started reading my comic after Sadie's elimination at hour twelve, using the firelight while it was still strong enough. But as darkness settled in, even sitting close to the flames didn't provide sufficient light. I'd put it away, accepting that entertainment options were now limited to conversation and observation.
Twelve hours down. Unknown number to go. Body's protesting everything. Mind's getting foggy. But still conscious. That's what matters.
The temperature had dropped enough that I could see my breath when I exhaled. The fire helped those sitting close, but anyone further out was dealing with genuine cold.
Around the challenge area, the remaining contestants were coping in different ways.
Trent had abandoned his guitar—fingers too cold—and was sitting close to Gwen near the fire, both talking quietly. Their relationship developing exactly as I remembered from canon. Or thought I remembered. Hard to be sure anymore what was real memory versus exhaustion-induced confusion.
Duncan paced near the fire's warmth, using movement to fight cold and stay alert. Courtney still had her clipboard but her notes had devolved into illegible scratches.
Eva did periodic exercises away from the fire—jumping jacks, push-ups, sit-ups—using exertion to fight both cold and exhaustion. Her MP3 player was visible in her pocket, headphones in her ears.
Bridgette and Geoff sat together near the flames, sharing body heat, talking softly.
Leshawna had wrapped herself in her jacket, sitting as close to the fire as possible, looking determined but tired.
And Justin stood near the edge of the lit area, perfectly still, not moving, just... existing.
That's odd. He's been standing like that for a while now. Not fidgeting, not shifting weight, just standing. I know what he did in canon—painted eyes on his eyelids to sleep standing up. Is he doing that now? Can't tell from this distance in the firelight.
I filed that observation away for later.
Across the area, I noticed Lindsay shivering despite sitting near the fire. Her outfit—cute but impractical—offered almost no protection against the night cold. Heather nearby wasn't much better off in her designer clothes.
Lindsay still hasn't requested an item. And she's freezing.
I stood up, forcing my stiff legs to move, and walked over to her.
"Hey, Lindsay."
She looked up, teeth chattering slightly. "Oh! Hi Noah!"
"You never requested an item yet." I gestured to her outfit, then at the cold darkness beyond the fire. "Cold night, and you're..."
She looked down at herself, then around at the others. I could see her brain working. Her eyes landed on Heather, also shivering. Then on Izzy, whose manic energy was fading, leaving her visibly cold.
Her face lit up with understanding. "Oh! I could get a blanket!" She realized.
She figured it out herself. Good.
"That would help," I said.
"Yeah!" She looked genuinely pleased with herself. "I'll get one right now!"
She called over an intern and requested a blanket. When it arrived, she immediately draped it over her shoulders, then walked over to Heather.
"Want to share? It's really cold and you're shivering too."
Heather looked surprised, then grateful. "Yes. Thank you."
Lindsay beamed, then looked over at Izzy. "Izzy! Want to share the blanket?"
Izzy bounced over—energy fading but trying to maintain the performance.
Heather's expression tightened. "We're on opposite teams."
But her protest lacked conviction, and when Izzy wedged herself under part of the blanket anyway, Heather didn't push back. The cold was more immediate than team loyalty.
Confessional - Lindsay:She's wrapped in part of the blanket, tired but smiling. "Warm, nice. Thanks…" She realised big yawn. "Noah for reminding me"
Around hour thirteen, both teams lost someone.
Tyler and Beth had both fallen asleep near the fire's warmth, the exhaustion finally winning. Chris didn't wake them—just had interns mark them down as eliminated.
I walked over to each of them and gently shook them awake.
"Tyler. Beth. You fell asleep. Challenge is over for you. You can head to the cabins."
Tyler blinked groggily. "Wha—oh. Yeah. Okay." He stumbled to his feet, relieved more than disappointed.
Beth yawned. "At least I can sleep now."
They both left the challenge area, heading toward the cabins and actual beds.
I've been doing that for everyone who's fallen asleep so far. Wake them, send them off. Chris doesn't care—he just wants them gone from the filming area. But letting them sleep by the fire seems dangerous. Better to send them somewhere actually safe.
"Seventeen still fighting!" Chris announced once they'd left. "This is getting GOOD!"
Seventeen left. Hour thirteen. Real attrition starting.
Hour 14
The cold was settling deep now, making everything harder. The fire helped but also made you drowsy if you sat too close. Movement helped but burned energy. No good options.
Can't win. Just survive. Last as long as possible. Help where I can.
I was contemplating whether to pace or conserve energy when someone plopped down next to me with characteristic disregard for personal space or team boundaries.
Izzy.
She was shivering and her usual manic energy had dampened considerably. Lindsay had offered her the blanket earlier, but she'd already returned it. Even so, she was still trying to maintain the performance—the characteristic chaos and exaggerated affect, though now it looked more like a costume that didn't quite fit.
"Hiiii Noah!" Her enthusiasm lacked its usual power. "Isn't this AMAZING? We're like ancient warriors doing tribal endurance rituals!"
"You know we're on opposite teams, right?" I pointed out.
"So? Teams are just arbitrary social constructs designed to manufacture conflict for viewer entertainment!"
But her voice cracked on the last word, exhaustion bleeding through.
I gave up. I was too tired to argue about something I didn't really care about.
"Since you're here, tell me something about yourself," I said quietly.
She launched into a wild story—something about staying awake for three days in the Amazon while being chased by angry capybaras—but the details were inconsistent, the energy forced.
"Izzy," I interrupted gently. "Something real."
She froze mid-gesture, the manic energy dropping like someone had cut the power. Her eyes met mine, and for a moment I saw something genuine there—careful, calculating, exhausted.
"You're too perceptive," she said finally, voice much quieter.
"You're usually a better actress."
"Usually I'm not running on fumes." She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Defensive posture. Protecting herself.
We sat in silence. Around us, the challenge area was quiet except for the fire's crackling and occasional conversation. The darkness pressed in beyond the firelight.
"It must be exhausting," I said quietly. "Performing all the time. Never letting the mask slip."
She didn't answer immediately. When she did, the words came slowly, like she was fighting them the whole way.
"Yeah, well..." She caught herself, then continued anyway, too tired to maintain full control. "Some people expect you to perform. To hide what you can actually do. All the time. You're supposed to act a certain way, be what they need you to be." She looked away into the fire. "So you find your own way to deal with it."
Hide what she can do. Not just perform—hide capabilities. That's specific. Deliberate concealment.
But who would require that? Military? Possible. They'd want operatives or assets who could blend in, appear harmless, hide their actual skills. But Izzy's what, sixteen? Seventeen? That level of training, that kind of conditioning to always wear a mask—that takes years. Which means it started young. Really young. That means her family had to be involved in some way.
So they told her: hide what you're capable of. Wear a mask. Any mask, as long as people underestimate you.
And she chose the wild child. The chaotic, unpredictable, crazy girl that nobody takes seriously. It's actually brilliant—hides her competence perfectly because people are too busy being disturbed or amused by the performance to see what's underneath. And it gave her something. An outlet. A pressure release valve. If you're forced to suppress everything real, to constantly hide your actual abilities, you need somewhere to let loose. So she built a mask that fulfilled their requirements while also letting her be excessive, uncontrolled, free—in a controlled way.
Clever solution. Satisfies their need for concealment, satisfies her need for release.
But now she seems tired. The exhaustion isn't just from the challenge. She's tired of performing—all of it. Has the mask she chose become its own trap? How long has she been wearing it? Does she have anywhere or anyone where she can just be Izzy and not the crazy girl?
"Sounds like you found a performance that worked for everyone," I said carefully, keeping my voice neutral. "Gave them what they needed while giving yourself something too."
Her eyes snapped to mine—sharp, alert despite the exhaustion. Realizing she'd said more than intended.
"I didn't—" She tried to backtrack.
"It's okay," I said. "I'm not going to use it against you." I met her eyes. "But you should ask yourself—when was the last time you took the mask off? Really off, not just switching to a different one."
She opened her mouth, probably to deflect.
"I'm serious. When was the last time you were just... you? Not performing for them, not performing for yourself. Just existing without an audience."
Something flickered in her expression. Pain, maybe. Or fear.
"Find that place again," I said quietly. "Or find it for the first time if you never had it. You can't live your entire life on stage."
She stood without a word, the manic energy flooding back despite the exhaustion, and bounced away like the conversation had never happened.
I don't know if that helped. But I tried. At least she knows someone sees past the performance—and isn't afraid of what might be underneath.
Confessional - Izzy:She sits down in the confessional booth, the manic mask completely gone. She looks troubled. Vulnerable. Opens her mouth to speak. Closes it. Opens it again, starts to form words, then stops. Her hands fidget with the hem of her shirt—a nervous gesture completely unlike her usual wild movements. She takes a breath, tries again. Her mouth opens. Nothing comes out. She closes her eyes, jaw tightening in frustration or maybe fear. Then she firmly shakes her head, stands abruptly, and leaves the confessional without saying a single word. The silence she leaves behind is louder than any of her usual chaos.
