Chapter Text
"Tellin' a story does come with its own pressures and expectations I suppose...Words by themselves aren't expected to carry, aren't expected to stick, but if, y'know, if you announce that you're tellin' a story well then there'd better be a point to it all, y'know?"
-Mr. Hippo, Five Nights at Freddy's Ultimate Custom Night
-Scott Cawthon
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Word spread quickly. No one remembers for sure where it was first heard, it could have been a magazine, a newspaper, an ad on the television. All that people remember is that once the initial announcement was made, it seemed to spread like wildfire throughout Canada. It was everywhere. From the Yukon to British Columbia to Ontario, every little corner of the country was hit with the news, and everyone was talking.
The details were ambiguous. All that the public was told was that a reality show was being filmed. You had to be either fifteen or sixteen to enter. The location was some kind of resort that was closed to the general public and the winner was promised a prize. All you had to do was send in an audition tape.
What the public wasn’t told was that the details were kept secret on purpose.
Some didn’t pay any mind to it. The nagging possibility of a scam wormed its way into the brains of many sceptics who didn’t believe they had a shot at a callback let alone five minutes of fame. And the money? Please. As if they'd let anyone stay in a five-star resort only to saunter away with one hundred thousand dollars. Anyone who believed it was that easy was a fool.
The majority, however, were different. Most teenagers were desperate enough for fame that details as vague as these didn’t raise any concerns, and a name as big as the projected host was enough to get a buzz going. Just having the opportunity to meet Chris McLean in person was a temptation that many couldn’t refuse. Others thought it would be fun. Who wouldn’t want to spend their summer kicking back by a poolside? Sure, there was the threat of challenges and competition, but as long as it was somewhere as nice as a resort on a beach, that part seemed irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Not to mention the cash that was promised to the winner. All you had to do was send in a few seconds of a videotape and that was it. Many just shrugged their shoulders and realized they really had nothing to lose.
Bets were placed, friends were coaxed, schemes were planned, and the tapes rolled in. It was like the floodgates had opened. Hundreds of teens sent in their hearts and souls to producers who would chalk up their lives as nothing but a face in an already unspectacular and unworthy population who would never amount to much more than a mundane existence. Most teenagers believed that they were interesting enough that there was no way they would get passed up. Every young adult held the thought that they were the main character of the story they were placed in and that everyone else knew that too. Confidence bled through audition reels and soaked the attitudes of the pimply-faced, greasy-haired high school outcasts who believed that they were something special. All they needed was a chance. They would show them.
They, in fact, did NOT show them.
Almost every teenager in Canada proved to be spectacularly unspectacular.
Except for 22 lucky ones.
Somewhere in the onslaught of boring and forgettable were 22 sparks that had just enough chemistry to make it work. The pieces fell into place as these teenagers made their cases in the short window of time they had, some of them having just the right amount of spunk to stand out. Among them were farm kids and jocks, geeks and nerds, confidence and satire that couldn't be written. They weren't special or different, that's not what was seen in them. What the producers really saw in them was the possibility of entertainment. They were all so vastly different and exaggerated that forcing them all to interact would no doubt cause light chaos, or at the very least some ruffled feathers. The network gunned it for chaos.
Alone, they were nobodies. Ordinary, next-door weirdos that pushed eighty shopping carts at once or stalked producers, for example. Together, they formed a lasting impression, something that every teen could latch onto and hold close. Something that would resonate even after they left the screen.
There were callbacks and crossed fingers. The network prayed that they would get their selection, their cream of the barren crop. They were not disappointed. There was some skepticism still, sure, but the producers were usually able to sooth the fears of the paranoid competitors who read the wording of some of the contracts a little too closely. Some truths had to be stretched and questions about life insurance were covered up into liability arguments, but really, what were they expecting? That was showbiz. The longer it went on, the shadier it seemed. But they were able to convince everyone eventually. Without much hesitation contracts were signed and souls were sold. All for the promise of what could very well be less than five minutes of screen time on the Canadian Air.
One summer. All they were really promised was one summer. All they were told to sacrifice was one summer.
Little did they know that everything was about to change.