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Total Drama: Cartoon Multiverse

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The sun was high in the sky over a densely wooded island with a small campground at its forefront. From the looks of things, it was about ten o'clock in the morning. Standing on the dock was a man in his late twenties with the type of million-dollar smile only orthodontia and genetics can provide. He looked directly at the camera and smiled.

"Hello loyal readers!" piped Chris McLean. "Readers? Viewers? Whatever, it doesn't really matter. I'm your host, Chris McLean, and what does matter is that this is a brand new season of your favorite reality show, Total! Drama! Cartoon Multiverse!

"Now you all know how this works, so I'm sure I don't need to go too deep into the details. Long story short, we've got a great slate of competitors lined up from a bunch of different cartoons, ready to compete for the grand prize of one million dollars! It promises to be a long run of thrills, chills, and spills. Especially spills. And the best part is that since these are cartoons and this is just a fanfic, we won't have to test any of the sequences for safety! Stick that one in your Friz Freleng! By the way interns you're all fired. Now, because the producers say I can't stand here and blather on all day–that's a direct quote, we all know I don't blather and that a show consisting solely of me talking would send ratings through the roof–but anyway, it looks like it's about time to meet our first camper!"

Right on cue, a boat pulled up to the dock. From the boat disembarked a green-skinned man wearing a top hat, black pants, and a dark gray jacket. He had a handlebar moustache that he twirled evilly around his finger and an evil-looking smirk rested on his lips.

"It is my great pleasure to welcome the man who has foreclosed more mortgages than Citibank, who has tied more people to railroad tracks than there are in Canada, who has had to evade the Mounties more frequently than Izzy, the one, the only, Snidely Whiplash!" Chris proclaimed.

"Charmed, I'm sure," Whiplash responded.

"And, in order to pad out this chapter some because the author is a talentless hack–" Chris smirked. Snidely merely looked confused until Chris continued. "Why did you choose to join this show?"

"I once brought an elephant to Canada to win a dogsled competition over ten thousand dollars," Whiplash said. "Canadian dollars, by the way. Obviously, I'm here for the money."

"You're not the only one," Chris said, and winked at the camera. "But, no time to chat, here comes our next contestant!"

The next boat carried a man in a lab coat and goggles. His hair was bright red and stood straight up. He stepped onto the dock.

"Gentlemen, BEHOLD!" Chris proclaimed. "Steve!"

"Uh, yeah. Hi," Steve said.

"So Steve, how was the trip here?" Chris asked.

"Fine, I guess," Steve replied.

"And why are you here, Steve?" Chris asked.

"I uh, I put in my two weeks notice at the lab a while back...I haven't really had any work since," Steve said.

"Fascinating," Chris said sarcastically. "Not really an interesting character, are you, Steve?"

"Well, I–"

"Yeah yeah whatever here's our next contestant!"

The next boat carried a ten-year old boy dressed in a heavy orange parka.

"Oh are you kidding me?" Chris hissed gleefully before clearing his throat. "Here he is folks, all the way from South Park, Colorado, the one and only Kenny McCormick! Welcome to the show, Kenny!"

The boy stepped onto the dock and said something that was drowned out by his parka but sounded suspiciously like "Suck my balls."

"Hey, I read that!" Chris yelped. "Now what are you doing here?"

Kenny's response was once again muffled by his parka.

"Yeah, good luck Kenny," Chris said, before turning to the camera and whispering "Get him off my show."

The next boat to the dock carried a blue-haired young man. The man stepped off the boat and smiled as he walked down the dock towards Chris.

"Our next contestant is a veteran of reality TV," Chris proclaimed. "A one-time member of The Real World, it gives me great pleasure to introduce Andy French!"

"Hey, Chris," Andy replied. "How you doin'?"

"Alright, and how about yourself?" Chris asked.

"Ah, you know, it's just great to be here," Andy said.

"Great!" Chris chirped. Andy made his way down the dock, and Chris turned back to the camera and whispered "What a suck-up!"

The next boat up to the dock carried a very short figure clad entirely in black. The figure would have been assumed to be a child were it not for the male-pattern baldness and the sinister moustache. The man hopped off the boat and strode down the dock as Chris looked at his script.

"Oh no. You can't be serious," Chris implored the camera. The cameraman nodded, and Chris sighed. "Ladies and gentleman, allow me to introduce that master of disguise, that most no-good of all nogoodniks, that Pottsylvanian plant–"

"Say the name," the figure smugly intoned.