Not long after, Izzy's head dropped forward and stayed there. The emotional exhaustion layered on top of physical had been too much.
"IZZY! Hour fourteen! Bass loses another!" Chris announced.
I walked over and gently woke her. "Izzy. You're out. Head to the cabins."
She blinked groggily, then nodded and left without her usual flair.
Cody had fallen asleep too, curled up with his DS still in his hands.
"CODY! Gophers down another member!"
I woke him as well, sent him toward the cabins.
Fifteen left. Numbers dropping faster.
Hour 15 - Third Microtask
"ALRIGHT CAMPERS!" Chris's voice shattered the relative quiet, making several people flinch. "MICROTASK TIME NUMBER THREE!"
Groans rippled through the exhausted group. Bodies moved slowly—reluctant, heavy, every joint protesting.
"This one's PHYSICAL!" Chris announced with the kind of glee that meant we were about to suffer. "Balance challenge! See this beam?" He gestured dramatically to a narrow log stretched between two supports, maybe eight feet long. "You're going to walk across it—eyes CLOSED—touch the flag at the end, and walk back!"
He paused, letting that sink in.
"Here are the rules! You MUST touch the flag to stay in the challenge. Fall off before touching it? You're ELIMINATED from the entire Awake-a-thon! Touch the flag but fall on the way back? You stay in the challenge but don't win the microtask. The winner is whoever makes it back the fastest. ONE attempt each!"
Balance when exhausted. Coordination when your body won't respond properly. Touch the flag or you're done completely.
Around me, I could see people doing the math—weighing risk versus reward, exhaustion versus elimination.
"Let's GO!" Chris shouted. "Harold, you're up first!"
Harold approached the beam with visible determination, stepped up, closed his eyes. He made it maybe three steps before his body betrayed him—overcorrected, arms windmilling, crashed down hard.
"HAROLD! Didn't touch the flag! You're OUT of the entire challenge!"
Harold stood slowly, looking disappointed but accepting. He gathered himself and headed toward the cabins without needing to be told.
Duncan went next. Moved with aggressive confidence—made it halfway to the flag before his exhausted reflexes failed him. Fell hard.
"DUNCAN! OUT!"
Duncan swore under his breath but walked off toward the cabins, hands in pockets.
My turn.
I stepped onto the beam, felt the wood under my feet, closed my eyes. The world tilted immediately—balance gone, reference points vanished. I moved forward carefully. One step. Two. Three. My body swayed dangerously. Four steps. Five.
My hand touched fabric—the flag. Relief washed over me.
At least I'm still in.
I started back. Made it maybe two steps before I overcorrected and fell, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of me.
"NOAH! Touched the flag but didn't make it back! You STAY in the challenge but don't win!"
I stood slowly, everything aching. At least I wasn't eliminated entirely.
Courtney went next. Perfect form, perfect concentration, moving with rigid control. She made it to the flag and back successfully—fell just stepping off the beam at the end.
"COURTNEY! Complete! Time: forty-six seconds!"
She looked frustrated at not being faster, but nodded.
Geoff followed. "Alright, dude, I got this!" He stepped up, closed his eyes, took two steps and fell.
"GEOFF! OUT!"
"Aw man!" Geoff laughed despite himself. "At least I can sleep now!" He waved and headed off.
Katie went. She moved carefully, touched the flag, made it halfway back before her legs gave out. Fell.
"KATIE! Touched the flag but didn't complete! You STAY in!"
Leshawna stepped up next. "Come on, girl, you got this." She made it to the flag, started back, stumbled at the three-quarter mark but caught herself, finished.
"LESHAWNA! Complete! Time: fifty-eight seconds!"
Bridgette moved with natural grace—surfer's balance carrying her through. Made it to the flag and back successfully.
"BRIDGETTE! Complete! Time: forty-four seconds!"
Ezekiel went next. He moved carefully—farm-kid balance, used to uneven terrain—but exhaustion was a cruel equalizer. Two steps. Three. His foot slipped on the fourth, and he went down.
"EZEKIEL! No flag! You're OUT!"
"Did my best, eh?" Ezekiel said quietly, then left for the cabins.
Gwen stepped up, looking determined. She made it to the flag, touched it, started back. Her foot slipped near the end—she was falling—but at the last second she jumped forward, landing just past the beam's edge.
"Did... did I make it?" she asked, eyes still closed.
"GWEN! You jumped off but you were past the finish line! Complete! Time: fifty-five seconds!"
She opened her eyes, looking surprised and relieved.
Heather went with visible concentration. Made it to the flag and back, fell right as she stepped off.
"HEATHER! Complete! Time: forty-nine seconds!"
Then Eva stepped up.
She moved with that deliberate athletic precision, but I could see exhaustion affecting her more than she'd probably admit. Her movements were slightly less fluid than usual, small corrections in her balance betraying how tired she actually was. She made it to the flag, touched it, turned, and walked back—slower than she normally would have, but she made it.
"EVA! Complete! Time: forty-three seconds!"
Trent went next. He moved differently than Eva—less raw athleticism, more natural grace. Musician's sense of rhythm and balance carrying him through. He touched the flag, returned smoothly and quickly.
"TRENT! Complete! Time: thirty-nine seconds! TRENT WINS the microtask!"
But something was wrong.
Chris looked around, counting. "Wait. Where's Justin?"
Everyone turned. Justin was standing near the challenge area, perfectly still. His eyes were open—staring straight ahead—but something was off about them. Not moving. Not tracking. Just... fixed.
An intern approached. "Justin? Your turn."
Nothing.
The intern got closer, then stopped and laughed. "Chris! He's asleep! His eyes are open but he's asleep!"
Chris walked over, leaned in close to examine Justin's face, and burst into delighted laughter. "Oh that's BRILLIANT! Look at this!" He turned Justin's face toward the cameras. "He painted eyes on his eyelids!
Chris tapped Justin's shoulder hard. Justin jerked awake, stumbling, nearly falling, actual eyes opening and revealing the painted fake ones underneath.
"I LOVE the creativity! That's AMAZING television! But you didn't even ATTEMPT the challenge! JUSTIN, you're OUT of the entire Awake-a-thon!"
"Wait, he was sleeping?" Leshawna said, disbelief and amusement mixing. "While standing? With fake eyes?"
"That's actually impressive," Heather admitted grudgingly.
"Or really lazy," Courtney added, though she looked slightly impressed despite herself.
Gwen was trying not to smile. "Points for commitment to avoiding effort."
Confessional - Justin:He looks exhausted but philosophical. "Look, I knew I wasn't going to win. I'm not built for endurance challenges—I'm built for looking good in front of cameras. Sleeping seemed more valuable than suffering for another ten hours just to lose anyway." He pauses. "The painted eyes thing? That was just... insurance. Didn't work, but whatever. I tried."
"TRENT! Come get your prize!"
Trent approached. An intern handed him an energy drink.
Trent examined it, remembered Beth's warning. He pocketed it without drinking. "Saving it."
Beth spread the warning. He knows.
Harold, Duncan, Geoff, Ezekiel, and Justin eliminated. Noah, Katie fell after touching flag—stayed in. Courtney, Leshawna, Bridgette, Gwen, Heather, Eva, and Trent completed successfully. Nine people remaining going into hour sixteen.
The numbers were dropping fast. And we still had hours to go.
After the microtask chaos settled, Katie came and sat next to me near the fire. We were both exhausted beyond words, but there was comfort in shared misery.
"Nine left," she said quietly, looking around at who remained.
"Yeah. Six Gophers, three Bass."
She managed a tired smile. "We have the advantage now. Numbers-wise."
"Don't make any bets yet," I cautioned. "Until the last microtask, we were going head to head—both teams losing people at the same rate. One bad challenge and the numbers flip. Chris could decide the next microtask is 'who can stand on one leg the longest' and suddenly we lose three people while they lose none."
"That's oddly specific."
"I've learned not to underestimate Chris's creativity when it comes to finding new ways to torture us."
She laughed despite her exhaustion. "Fair point."
We sat in silence for a moment, the fire crackling between us. Around us, the other remaining contestants were scattered—some pacing to stay alert, others sitting in exhausted stupors, all of us fighting the same battle against our own bodies.
"Tell me about your family," Katie said eventually. "Not the game, not strategy. Just... talk to me about something real. It helps stay awake."
Real. She wants real. Can I even do that anymore?
"You sure?" I asked. "Fair warning—my family situation isn't exactly heartwarming television."
"I'm sure."
I wasn't. Because saying it out loud made it real in a way it hadn't been before. The emotions weren't distant or manageable anymore—they were right here, heavy and immediate and mine. All mine. But this was Katie asking. And for her, I'd answer.
I stared into the fire, watching the flames dance and shift. "I have eight siblings. I'm number nine. Youngest of the pack."
Her eyes widened. "Nine kids total? That's..."
"Excessive? Irresponsible? A clear case of people who enjoyed making children more than raising them?" The words came out more bitter than I intended.
Katie's expression shifted to concern. "Noah..."
I sighed, softening. "Sorry. That was harsh. But not inaccurate." I adjusted my position, trying to find some comfort on the hard ground. "My parents were never really there. Always traveling, always away on 'business.' They were present for the older kids when they were young—involved parents who attended recitals and helped with homework when the novelty of parenthood was still fresh. But by the time I came along..."
I trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence without sounding pathetic.
"They'd checked out," Katie finished quietly.
"Yeah. Emotionally, financially present—the money always showed up on time—but actually present? No." I picked up a stick and poked at the fire, watching sparks fly up into the darkness. "They show up maybe twice a year now. Stay for a few hours, ask generic questions they don't really want answers to, leave money like they're paying a subscription fee to avoid guilt, then disappear again."
"That's..." Katie started, then stopped, seeming to realize there wasn't really a good way to finish that sentence.
"It was what it was." I shrugged, trying to make it casual. "And all my siblings are adults now, living their own lives scattered across Canada. We cross paths occasionally—Christmas if everyone's schedules work out, maybe a birthday or two. But mostly we just... exist in different orbits."
Stop making it sound so pathetic. You survived. You're fine.
But Katie was looking at me with those understanding eyes, and something in me cracked just slightly.
"Tell me about them," she said gently. "Your siblings. If you want."
I found myself talking, words coming easier than expected. Maybe the exhaustion was lowering my usual defenses. Maybe I was just tired of holding everything in.
"Marcus is the oldest—twenty-eight now. He's..." I paused, trying to find the right words. "Intimidating. Serious. Built like a giant—tall, broad shoulders, the kind of presence that makes people instinctively straighten their posture when he walks into a room. He works some corporate job that involves a lot of very important meetings about very important things I've never fully understood."
Katie smiled slightly.
"He's slow to anger—really slow. Takes a lot to actually piss him off. But when he commits to something, nothing stops him. Once he decides something needs to happen, it happens. Period." I felt myself smile despite the heaviness of the conversation. "And he's married now, has a daughter. Turns into a complete teddy bear around her. It's actually kind of disturbing how much this intimidating corporate giant becomes a puddle of 'yes, sweetie, daddy will get you another cookie.'"
"That's really sweet," Katie said, warmth in her voice.
"It's something." I continued, cataloging my siblings like I was giving a documentary narration. "Then there's the twins—Rachel and Derek. Both twenty-seven. Complete opposites in some ways, identical in others."
"How so?"
"Rachel works in the music industry, manages artists, knows everyone worth knowing in that world. She's chaotic, free-spirited, lives life loud and messy and colorful. Never wishes harm on anyone... unless you piss her off. Then she holds grudges like it's an Olympic sport. She will remember that thing you did wrong fifteen years ago and bring it up at Thanksgiving."
Katie laughed.
"Derek's a makeup artist, works with actors and models. He's always moving—like, physically cannot stay still. Always rushing somewhere, always got three projects going at once, always in motion. He hates the dark side of the entertainment industry but loves making people look good. Neither of them have settled down yet, both too busy living their own chaotic lives."
I shifted, trying to ease the ache in my back. The exhaustion was making everything hurt worse.
"Vanessa's twenty-six. Works as a secretary in some construction company office, but that's just to pay bills. Her real passion is learning. She has two degrees already, working on a third. Total nerd. If there's a class being offered on literally anything, she'll take it just to know more. She collects knowledge like some people collect stamps."
"Sounds impressive," Katie said.
"She's terrifying, honestly. Ask her about anything and she'll give you a forty-minute lecture complete with citations." But I said it with affection. "Charles is twenty-four, plays hockey in a small league. He's hoping to make it big someday, go professional. Kind of a blockhead—rushes into things without thinking, acts first and asks questions never. But he's got heart."
I could feel Katie watching me as I talked, her presence steady and grounding.
"Melissa's twenty-two. She works in animation, draws beautiful things for a living. She's the gentlest person you'll ever meet—never raises her voice, always kind, can't stand cruelty in any form. She's one of those genuinely good people that make you feel like maybe humanity isn't completely hopeless."
"She sounds wonderful."
"She is. And then there's Dominic—nineteen, in college now. He's been in boarding schools since middle school, by his own choice. He didn't want to be home anymore, didn't want to be surrounded by memories of parents who'd abandoned us. Can't blame him for that. He's a trickster, always joking, always pulling pranks. Uses humor to avoid dealing with anything serious."
I fell quiet, staring into the fire. Around us, the night pressed in—cold and dark and endless.
"That's a lot of people," Katie said softly. "Do you feel close to them?"
Some more than others. They're good people—all of them, in their own ways. But we're not close. Not really. We're family by blood and circumstance, but we're not... connected. They all moved away, started their own lives, and I was just..." I searched for the right word. "Left. The youngest one, still at home, watching everyone else escape and build something better somewhere else."
The admission hurt more than I expected.
Katie was quiet for a moment, then asked gently, "All of them left?"
I paused. "Not all of them."
"So someone stayed," she said, understanding in her voice.
"Yeah." I felt my chest tighten. "Julia. She's... different."
I was quiet for a long moment, trying to organize thoughts that felt too big and complicated for words.
"Julia's twenty," I said finally. "Four years older than me. She's in law school, working to become a lawyer—corporate law, probably, knowing her. She's brilliant, driven, fierce in ways that terrify and amaze me."
Katie waited, patient.
"When our parents checked out, when everyone else moved away and started their own lives, Julia stayed." The words felt heavy. "She was sixteen. Could have left, could have focused on herself, could have done what everyone else did and escaped. But she didn't. She stayed and raised me."
"Noah..." Katie's voice was soft.
"She made sure I ate real food instead of cereal for every meal. Helped with homework even when she had her own studying to do. Drove me to the library every week because she knew I'd spend my allowance on books instead of groceries if left unsupervised. She sacrificed years of her own life, her own freedom, to make sure I had a childhood that wasn't completely fucked up."
I could feel emotion creeping into my voice despite my best efforts to keep it controlled. "She calls me petit génie—little genius. Started when I was ten and corrected her legal terminology during one of her practice arguments. She was practicing for a mock trial, and I pointed out she'd misused 'habeas corpus.' She was annoyed at first, then impressed, then it just... became my name. Half-affection, half-mockery. All Julia."
Katie was watching me with soft, understanding eyes.
"She's fierce," I continued, the words flowing easier now. "Protective. She'll tease me mercilessly—ruffle my hair like I'm five, punch my shoulder when I get too mouthy, make fun of me for literally anything—but if anyone else tried?" I shook my head. "She'd go nuclear. Full scorched-earth response. There was this kid in eighth grade who tried to start something with me, and Julia found out. I don't know what she said to him, but he never came near me again. Looked genuinely terrified whenever he saw me in the halls."
A small smile tugged at my lips despite the heaviness in my chest.
"She gave up so much for me. She was taking specialized courses across Canada, building her career, networking with important people—but she still came home every two weeks. Two weeks exactly. Set reminders on her phone. Drove hours just to check on me, make sure I was okay, make sure I wasn't falling apart." My voice cracked slightly. "And now she's back in Toronto, working insane hours, probably not sleeping enough, building her future from scratch. But she drove me to the dock. Made sure I had everything I needed. Still putting me first even when she shouldn't have to anymore."
The fire blurred slightly. I blinked hard.
"I owe her everything," I said quietly. "My sanity, my stability, probably my life in some metaphorical sense. She gave up her own childhood to give me one. And I can never really pay that back. There's no way to repay someone for that level of sacrifice. You can't just say 'thanks for raising me' and call it even."
Katie reached over and squeezed my hand. The touch was brief but grounding.
"She sounds incredible," Katie said. "And she clearly loves you so much."
"Yeah." I swallowed hard against the tightness in my throat. "She does. More than I probably deserve."
"Don't say that."
"It's true though." I tried to make it light, inject some of my usual sarcasm. "I'm a sarcastic pain in the ass who corrects people's grammar and reads too much and probably drives her insane with my terrible life choices—like voluntarily signing up for a reality show where a sadist tries to kill us for entertainment."
Katie laughed softly, but her eyes were still serious. "She loves you because you're you, Noah. Not despite it."
The words settled into something vulnerable in my chest.
We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation hanging between us. But it wasn't uncomfortable. Just... heavy. Real.