"Boris Badenov." Chris rolled his eyes as he completed the spiel.

"Thank you kindly," Boris smiled. "And I'm here for the money."

"Nobody asked," Chris muttered. Soon, his face resumed its smile. "And now, all the way from Bunny Island, allow me to welcome the one and only Major Doctor Ghastly!"

A redhead departed from the newly-arrived boat. She was wearing goggles and tight leather clothing. The five male contestants who had already arrived ogled her as she walked down the dock toward Chris.

"Welcome, doctor!" Chris proclaimed. "Or should I say, Major Doctor? What's a woman of the medical profession doing at Camp Wawanakwa? Besides the obvious, of course."

Doctor Ghastly blinked. "Well, I'm on vacation from E.C.C., so I figured I'd try and make some money here. Maybe find some new recruits."

"New recruits?" Chris queried.

"If you're dumb enough to go on this show, you're dumb enough to work for us! That's our slogan," Major Doctor Ghastly responded perkily.

"Riiight," Chris said. "Well, anyway, here's contestant number seven: Elise [REDACTED]. Wait, did you just redact that? I can't say that her name is Elise [REDACTED]?"

Off the next boat stepped another redhead. She was dressed in a white t-shirt, tight jeans, and sneakers. On the ring finger of her right hand gleamed a sparkling diamond ring.

"Welcome, Elise [RED–" Chris started. Before he could finish, Elise whipped her foot into his face, knocking him over. She continued down the dock and Chris stood up shakily. "Right," he said. "I guess I shouldn't say her last name. Anyway, moving on to yet another redhead–that's four out of eight thus far for you counting at home–we'd like to welcome all the way from Gravity Falls, Oregon, Wendy Corduroy!"

The lumberjack's daughter easily hopped off the boat. She was clad in a woolen hat, plaid shirt, blue jeans, and cowboy boots. She walked up the dock towards Chris.

"Hey," Wendy greeted the contestants and host.

"Hey," Chris replied. "So, what brings you to the island?"

"...let's just say things are weird at home and leave it at that."

Wendy joined the others on the end of the dock as another boat pulled up. Off the boat stepped a teenager with his head shaven bald and a goatee. He was clad in a white t-shirt, blue jeans, and tennis shoes. One of the most notable things about him was that he was shorter than most of the other contestants, barely reaching five feet in height.

"And now, our ninth contestant, the man, the legend, the party animal, the guy who got his show banned in India, the one and only Gandhi!" Chris announced.

"Uh, actually, it's Gary Coleman," Gandhi corrected as he walked up the dock.

"You sure about that?" Chris smirked. "Because all my notes say you're Gandhi."

"Well the League of Shadowy Figures said I'm Gary Coleman, so I guess I'm Gary Coleman," Gandhi replied.

"Are the League of Shadowy Figures MTV?" Chris suggested.

"Uh–no comment." Gandhi said as he headed towards the rest of the campers.

"Wait, hold on, before you become another face in the crowd–" Gandhi flinched. "–could you tell us why you're here?"

Gandhi turned back to the host with a manic grin on his face. "To party with some cool bros!" he said excitedly. "Ow!"

"My kinda guy. Gary."

Another boat approached the dock. This one carried a 16-year-old who was better made up than Chris, with great skin, a perfect tan, and meticulously coiffed hair. His wardrobe was no slouch either, as he was wearing loafers, gray dress pants, a pink collared shirt and a white sport coat. He stepped off of the boat and smiled widely.

"Hi, I'm Chaz Monerainian, and this is Total Drama: Cartoon Multiverse. I'm here with a bunch of other people, none of whom are as fabulous as me. With me today is–"

"Whoa whoa whoa hold up!" Chris angrily interjected. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm Chaz Monerainian, and I'm taking your show from snoring to soaring!" Chaz smoothly responded. "Now, I–"

"No, you're not," Chris testily replied. "This is my show, and–"

"And it totally needs the Chaz treatment to succeed. Hi, I'm the Chaz, and–"

"Shut up!" Chris screeched. "Shut up, get to the end of the dock, and stay there with the others! I don't want to hear another word out of you. E-ver."

"Ah, but they do, hi how ya doin' audience, I love ya." So saying, Chaz strolled towards the other campers and stood there waiting as Chris resettled himself. Chris managed to calm his nerves and lofted a strained smile at the camera.

"We're at about the halfway point now, folks, as we're just about to have our eleventh contestant join us. In fact, here comes her boat now!"

The camera swung out towards the water and focused on a boat speeding towards Camp Wawanakwa. On the prow of the boat was perched a young woman with long black hair clad in tight black leather. As the group watched, the woman sprang into a handstand, then changed her perch to just her left hand. It was at this moment that the boat hit a sudden swell, and the woman lost her balance and toppled overboard. Underwater, her body was caught by the propellers, and everything south of her ribcage was ripped away. The leftovers–her upper torso, head, and the entirety of her spinal column (which stuck out of her)–flew out of the water and soared through the air, rising over a hundred feet before beginning their downward descent towards the dock. The gathered contestants scattered, except for one: a little boy who looked up, eyes wide, and muttered to himself "Oh, fuck."

Their skulls collided, and Kenny died instantly. Rats swarmed from seemingly out of nowhere onto his body and began nibbling at the dead flesh, and the other contestants reacted with disgust. Chaz began puking over the side of the dock, Gandhi furiously rubbed at his eyes to try and take the image away, Wendy looked at the scene with a mixture of horror and familiarity, Ghastly and Andy fainted, and even Snidely and Boris blanched at the image. The only ones who didn't find themselves instinctively repulsed were Steve and Elise, who stared at the scene with an odd mixture of curiosity, fear, and recognition. Even Chris was affected, as he looked to the sky and said softly "Why couldn't she have killed that Chaz kid instead?"

Soon, though, Chris regained his senses. "Interns! You're rehired!" he barked. "Clean up this mess, stat! Campers, get off the dock, we're gonna take fifteen."


Fifteen minutes later, it was as though the horrific death scene had never occurred, as the only reminder was the fear in the faces of some of the contestants. Chris was back to normal, standing at his spot on the edge of the docks. Another boat approached; this one carried a small figure clad entirely in red with glowing yellow eyes surrounded by icy blackness. The figure hopped off the boat onto the dock.

"I was waiting forever!" the newcomer whined. "Evil does not wait!"

The new arrival looked around and noticed the fear on the faces of the other contestants. "Excellent!" he proclaimed. "Tremble in fear before the mighty Voltar, for I swear, before this day is through, you all will know the meaning of true evil!"

Chris cleared his throat. "So, this is Voltar," he said. "And why are you here, Voltar?"

"I heard you had...a cannon," Voltar responded. "And I...will use it!"

Several seconds passed before Chris was able to speak. "You're here. To use. The cannon," he reiterated.

"Yes!" Voltar proclaimed. "For what is more evil...than a cannon? Well, me, of course, but besides that nothing!"

So saying, Voltar strode down to the end of the dock. "Ew, it's all wet down here!" he complained to nobody in particular. Chris, meanwhile, focused on the new boat, which carried a teenage girl with short black hair wearing a midriff-baring top with a skull and crossbones printed on it, a black skirt, and black lipstick.

"Well, please welcome the obviously gothic contestant, daughter of a necromancer, and all around scary chick, Triana Orpheus!" Chris proclaimed. Triana's expression didn't change as she exited the boat and looked down the dock.

"So, what happened here?" she asked.

Chris, thrown, tried to respond. "W-w-what do you mean, what–what are you talking about?"

"Well, I had to wait an extra fifteen minutes, the dock has a weird odor, and everyone else looks like they're at a funeral only worse. So what happened?" Triana asked again.

"They are trembling before the might of the mighty Voltar!" Voltar exclaimed triumphantly.

"Uh, no, actually, ah, there was a death here about twenty minutes ago. That's uh, that's all," Steve corrected.

Triana raised an eyebrow but walked down the dock, where she joined the other campers. Another boat approached the dock.

"Everybody, please welcome our newest contestant, a decorated member of the Safety Patrol and valedictorian of X Middle School, Ing–"

The dock collapsed into the water midsentence. Chris bobbed to the surface angry and spluttering.

"Why did we build that thing on a timed mechanism? We should've know that someone would mess up!" Chris complained.

"You mean, by dying?" Triana suggested.

"Yes! Now it's going to take two hours to get my hair presentable!"


An hour and a half later, the dock was back up and Chris's hair had been fixed.

"Well, if there are no more delays, let's get on with it. Our fifteenth contestant plays bass in a rock band, recently broke up with the lead singer but remains on good terms with him, and is a redhead. Again. Please welcome Marlowe...I'm sorry, what's your last name?" Chris stared at the new arrival

"Eh, it doesn't really matter. Just Marlowe is fine. Nice to meet you, Chris," she said.