"Your turn," I said finally, needing to shift focus before I completely fell apart. "Tell me about your family. And please let it be less depressing than mine."
Katie smiled, some of the sadness from my story lifting. "Nothing as complicated as yours. Pretty standard suburban family. Mom, dad, me. Boring in the best way."
"You mentioned your dad's a mechanic."
"Yeah. He is." Her expression warmed. "He's great—really laid back, never gets stressed about anything. And he loves terrible dad jokes. Like, genuinely, unironically loves them. Thinks he's the funniest person alive."
"How terrible are we talking?"
"'What do you call a fake noodle? An impasta' level terrible."
I grimaced. "That's painful."
"Right? But he delivers them with such confidence, like he's a professional comedian. My mom and I groan every time, and he just grins like he's won something." She was smiling now, the memory clearly fond. "When I was little, he used to bring home car model kits for me. Not just as gifts, but as an excuse to spend time together. We'd sit at the kitchen table for hours, building these intricate little cars, and he'd explain how each piece worked, what it did in a real engine, why it mattered."
"That sounds really nice," I said honestly.
"It was. Is." She shifted, pulling her knees up to her chest. "Those are some of my favorite memories—just sitting there with him, building something together, listening to him talk about torque and horsepower and compression ratios like they were the most fascinating things in the world. He made me love the mechanics of things, you know? How things fit together, how they work."
The warmth in her voice was palpable. It was such a stark contrast to my own family stories—where I cataloged distances and absences, she remembered closeness and presence.
"My mom's a stay-at-home mom," Katie continued. "Super caring, always making sure everyone's okay. She bakes constantly—like, constantly. The house always smells like cookies or bread or cinnamon rolls or something. She's part of this book club that meets every Wednesday evening, has been going for like ten years now."
"Book club, huh?"
"Yeah. It's her thing. But the best part..." Katie's expression softened. "When I was little, she'd read to me every night. Different books, different stories, but always at bedtime. She did voices for all the characters, made it theatrical. I loved it."
"What changed?"
"I got older, started reading on my own. But instead of stopping completely, we just... adapted." She smiled at the memory. "We started this ritual where we'd sit together in the evenings with tea and biscuits—she's very particular about her tea, has like fifteen different kinds—and we'd each read our own books. Just sitting there together, quiet, comfortable."
"You sound just like her." She laughed softly. "You two would get along."
She shifted, getting more comfortable, lost in the memory. "We'd read in companionable silence, but every so often one of us would share something. Like, 'oh my god, you won't believe what this character just did' or 'this metaphor is terrible' or just laughing at something funny. Little comments and jokes, but mostly just... being together. It was quiet but it was ours, you know?"
I did know. Or at least, I understood the concept even if I'd never experienced it myself. That easy, comfortable togetherness where you didn't need to fill every silence with noise.
"That sounds really nice," I said, and meant it. "Really nice."
"It is. I miss it." She looked into the fire. "I miss them. Being here, focusing on separating from Sadie, working on myself... it made me realize how much I took them for granted. The dad jokes, the car models, the quiet evenings with books and tea. All of it. I always just assumed it would be there, you know? And now I'm here and I just... miss it."
"You'll see them again soon."
"I know. But still." She was quiet for a moment. "What kind of books do you like? You mentioned spending your allowance on them."
"Anything, really. Fiction, non-fiction, technical manuals if they're interesting enough. I like learning things, understanding how things work. Why?"
She blushed immediately, looking away. "Just wondering."
"Katie."
"It's embarrassing."
"Can't be that bad."
"Romance novels," she admitted, still not meeting my eyes. "Like, the series kind. With recurring characters and storylines that continue across multiple books. The ones with the dramatic covers and the titles that sound like soap operas."
I waited for her to continue.
"I know they're not sophisticated or literary or whatever," she said quickly. "I know people think they're silly or shallow or just trashy trash. But I really like them. I like the comfort of knowing things will work out, that the characters will be happy, that love will win. Real life doesn't guarantee that, so it's nice to read about worlds where it does."
"There's nothing wrong with that," I said firmly.
She finally looked at me, surprised. "Really?"
"Really. Romance novels are popular for a reason—they're comforting, emotionally satisfying, escapist in the best way. They give you something real life often doesn't: certainty that things will be okay, that love matters, that happiness is possible." I shrugged. "They're not my cup of tea, but I understand why some people like them."
Katie stared at me for a moment, then smiled—wide and genuine and grateful. "Thank you. Most people think they're silly."
"Most people are wrong about a lot of things. It's a defining feature of humanity."
She laughed, the tension breaking. "You have such a way with words."
"I prefer to think of it as radical honesty disguised as cynicism."
"That's definitely one way to describe it."
We sat together in comfortable silence after that, shoulders touching, both too tired to overthink the proximity. The fire crackled and popped. Around us, the remaining contestants were fighting their own battles against exhaustion.
"You know what's funny?" Katie said eventually.
"What?"
"My family is exactly the kind of warm, loving, present family you didn't have. And your family is so complicated and distant and broken in places. But we both..." She paused, searching for words. "We both care so much. About them. About making them proud or not disappointing them or just... being worth the effort they put into us."
I considered that. "I guess love doesn't require perfection. Or proximity. Or even functional communication skills."
"No," she agreed softly. "I guess it doesn't."
Another comfortable silence. The exhaustion was settling deeper now, making everything feel slightly unreal, like we were existing in some bubble outside normal time.
"I hope they're proud," Katie said quietly. "My parents. That they see I'm trying—really trying—to figure out who I am. Even if it's messy and hard and I don't always get it right."
"They will be," I said. "The people who actually care about you? They're proud when you're trying to be better, even if you stumble. Especially if you stumble. That's when it matters most."
Katie smiled, tired but genuine. "Thanks, Noah. I needed to hear that."
We fell quiet again. The fire was burning lower now, someone would need to add more wood soon. But for this moment, we just sat together—two exhausted teenagers talking about family and home and the people who shaped us.
"You're easy to talk to," Katie said quietly. "Even when everything hurts and thinking is hard. This helps. You help."
Something warm and complicated twisted in my chest. "You too. You're... grounding. In a good way."
She smiled, tired but genuine, and leaned her head briefly against my shoulder. Just for a moment. Then she straightened again, both of us aware of the cameras but too exhausted to care much.
"We should probably move around soon," I said. "Sitting still too long makes you drowsy."
"I know. Just... another minute."
"Another minute," I agreed.
And we sat there together, the fire crackling between logs, the night pressing in around us, both of us holding on to consciousness and each other's company with equal determination.
Confessional - Katie:She's exhausted, eyes red-rimmed, but smiling softly. "Talking with Noah helps keep me awake. He's so easy to talk to—really listens, actually cares about what you're saying. We talked about our families." Her expression becomes more thoughtful, emotional. "His family sounds really complicated. Nine kids, parents who were never there, siblings scattered all over. But the way he talked about Julia..." She pauses, something soft and aching in her eyes. "You could hear how much he loves her. How grateful he is for everything she did for him. It wasn't just facts—it was real emotion. Raw. He was trying to hold it together but you could tell it mattered so much to him." She blinks, looks away. "It made me realize how lucky I am. My parents are there, they care, they show up. I've been taking that for granted." She refocuses on the camera. "And then we talked about my family and he just... listened. Didn't judge me for liking romance novels, didn't think my quiet evenings with my mom were boring. He got it. He gets me." She yawns. "I really like spending time with him. It feels natural. Easy. Like we've been friends for years instead of just couple of days."
Confessional - Noah:He looks completely exhausted, guards visibly lowered, more vulnerable than usual. "Katie asked about my family. And I..." He pauses, rubbing his face. "I told her. More than I meant to. About my parents being absent, my siblings being scattered, Julia raising me when she should've been living her own life." His voice cracks slightly. "I don't usually talk about that. It feels like admitting weakness or asking for pity or just... making excuses. But Katie asked and I answered and it felt..." He searches for words. "Safe. She didn't judge, didn't make it weird, just listened and understood." He's quiet for a moment. "Julia sacrificed everything for me. And I can never repay that. Being here, being away from her, it makes me realize how much I've been taking her for granted. How much I owe her." He blinks hard. "Katie's grounding. Really grounding. She makes it easier to be honest, to let the walls down just a little. She's good people. Really, truly good people." He manages a tired smile. "Also she likes romance novels and gets defensive about it, which is oddly endearing."
Hour 16
"BATHROOM BREAK! FIVE MINUTES!"
The announcement jolted everyone. Movement was slow, zombie-like. Some struggled to stand.
I headed toward the bathroom facilities, legs stiff. Inside, I splashed cold water on my face. Barely helped anymore.
When I walked out, I noticed Eva ahead of me, heading back toward the challenge area. As she walked, her MP3 player slipped out of her pocket and fell to the ground.
She didn't notice. Just kept walking.