"Likewise," he responded. "So, why are you here?"

"I could use the money and maybe I'll make some new friends," she replied.

"Wow, that's original." Chris rolled his eyes and turned back to the camera. "Next up we have a scientist–"

"Already here!" Major Doctor Ghastly piped up.

Chris cast a stern look her way and then turned back to the camera. "As I was saying, we have a scientist who gets so angry, you might even call him...mad!"

"NOOOOOO!" An olive-skinned, hunchbacked man leaped onto the dock. "AN-GU-RY! I AM AN ANGURY SCIENTIST! WHY IS NOBODY IN THE BEING OF GETTING MY NAMING RIGHTNESS? NOT MAD, ANGURY! ANGURY! ANGURY!"

Chris waited a few seconds, and then said "So, I take it you're here for our anger management seminar?"

Suddenly calm, the Angry Scientist replied "No, I am here to win a million dollars and not have to deal with that infernal sheep!"

"Sure. Just move along now, okay?" Chris asked. The scientist complied, and Chris focused on a new boat. "Alright, here we have the pretty blonde from Peach Creek herself, Nazz Van Bartonschmeer!"

From the boat disembarked a girl with short blonde hair clad in a black t-shirt, a white tank top, blue pants, and sneakers. She walked up the dock, favoring everyone she saw with a kind smile.

"Hi everyone. I'm Nazz, and it's very nice to meet you all," she said. "I'm here for the money, sure, but I hope we can all be friends. By the way, that's a nice hat."

Wendy, who had watched Nazz approach with a carefully cultivated air of disinterest, blushed. "Uh, thanks," she said. "I uh, like your haircut."

"Thank you!" Nazz grinned widely at the compliment and took her place with the other campers.

"Um, right," Chris said, still surprised at having his thunder stolen. Regaining control, he faced the camera again and smiled. "With us now, our 18th contestant, all the way from Detroit, Michigan, Megan Allman!"

Megan got off the boat, thrust her nose in the air haughtily, and marched over to the other contestants. Chris's jaw dropped, shocked that he had been ignored by two contestants in a row.

"Well," Chris started, irritated, "I hope this next contestant is more interesting than you were, Michigander. From Gloomsville, here to show us the bright side of the dark side, is Ruby Gloom!"

A girl with pale white skin and bright red hair wearing a black dress departed the freshly arrived boat. "Hello everyone," she waved shyly. "I'm Ruby. Ruby Gloom."

"Welcome, Miss Gloom," Chris said. "Has anyone ever told you that you look like a doll? But I digress, what brings you to Camp Wawanakwa?"

"Oh, Iris said it would be an adventure," Ruby replied. "And well, Iris does know adventure."

"Well I can guarantee you you'll find adventure here," Chris smirked.

"Hooray!" Ruby said, and headed down the dock towards the other sixteen campers.

"Well, it looks like we have a woman dedicated to bringing down her enemy after he ruined her life up next. Allow me to introduce the woman with simple solutions for simple problems, the woman with practical plans for a practical world, the awkwardly named and even more awkwardly attractive Aunt Grandma!" Chris said as the woman disembarked. "Tell me, can we call you Priscilla?"

"Of course not, dear," Aunt Grandma responded kindly. "I am Aunt Grandma, everyone in the world's aunt and grandmother. And I am here to show everyone the power of practical thinking." She then muttered "Also because being Aunt Grandma takes a lot of money."

"Of course, of course," Chris relied, smiling widely. "Welcome to the show, Aunt Grandma."

"Thank you, dear," Aunt Grandma said and joined the other contestants. Chris, meanwhile, turned back to the camera, only to stop when he saw another boat already at the dock. This one carried a lanky man in a red shirt, blue jeans, an orange baseball cap and mirrored sunglasses. He stepped out of the boat onto the dock and lit a cigarette.

"Uh, no smoking on the show, sir," Chris said.

"What? But I gotta have my smokes! Who do you think you are?" the man asked angrily.

"Look, I don't really care, but if you smoke on TV a bunch of parental organizations will be all over us. Trust me, just don't do it," Chris told him.

"Don't you frequently have people get into deadly situations on this show?" the man asked.

"Yes," Chris replied.

"And don't you have like a bunch of sixteen-year-olds running around with almost no supervision?"

"Yes."

"And aren't you pretty much a sadistic jerk?"

"Hey, you say sadistic, I say entertaining."

"Also somebody already died!" Wendy announced.