I quickly picked it up and looked ahead—she was already too far ahead, wouldn't hear me if I called out. I pocketed it and hurried back myself.
When I returned to the challenge area, Eva was settling back into her spot. She didn't reach for her pocket yet. Hadn't realized.
I waited a moment, giving her time, then approached.
"Eva."
She looked up, defensive as always. "What?"
I held up the MP3 player. "This fell out of your pocket. Outside the bathrooms."
Her eyes widened, hand flying to her empty pocket. Relief washed over her face—genuine, unguarded.
"I..." She took it quickly, gripping it tight. "Thank you. I didn't even know I'd lost it."
"No problem."
She was quiet for a moment, then: "Music helps. When shit gets loud in my head." The admission came with visible effort. Talking about this wasn't her thing. "So yeah. I owe you. Seriously."
Perfect.
"Actually, Eva... there is something you could help me with."
Her expression shifted—suspicious, wary, but bound by debt. "What?"
"Can we talk over there?" I gestured to the edge of the lit area, away from other contestants.
She hesitated, then nodded. We moved to the perimeter.
I kept my voice low. "It's about Owen."
Confusion. "Owen?"
"He needs help. With something important. And I need your help to do it."
"What kind of help?"
I explained the plan. Quietly, carefully. What I was asking. What her role would be. Why it mattered.
Eva's expression changed as I talked. Understanding, then recognition of how demanding this would be.
"That's..." She stopped. "That's going to be really hard to pull off. For me. Demanding."
"I know. But it's for a good cause. To help him."
Long silence. She gripped her MP3 player.
Finally: "I owe you. And if it helps him..." She took a breath. "I'll do it. But this is going to be hard."
"I know. Thank you."
We returned separately.
Across the area, Heather was watching. She'd seen us talk privately.
Her expression was complicated—calculating, but something else underneath. Disappointment, maybe.
Confessional - Eva:Holding MP3 player. "Noah returned my MP3 player. Didn't even know I'd lost it. Music helps when bad memories surface. Keeps me regulated." Uncomfortable with vulnerability. "I owe him. He asked for help with a plan for Owen. It's demanding. Some would even call it cruel" Grips player tighter. "But I owe him. And his intentions are good. I'll do it."
Confessional - Heather:Tired. Something tight in her expression. "Noah told me on the porch he doesn't want anything from me. That he just helps people." She laughs—sharp, bitter. "Then he asks Eva for a favor. So" Her fingers curl into a fist briefly, then release. Expression goes blank. "Beth's secured. Time to work on Lindsay."
When I returned from talking to Eva, I looked for Katie—wanting to sit back down, continue our conversation, exist in comfortable proximity.
But what I saw stopped me.
Lindsay and Heather, sitting together near the fire. Lindsay's blanket draped over both their shoulders. Heather talking quietly, earnestly. Lindsay nodding enthusiastically, clearly engaged and trusting.
Alliance formed. Right there.
I failed. I really tried to keep her away from that alliance. But I can't be everywhere. I let up a sigh. All that's left now is damage control.
I sat back down. Katie found me a moment later.
"You okay?" she asked, noticing my expression.
"Yeah. Just... tired."
She didn't look like she believed me but nodded anyway. Didn't ask or pressure. Just sat down offering quiet support
Near the fire, Courtney was looking at her energy drink. She'd been saving it since hour ten.
But exhaustion was winning.
She opened it and drank. Long, desperate gulps.
"I need this," she said to no one. "Starting to fade. This will help."
Eva, nearby, watched but didn't comment.
Confessional - Courtney:Holding empty can, relieved. "Drank my energy drink. I know I said save them, but I was really struggling. Hour sixteen felt like a wall. Needed the boost." Confident. "This will help me last longer. Strategic decision."
Hour 17
Darkness had settled completely hours ago, and the cold had become a constant companion. The fire at the center provided some warmth, but only for those sitting close enough—and sitting too close made you drowsy, which was its own danger.
Seventeen contestants had started the night. Now, as hour seventeen began, that number was shrinking fast.
Can't think straight anymore. Everything's foggy. Just keep moving. Keep helping where I can.
I'd been pacing to stay alert, but my legs felt like lead. Every step required conscious effort, like I was piloting my body remotely rather than inhabiting it. Walking over to check on people felt like trudging through mud.
Heather was slumped near the fire, head drooping forward. Her eyes were closed, breathing even and deep. She'd been fighting it—I'd seen her jerk awake twice in the last ten minutes—but exhaustion had finally won.
I forced my stiff legs to carry me over and gently shook her shoulder. "Heather. You're out."
She jerked awake, disoriented, eyes unfocused. "What? No, I wasn't—I was just resting my eyes—"
"You were asleep. Challenge is over for you. Head to the cabins."
For a moment she looked like she might argue, then reality settled in. Her shoulders slumped. "Fine. Whatever." She stood unsteadily, swaying slightly, and walked toward the cabins without looking back.
One more down.
I returned to my spot near Katie, every step an effort. My body was protesting, wanting to stop, to sit, to sleep. But stopping meant losing.
Ten minutes later, Leshawna's head dropped forward and stayed there. Her breathing had changed—deeper, slower, the rhythm of sleep.
I pushed myself up again—harder this time, legs screaming—and walked over. "Leshawna. You fell asleep."
She blinked up at me, disoriented, then recognition dawned. She laughed tiredly, the sound warm despite her exhaustion. "Finally. Girl needs her beauty sleep." She stood, stretching with a groan. "Good luck, Noah. You're doing good work here.
"Thanks. Sleep well."
"Oh, I will." She headed off toward the cabins, moving slowly but steadily.
I returned to pacing. The challenge area felt emptier now. Quieter. More people sleeping where they'd fallen meant fewer voices, less movement, just the crackling of the fire and the occasional sound of someone shifting position.
Around the fire, the remaining contestants were fighting their own battles.
Trent had picked up his guitar again, fingers moving over strings in slow, repetitive patterns. The melody was simple, almost hypnotic—probably the only thing keeping him conscious at this point.
Eva was walking slowly around the perimeter of the lit area, headphones in her ears, MP3 player in hand. Not exercising anymore—too exhausted for that—just moving. Probably figured if she sat down she'd be out.
At this point she's basically a zombie with a soundtrack. But hey, whatever works.
Courtney sat near the fire, looking increasingly uncomfortable. She was shifting constantly, checking the time on the challenge board obsessively. Her face was pale, hands trembling.
Katie was beside me, leaning against my shoulder. We'd been talking to keep each other awake, but the conversations were getting shorter, words harder to find.
Bridgette sat with Lindsay near the fire, blanket around their shoulders, both looked tired but where still holding up decently.
And Gwen stood near the edge of the firelight, holding her energy drink from the earlier microtask, staring at it like it might hold answers to questions she hadn't asked yet.
Hour 18
Courtney's condition was deteriorating visibly.
She was shifting constantly now, checking the time obsessively. Her face had gone from pale to slightly greenish. The sugar crash from the energy drink was hitting her hard—I could see it in the way her eyes kept drooping, the way she swayed even while sitting.
But there was something else. The way she kept crossing and uncrossing her legs, the increasingly desperate way she checked the time, the panic barely contained behind her eyes.
Sugar crash plus diuretic effect. Energy drinks make you pee. She drank hers hours ago and it's hitting her system now. Combined with the exhaustion and the sugar crash...
I looked at Katie. "Courtney's in trouble."
Katie followed my gaze, her expression shifting to concern. "She looks really bad. Should we—can we help?"
"Not much we can do. She's stuck until the next bathroom break."
"That's awful."
"Yeah."
Eva was still walking her slow circles, music in her ears, face blank with exhaustion. Courtney watched her pass, then checked the time again. Her hands were shaking.
Katie's face showed genuine compassion. "I can't imagine how uncomfortable she must be. Just having to sit there, knowing you can't..."
"Chris isn't going to make it easy on her either."
"You think he knows?"
"He always knows. That's the point."
We watched as Courtney shifted again, her jaw clenched tight.
Hour 19
Courtney looked desperate. The exhaustion was fighting with something more immediate—urgent need, discomfort, barely contained panic. She was checking the time every few minutes now, and each time she looked more distressed.
Can she make it?
I watched Courtney shift again, saw the way her jaw clenched, the desperation in her eyes when she checked the time.
Next bathroom break is scheduled for hour twenty. Microtask and break together, that's what the schedule board says. She's got over an hour to hold on.
I looked at Katie beside me, then back at Courtney.
I managed to prevent Harold's pee incident. Woke him up before Duncan's "joke". Felt good about that—one small victory, one disaster averted.
Courtney shifted again, more urgently this time. But she was still sitting upright, still conscious, still fighting.
But I can't help her. There's no warning to give, no advice that helps. The bathroom breaks are scheduled. Chris controls them. She either makes it or she doesn't.
Across the fire, Trent set his guitar down carefully—moving with exaggerated precision, clearly exhausted—and stood up. He stretched slowly, joints probably screaming, then walked over to talk quietly with Gwen near the flames.
Courtney watched them for a moment, then checked the time again. She was looking at Chris now, standing with some interns. Planning something.
Maybe she'll make it. She's type-A, competitive, stubborn as hell. If anyone could power through on pure willpower and spite, it's Courtney.
I watched her check the time again. Saw the way her hands trembled.
But the odds aren't great. Sugar crash making her foggy and weak, diuretic effect hitting her system, over an hour still to go. Even Courtney has limits.
The thought was clinical, detached. Exhaustion had burned away most of my ability to feel strongly about anything.
Apparently fate demands balance anyway. I prevent one pee-related disaster, so it provides another possibility.
I almost felt bad for her. She was clearly suffering, clearly desperate. But I was too exhausted to summon much active sympathy, and part of me—the cynical, sarcastic part that exhaustion had amplified—couldn't help but think she'd done this to herself. Drank the energy drink without thinking it through, without considering all the consequences.
Still. She might pull through. Stranger things have happened.
Hour 20 - Bathroom Break & Microtask
"ALRIGHT CAMPERS!" Chris's voice cut through the exhausted quiet. "MICROTASK TIME!"
Groans from everyone still conscious.
Before Chris could continue, Courtney reached him. Her voice was tight, controlled, but I could hear the desperation underneath. "Please. Can we have the bathroom break before the microtask?"
Chris's expression lit up with pure delight. He was clearly enjoying her discomfort. "We'll have it AFTER!"
"Please." Courtney's composure was fracturing. "I really need—"
"Nope!" Chris grinned wider, clearly savoring this. "Bathroom break comes AFTER the microtask! That's final!"
Courtney's face went white. She was swaying on her feet, fighting exhaustion, fighting the sugar crash, fighting biology itself.
Chris looked absolutely delighted by her distress.
The rest of us shifted uncomfortably. This was cruel even by Chris's standards.
"ALRIGHT EVERYONE!" Chris announced, addressing the group. "This microtask is MENTAL! Hope everyone's comfortable!"
He shot a pointed, gleeful grin at Courtney, who looked like she might be sick.
The Challenge:
Chris gestured to a large board set up near the fire. "Memory and pattern recognition! I'll show you sequences of letters, numbers, and symbols on this board. You'll recreate them on your whiteboards!"
Interns distributed small whiteboards and markers to each remaining contestant.
"Here are the rules!" Chris continued, clearly enjoying himself. "You must complete THREE sequences correctly to stay in the challenge. Complete all FIVE sequences correctly to win! Each round gets progressively harder!"
Courtney was barely listening. She was swaying, fighting to focus on anything except her immediate physical discomfort. Her eyes were unfocused, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscles working.
She won't make it past round two.
Round 1:
Chris revealed the first sequence on the board: A-3-B-7
Simple. Basic. I wrote it down, my exhausted brain processing slowly but managing.
Around me, others were doing the same—slow, deliberate movements.
Lindsay was squinting at the board, tilting her head, her face showing concentration and frustration. She wrote something down, but even from here I could see uncertainty in her movements.
Courtney's hand was shaking violently as she wrote, but she managed to get it correct.
"Everyone passes round one!" Chris announced cheerfully.
Round 2:
Chris revealed: Q-9-K-2-F-14
Moderate difficulty. I stared at it, forced my brain to hold the sequence, wrote it down carefully.
Lindsay was staring at her board with visible distress now. The letters and numbers seemed to be rearranging themselves before her eyes—she squinted harder, tried to write, stopped, erased, tried again. What she finally wrote was scrambled—letters backwards, numbers in the wrong order, nothing matching the sequence.
Courtney wasn't even looking at the board properly anymore. Her eyes kept losing focus. She was swaying, breathing shallow and quick. She wrote something down—pure desperation, just putting marker to board.
"TIME!" Chris called.
He walked around checking answers, grinning.
"LINDSAY! That's completely wrong! You're OUT!"
Lindsay looked frustrated but not surprised. "The letters wouldn't stay still..."
"COURTNEY! Not even close! You're OUT!"
Courtney didn't even look disappointed—just relieved. She practically ran toward the bathrooms, moving faster than she had in hours.
Round 3:
Only seven of us left: Katie, me, Trent, Eva, Bridgette and Gwen
Wait, no. Six. I'd miscounted in my exhaustion.
Chris revealed: M-8-P-3-K-9-L-15-R-2
Longer. More complex. My brain felt like it was moving through wet concrete trying to process it. I stared at it, repeated it silently, wrote it down with exaggerated care.
Katie beside me was doing the same—concentration evident, moving slowly.
I managed it. So did Katie, Trent, Eva, and Bridgette.
Three sequences. Minimum met. Still in the challenge.
Round 4:
Chris revealed an even longer, more complex sequence.
I stared at it, forced my exhausted brain to process each element. Letters. Numbers. Symbols. My mind felt like it was wading through mud, but I held on. Repeated it silently. Wrote it down with exaggerated care, double-checking each character.
Beside me, Katie was doing the same—her face tight with concentration, moving deliberately. She wrote it down, checked it, nodded slightly to herself.
Eva stared at the board, swaying slightly. Her hand moved across her whiteboard but I could see the shake in it, the lack of confidence. When time was called, her sequence had errors.
Trent's answer had a mistake in the middle—a number transposed, a letter wrong. His exhaustion was written across his face.
Bridgette made it partway through before her answer fell apart.
"TIME!" Chris called.
He walked around, checking answers.
"Eva, Trent, Bridgette—wrong! You're out of the running for the WIN, but you've completed three sequences, so you STAY IN THE CHALLENGE!"
"Noah and Katie—correct! You're still in the running! Let's see if you can handle round five!"
Made it. One more round.
Round 5:
Chris revealed an extremely complex sequence—long, intricate, mixing letters, numbers, and symbols in patterns that seemed deliberately designed to break tired minds.
I stared at it. Tried to hold it all. Got maybe halfway through before the information started slipping away like water through fingers. Too long. Too complex. Too tired.
I wrote what I remembered, knowing even as I did that it wasn't right. Some pieces were there but the order was wrong, elements were missing.
Beside me, Katie was having the same problem. I could see her hesitate, erase, rewrite, doubt herself.
"TIME!"
Chris checked our answers, grinning widely.
"Noah—wrong! Katie—wrong! NO WINNER for this microtask!"
I did not care. I was still in task. That's what matters.
"BATHROOM BREAK! FIVE MINUTES!"
Everyone moved toward the facilities like the walking dead.
Confessional - Courtney: She's sitting, looking absolutely exhausted—dark circles under her eyes, pale, completely drained. She speaks slowly, fighting to stay awake even now. "The crash was horrible. Everything felt wrong—too tired to think, too wired to rest, and then..." She closes her eyes, humiliated. "I've never been that uncomfortable in my life. Chris knew. He absolutely knew and he made it worse on purpose just to watch me suffer." Her voice is bitter, exhausted. "I hate that I gave him that satisfaction. I hate that I made such a stupid mistake.
Confessional - Lindsay:. She's tired but matter-of-fact, not upset. " I tried really hard but letters wouldn't cooperate. Bs turning into 8s, 6s flipping into 9s, everything backwards." She shrugs, accepting. "At least I made a friend before I got eliminated! Heather's really sweet once you get to know her. She's going to help me with strategy!" Another yawn. "I'm just glad I can sleep now."
When I returned from the bathroom break, Katie found me almost immediately. We sat back down near the fire, shoulders touching, both of us barely holding on.
"Talk to me," she whispered, voice thin with exhaustion. "About anything. Just keep talking."
I tried. Started telling her something—a book maybe? A memory? I couldn't even remember what I was saying halfway through. My sentences got shorter, words harder to find, thoughts fragmenting.
"Noah, I don't think I can..." Katie's voice was fading, words slurring slightly.
"Just... little longer..." My own voice sounded distant, like it was coming from underwater.
The fire was warm. Katie was warm against my shoulder. Comfortable. Safe.
My eyes closed.
Just for a second...
Hour 26
Something was shaking my shoulder. Persistent. Annoying.
"Hey. Wake up. Chris's orders."
Female voice. Unfamiliar. Go away.
The shaking continued, more insistent. "Come on, lovebirds. Boss says everyone up."
Lovebirds?
Awareness crept back slowly, reluctantly, like wading through tar. I was warm. Really warm. Comfortable in a way I hadn't been in... how long? Something soft was against my shoulder. My arm was around something—someone—
My eyes shot open.
Katie's head was resting on my shoulder. My arm was wrapped around her waist. Her arm was across my chest. Our legs were tangled together. We'd shifted in our sleep until we were completely intertwined, practically cuddling.