After a pause, the man turned back to Chris. "Right, so, why would parental organizations care if I smoked?" he asked.

"I didn't say they were smart," Chris replied. "Or logical. Or useful. But they're well-funded and super annoying, so we just try to avoid them as much as possible, okay?"

"Chicken! Bawk-bawk-bawk!" the man replied.

"Whatever, at least I'm not bald," Chris retorted. The man gasped. "Yeah, that hat's not fooling anybody, Rusty. Now get to the end of the dock, we have one last contestant to announce."

Grumbling, Rusty Shackleford joined the others at the end of the dock, and one final boat approached Camp Wawanakwa.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, our final contestant, the one and only, Nu–" Chris stopped. "Oh no are you serious?" he chortled. "Really? Okay then, everyone give it up for Number Two!"

A skinny teenage boy wearing flight goggles and an aviator cap stepped off the boat. "Actually, that's Numbuh Two," he corrected Chris.

"Listen, kid, I don't wanna tell you how to run your life or anything," Chris chuckled, "but are you sure you want to go around being called Number Two?"

"Uh, yeah, I am Numbuh Two," Numbuh Two replied. At this, much of the dock burst out laughing.

"Right, right," Chris gasped, pretending to wipe a tear of laughter from his eye. "So, why did you decide to be on the show?"

"Well, I wanted–"

"To come in number two?" Chris blurted before cracking up. Numbuh Two cast Chris an annoyed look and then headed for the end of the dock, where he joined the other nineteen campers. Chris turned to the camera. "That innuendo? Not intentional," he whispered, and then turned to the campers and resumed a normal tone of voice. "Alright, everybody, it's time for the big group photo we use for publicity! Everyone gather on the end of the dock, and–"

"Won't the dock collapse?" Marlowe asked.

"What, no!" Chris hastily denied.

"Uh, I already saw you pull this trick," Ingrid said. "Today, in fact. Did you really think we'd be stupid enough to fall for it?"

"Yes," Chris said. Everyone cast him an incredulous look, and Chris shrugged. "Okay, everyone up to the fire pit. That's where you'll be sorted into teams."


Soon, everyone was up by the campfire pit, waiting to be sorted. Chris walked in after everyone was already there, trailed by Chef.

"Now, you're probably wondering why Chef's here," he began. "Well, let's just say that it involves the next challenge." Chef grinned evilly. "But first, it's time to break you up into two different teams! We'll start with our first team, the Mad Scientists!"

"AN-GU-RY!" barked the Angry Scientist.

"I'm not mad, I'm quirky!" complained Major Doctor Ghastly.

"Oh no, not again," Steve said, quivering.

"Meh," said Triana.

"YES!" Voltar exclaimed. "I will obviously be the boss, as I am the most evil, and I already have a mad scientist on my side! Doktor Frogg, demonstrate!"

Everybody looked at Voltar oddly.

"Uh, Doktor Frogg?" Voltar looked around. "Hel-looo? I'm waiting!"

"Yeah, about that, you're not allowed to bring your own lackeys," Chris said. "Unless you're me, of course, but unfortunately, none of you are. Now then, let's name the members of the Mad Scientists!"

"AN-GU-RY!"

"It's a team name, genius, not you. Although, the first member of the Mad Scientists is...the Angry Scientist!" Chris announced. The Angry Scientist grumbled, but Chris moved on. "Also on the team are Marlowe, Ingrid Third, Major Doctor Ghastly, Nazz Van Bartonschmeer, Snidely Whiplash, Elise, Steve, Megan Allman, Voltar, and Numbuh Two!" The eleven campers gathered with each other. "And facing off against them are the Bumbling Moose, composed of...the rest."

"Hoo boy," Boris muttered as he got together with the rest of his team.

"Wait," Nazz remarked. "There's eleven of us, but only nine of them. Is that fair?"

"What?" Chris blinked, startled. "Lemme check that..." He looked over his list. "Oh, yeah. Kenny and Æon were originally Moose. Too late now I guess."

"Hey, that's no fair!" Boris complained. "And I know unfair!"

"Yeah, I don't care," Chris said. "Except for the fact that a lame duck team makes for horrible TV–that's right Team Victory, I'm looking at you–so I guess to make things fair, we'll be sending someone over from the Mad Scientists–"

"AN-GU-RY!"

"–to the Bumbling Moose," Chris finished, ignoring the outburst. "Now, who will it be? Eeny, meeny, miney, you."