Oh no. Oh no no no.
A female intern stood over us, arms crossed, smirking with obvious amusement. Her eyebrows were raised, eyes twinkling with barely suppressed laughter.
"Cute. Very cute," she said, that knowing smile growing wider. "Come on. Showers are that way. Trust me, you'll want them."
My face burned. I could feel the heat spreading from my cheeks down my neck. I tried to carefully extract myself without waking Katie.
Complete failure. The moment I moved, she stirred. Her eyes opened, still half-asleep, unfocused. She looked up at me, not quite processing—
Then reality hit. Her eyes went wide. Face flushed bright, brilliant red.
We scrambled apart like we'd been electrocuted, both trying to untangle ourselves, neither succeeding gracefully, both determinedly not meeting each other's eyes.
The intern was still standing there, still smiling that amused, knowing smile. "Take your time. I'll tell Chris you're up."
She walked away, and I could swear I heard her laughing quietly.
Great. Just perfect. The cameras definitely got that. The intern definitely saw. Julia's going to see this when it airs. I'm never going to hear the end of it. She'll bring it up at every family gathering for the rest of my life.
I looked around, trying to orient myself through the embarrassment and exhaustion. Morning light—stronger now, mid-morning maybe. The fire had burned down to embers. The challenge area was mostly empty.
Other eliminated contestants were visible in the distance, heading to or from showers. They must have been woken earlier.
But two people were still here, still in the challenge area, still conscious.
Trent, sitting near the dying fire, looking like death warmed over but awake. No guitar in sight. His eyes were red-rimmed, face pale, but he was upright.
And Bridgette, also there, looking equally destroyed but conscious. Her usual grace was gone, replaced by the mechanical movements of someone running on pure willpower.
Chris stood nearby with interns, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
My brain was still catching up, still processing. "Wait. Where's Eva? And Gwen?"
Trent looked over, his voice absolutely wrecked—hoarse, rough, barely above a whisper. "Gone. Both eliminated."
Katie and I exchanged glances—both still red-faced, both trying to process through lingering embarrassment and exhaustion.
I forced my legs to work and walked over to Trent, Katie following. Every step felt like moving through quicksand.
"What happened?" I asked. "After we... after Katie and I fell asleep?"
Trent spoke slowly, words coming with visible effort. His eyes kept trying to close, only staying open through sheer force of will. "You two went down around hour twenty. Just... leaned into each other and were out. Like someone flipped a switch."
He paused, gathering energy to continue.
"I was going to wake you up," Trent said, the ghost of a smile crossing his exhausted face. "Thought someone should."
Bridgette spoke up, her voice tired but warm with gentle amusement. "But I stopped him. You both looked so comfortable. Seemed cruel to disturb that."
Oh god. They saw. They definitely saw. How long were we—no, don't think about it.
Katie made a small sound beside me, face somehow getting even redder.
Trent continued, mercifully moving past that particular detail. "Around hour twenty-one, Gwen was really struggling. Could barely stand, swaying, eyes weren't focusing right."
I could see where this was going.
"She drank her energy drink. The one from the microtask earlier." He shook his head slowly. "I tried to stop her. Told her what happened to Courtney. But she was too far gone, couldn't think straight. Said she needed it."
He paused, taking a slow breath.
"She drank it and got this burst of energy. Sudden. Intense. She was moving around, talking, looked sharp and alert for maybe twenty minutes. Then the crash hit her. Like hitting a wall. She started swaying again, couldn't keep her eyes open, got worse fast." Another pause. "Five minutes later she was on the ground unconscious."
Twenty-five minutes total. Even less than Courtney managed.
"What about Eva?" I asked.
Trent grimaced, looking disturbed by the memory even through his exhaustion. "Around hour twenty-five there was another microtask. Mental challenge, similar to before. Eva won it—barely, but she won."
"She got one more energy drink as prize," Bridgette added quietly.
Oh no.
"She looked at it and took out one she won in previous task," Trent continued. "Looked at me and Bridgette. Then said she couldn't hold out any longer without them."
He stopped, swallowed.
"She drank both. Right there. Back to back. Didn't even hesitate."
Bridgette spoke up, her voice sad. "We tried to stop her. Told her about Courtney and Gwen. But she said she was done without them, might as well try."
Trent nodded. "It worked at first. She got sharp again, alert, started doing exercises, looked like herself. That lasted maybe... forty minutes? Fifty?"
"Then she just dropped," Bridgette said quietly. "Not asleep. Her body completely gave out. She collapsed and wasn't responding. Wasn't moving. We thought..." She stopped.
"Interns had to check she was breathing," Trent finished. "Took her to the infirmary on a stretcher. That was maybe thirty minutes ago, right before Chris ordered everyone woken up."
Silence. Heavy. Uncomfortable.
Eva pushed too hard. Tried to power through on chemicals and willpower and her body just... quit.
Katie's hand found mine, squeezed gently. Grounding. Supportive.
Chris walked over, grinning like this was all great entertainment. "Alright you two!" He gestured at Katie and me. "Everyone else is showering! You both look terrible—and smell worse. Get cleaned up!"
Thanks, Chris. Real tactful.
To Trent and Bridgette: "You two keep going! Last ones standing! One of you is winning this thing!"
He looked absolutely delighted by their exhausted misery.
Katie and I started walking toward the cabins. The awkwardness from waking up together hung between us like a fog. Neither of us quite knew where to look, what to say, how to address the elephant—or rather, the cuddling—that was definitely in the room.
Other contestants were visible ahead—some heading to showers, some already clean and heading to cabins for actual sleep in actual beds.
I tried to cut through the awkwardness with sarcasm. It's what I did best, after all. "So. That was a completely platonic and not at all embarrassing way to wake up. Very professional. Excellent strategy for maintaining dignity on national television."
Katie's face was still red. She kept her eyes forward, not looking at me. "We were exhausted. Just... fell asleep. That's all. People sleep near other people when they're tired. It's normal. Totally normal."
"Right. Exhaustion. Makes people do irrational things." I was going for light, casual, but it came out slightly strangled. "Like use each other as pillows. And heating sources. And apparently full-body teddy bears."
She finally glanced at me, and despite the embarrassment, a small smile broke through. "You're a decent pillow."
I stopped walking. Just stopped. Brain completely offline. "I—what?"
Katie's smile grew, some of her usual confidence returning despite the blush that was still coloring her cheeks. Her eyes had a glint of mischief now. "I said what I said."
She walked ahead, moving faster, leaving me standing there in the middle of the path absolutely flustered and completely confused.
A decent pillow. She said I'm a decent pillow. What does that even mean? Is that a compliment? Is she flirting? Was that just an observation? Why is she smiling like that? Why am I overthinking this? Obviously I'm overthinking this. But what if I'm not?
I hurried to catch up, my exhausted brain spinning uselessly, trying to process while running on maybe three hours of sleep in the last thirty hours.
This was going to be a long recovery period.
Confessional - Noah: He looks absolutely exhausted—hair a complete disaster, dark circles under bloodshot eyes, clearly flustered. "We fell asleep together. Cuddling. On camera. That footage exists and will haunt me forever." He rubs his face tiredly. "The intern's face. She looked so amused. Like she knew something I don't. Which is apparently a common theme today." He looks genuinely confused. "Because then Katie said I'm a decent pillow. And smiled. And walked away. What does that mean? Is that flirting? Am I supposed to respond to that? How do you respond to being called a decent pillow?" He's spiraling slightly. "I can't process this right now. Need more sleep.
Confessional - Katie: Also exhausted—hair messy, dark circles under her eyes, but there's a definite smile despite the embarrassment. She keeps touching her face like trying to cool down the blush. "We fell asleep together. I woke up cuddling him. Like, full-on cuddling. Arms around each other, legs tangled, everything." She blushes deeper. "It was really nice. Really, really nice. Comfortable. Safe. Warm." She pauses, smile growing. "And then I told him he's a decent pillow. I don't know what came over me. But it was worth it to see his face." She laughs quietly. "He's going to overthink it. Probably already is. But I meant it."
Confessional - Eva:Infirmary. She's in the bed, looking completely wiped out—dark circles, pale, hooked up to an IV drip. Her usual intensity is completely gone, replaced by exhaustion and frustration. "Won the microtask. Got my second energy drink. Knew I wouldn't make it without them." She's angry at herself but too tired to sustain it. "Drank both. Thought I could power through. Worked for almost an hour. Then everything shut down." Long pause, she looks away from the camera. "They said I scared people. That I wasn't responding. Whatever." But she doesn't sound cavalier—she sounds shaken. "Hate losing. Hate losing like that even more. But mostly..." She looks straight into camera. "Mostly I hate that I proved I'm not as strong as I thought I was."
Goodbyes
I woke to the sound of voices outside. They were incomprehensible, distant but still loud enough to interrupt my rest.
For a moment I just lay there, disoriented. The bunk was as uncomfortable as ever—thin mattress, scratchy blanket—but after twenty-plus hours of the Awake-a-thon, even this felt manageable. The cabin was quiet. Light filtered through the windows—warm, golden, afternoon light.
How long did I sleep?
I sat up slowly, body protesting. Everything ached—legs, back, shoulders, even my jaw from clenching it during the challenge. But the fog in my head had cleared somewhat. I'd crashed immediately after a quick shower earlier, still tired even after sleeping in a firepit.
The other bunks were empty. Owen's was rumpled but vacant. Cody's showed signs of recent use but he wasn't there now.
I got dressed slowly, every movement deliberate. My muscles felt like they'd been wrung out and left to dry. But I was functional. More or less.
Outside, the camp was quieter than usual. Late afternoon—the sun was lower in the sky, shadows stretching long across the grounds, that particular quality of light that said evening wasn't far off.
I found Cody near the cabins, sitting on a log, looking tired but awake. He glanced up when I approached.
"Hey," I said. "What's going on? Everything quiet?"
"Task ended maybe an hour ago," Cody said, yawning. "Trent won. Bridgette fell asleep and like ten seconds later Trent just... gave up. Didn't even try to keep going."
"Smart. Why push it when you've already won?"
"Yeah. They both looked like zombies by the end. Chris called it after Trent was already unconscious.
I nodded, processing. Trent won for the Gophers. Bridgette came in second for the Bass. That meant the Bass had to vote someone out.
"What about elimination?" I asked.
"Bass just got back," Cody said. "Like, a minute ago. Sadie got voted off."
The words took a moment to register.
Sadie. Eliminated.
I wasn't entirely surprised. I'd known it was a possibility—she'd fallen asleep first among the Bass, hours before the others. Easy target. And even with Eva's support, she hadn't really found her place. Needed more time, but it ran out.
Then reality hit.
"Does Katie know?"
Cody blinked, then shook his head. "I don't think so. I think she's still sleeping. Haven't seen her since this morning."
She'll want to say goodbye. They're best friends. Have been for years. And she doesn't know.
I was moving before I'd fully processed the decision, heading toward the girls' cabin at a pace just short of running. My tired legs protested but I ignored them.
The boat schedule was strict. Fifteen minutes after elimination, maybe twenty if Chris was feeling generous. Which meant Sadie was probably already at the dock, probably already boarding.
I reached the girls' cabin and knocked urgently on the door. "Katie! Katie, wake up!"
No response.
I knocked harder. "Katie!"
The door opened.
But it wasn't Katie.
Heather stood in the doorway, looking annoyed at being disturbed. Her hair was slightly mussed, eyes tired but sharp. She'd been resting but not sleeping.
Then she saw my expression—the urgency, the tension—and her annoyance shifted to something more calculating.
"I need you to wake Katie," I said quickly. "Now. Sadie's leaving."
Heather crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe, blocking entry. "That sounds like something that matters to you. What's it worth?"
Are you serious right now?
"Heather, there's no time—"
"There's always time to negotiate," she said smoothly. "You wake people up for favors. I wake people up for favors. That's how this works, right?"
I tried to move past her. "Fine, I'll wake her myself—"
She shifted, blocking me completely, voice sharp. "You want to walk into the girls' cabin uninvited? While half of us are sleeping or changing? I'm sure that'll look great on camera. I'm sure Katie will appreciate you barging in without permission."
She was smiling now, knowing she had leverage.
Damn it.
"How about this," Heather continued, voice almost pleasant. "You owe me one favor. Nothing that compromises your precious morals, just... a favor. When I ask. Simple."
My jaw tightened. Time was running out. Every second spent negotiating was a second Katie didn't have.
"Fine," I said through clenched teeth. "One favor. Now wake her—"
A tired voice came from behind Heather. "Noah? What are you doing here?"
Lindsay appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes, hair messy, clearly just woken by the commotion.
"What's going on?" Lindsay asked, yawning. "Why is everyone yelling?"
I spoke quickly, desperately, before Heather could interfere. "Lindsay, I need someone to wake Katie right now. Sadie's leaving and Katie needs to say goodbye."
Lindsay's face immediately shifted from confusion to concern. "Oh no! Katie will be so sad if she misses her!"
She turned and rushed back into the cabin before Heather could react.
"Lindsay, wait—" Heather started, but it was too late.
I heard Lindsay's voice from inside, urgent but gentle. "Katie! Katie, wake up! Noah says Sadie's leaving!"
Sounds of movement. A confused voice—Katie's, thick with sleep.
She appeared moments later in the doorway, disheveled, hair a mess, still half-asleep. "What? Sadie's—"
"Elimination," I said quickly. "She got voted off. The boat's leaving soon."
Katie's eyes went wide, sleep vanishing instantly. "How long do I have?"
"Minutes. Maybe."
She didn't wait for more. Didn't ask questions. Just took off running toward the dock, moving faster than I'd seen anyone move all day.
I followed, but she was faster—I was still tired, still sore, and she had desperation and adrenaline driving her forward.
She pulled ahead, disappearing around the corner of the main lodge.
By the time I reached the dock, breathing hard, Katie was standing frozen at the end of the pier.
The Boat of Losers was already moving away—maybe thirty meters from the dock, engine churning water, creating steady distance.
Sadie was on the deck, facing back toward camp. She saw Katie—I could tell by the way she straightened, the way she raised her hand to wave.
Katie raised her hand too, waving desperately.
But they were too far. Too far for words. Too far for anything except gestures across widening water.
Sadie's wave was sad, apologetic. Katie's was desperate, trying to convey everything she couldn't say.
The boat continued moving, engine noise constant as it headed toward the mainland.
Katie's hand dropped slowly as the distance grew. Her shoulders slumped.
I approached carefully, not sure what to say or if I should say anything at all.
"I was too late," Katie said quietly, voice hollow. " I couldn't even say goodbye."
I stood beside her, both of us watching the boat grow smaller. "I'm sorry. I got there as fast as I could."
"I know." She didn't look at me, eyes fixed on the departing boat. "Thank you for trying."
We stood in silence, watching. The boat was maybe fifty meters out now, moving steadily across the water toward the mainland.
"We've been best friends since elementary school," Katie said, voice barely above a whisper. "Always together. Every birthday, every sleepover, every stupid thing we did growing up. "And all I got was seeing her from across the water.."
I didn't have words that would fix this. Nothing I could say would change what happened.
So I just stood there. Present. Supportive in the only way I knew how—by not trying to fill the silence with empty platitudes.
Katie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "At least she knows I wanted to. She knows I tried."
"She knows," I agreed quietly.
The boat was maybe a hundred meters out now, smaller, the figures on deck barely distinguishable.
"And THAT, folks, is what we call DRAMA!"
Both Katie and I turned sharply.
Chris stood behind us with a full camera crew, grinning like this was the best thing he'd seen all day.
"Sadie's gone!" he announced to the camera, completely ignoring our expressions. "Katie's devastated! And we're just getting STARTED!"
Katie's face went from grief to anger in a heartbeat, but Chris wasn't done.
"Twenty-one campers down to TWENTY! Who will be eliminated next?" He paused dramatically. "Find out next time on TOTAL! DRAMA! ISLAND!"
He held the dramatic pose for a moment, grinning at the camera.
Katie glared at him with an intensity I hadn't seen from her before. I just looked tired—too exhausted to muster proper anger, though the irritation was definitely there.
Chris finished his closing bit with a final grin, then gestured to the crew. "And cut! Great stuff, you two. Really emotional. The audience is going to love this."
He walked away, crew following, leaving us alone again on the dock.
Katie turned back to the water. The boat was just a speck now on the horizon, barely visible against the afternoon sun reflecting off the lake.
"I should get back," she said quietly. "Maybe try to sleep more."
"You want company walking back?" I asked. "Or would you rather have space?"
She considered for a moment. "Space. For now." Then she looked at me, managed a small, tired smile. "But... thanks, Noah. For trying. For caring enough to try."
She squeezed my hand briefly—warm, grounding, genuine—then walked back toward the cabins, moving slowly now, exhaustion and disappointment weighing her down.
I watched her go until she disappeared around the lodge.
Then I turned back to the water.
The boat was gone now. Completely out of sight. Just empty water and distant shoreline.
Sadie was heading home. Katie was still here. And I'd done what I could—rushed to wake her, tried to get her there in time—but it hadn't been enough.
Sometimes trying hard doesn't change the outcome. Sometimes you do everything right and still lose. That's not failure. That's just... reality.
The thought settled, heavy but true.
I turned and headed back toward camp, every step deliberate.