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The lead up to a new season of Survivor, Jon finds, is still the hardest part. Since it's an All-Stars season, they're kept even more sequestered from each other than he remembers. Of course he has a good sense of who's playing here in the islands off the coast of New Guinea—the Survivor veteran network is good and well. He has it on good authority that Timothy Stoker (Palau, the last season's anti-hero, came in seventh) and Sasha James (Madagascar, challenge beast, finalist) are both participating.
But it's not like he can talk to Tim. Given the way that production has separated everyone, he can only assume that the one person he's seen so far (Mike Crew, who was voted out pre-merge in Jon's own season, at a great distance) is going to be in a separate group.
So he enters into the season intro and opening reward challenge blind. They're dressed in the tribe-affiliated coloured clothing production selects from their wardrobes and boated in separately to where Elias Bouchard stands, in his crisp suit, with that easy smile he always wears during his opening speech.
Jon only half-listens as Elias introduces all of the players. He's watched all the preceding seasons closely, to get a sense of the style of his potential competitors and plan out who he might choose to ally with. If anyone chooses to ally with him. He knows he has a… bit of a reputation in that regard.
Which means he's totally taken aback when another canopied boat alights at the incandescently-lighted beach: Jon hadn't even seen it past the rapidly encroaching fog. He notes, first, the cameras drawing closer, as if anticipating some sensational television.
Then—oh fuck—Martin Blackwood steps out of the boat.
He's—fuck, fuck, fuck—dressed in darker shades of the green Jon is wearing. Green, so they're going to be in the same tribe, even if they belong to different entities (though such a thing isn’t necessarily unusual). Darker, because… the producers are telling some kind of story, probably, given how bright his outfit was during the last season.
Jon flashes back to that last hot-syruppy day under the Philippine sun. Exhausted, day thirty-seven, the blisters on his feet bursting and immediately forming more blisters under the tender scabs, annoyed by the incompetent, beautiful, blustery underdog clinging to him who was so likely to get the hero edit post-production. The way he broke their alliance and had scrambled to throw Martin out. The way he only got one vote in the final trial council, and Martin had avoided Jon's gaze the entire time.
Fuck. Martin is going to get Jon voted out the very first time their tribe loses an immunity challenge. He's charismatic; a talented player; Jon is known as a bit of a villain and challenge go-getter from his session. He's going to be an easy target. Goodbye, Survivor All-Stars, you were a nice dream while it lasted.
Jon stares doggedly ahead, trying not to make eye contact or give the cameras any kind of facial reaction as Martin trudges his way up to their mat on the beach.
Elias pauses in his narration of events. His smile broadens as he regards Jon's tribal mat. The roar of the approaching boats subside, and Jon feels the tell-tale prickle of his mic pack against the small of his back.
Oh, so production is going to expect a reaction after all, then.
Martin draws up in front of him. "Jon," he says, smiling.
The smile doesn't reach his eyes.
Jon is so fucked.
It has been about a year since the apocalypse. The last season was a clusterfuck, not least of all because of the fact that the most-watched reality television show in British media turned out to be a hiding place of all sorts of supernatural entities and avatars—a feeding place for the Eye primarily, a hunting ground for everything else.
He remembers the first time he heard of the show back in college. Jon was struggling on the backburner; the end of his relationship with Georgie, the futile stomping of his smoking habit, his studies, not to mention his finances—Jon was in need for a job, and he needed it now. Before his landlord evicted him and his fees were due.
When Jon found a newspaper column advertising for new positions on their show, it seemed like things were looking up. (“Really?” Georgie had asked incredulously on the phone, and he couldn’t blame her. Jon was not the watching reality TV type; even he was sceptical of himself and how it would all turn out.) But there really were no job openings out there, not in this economy, save for sketchy supernatural archives that he wanted to avoid: because the supernatural wasn’t real, no matter his childhood experiences, and he was better off shoving everything aside and living in denial. Let it not be said he isn’t self-aware.
Jon researched both how to apply and how to survive, comparing the successful applicants and those who failed. Jon watched through the latest season (Gertrude Robinson watched back at him with her cold eyes, chin tilted up in triumph, second-place and cunning), and then he backwatched all the other seasons (Elias Bouchard, fifth-place and now hosting the games; Timothy Stoker, jokester and hidden ace; Sasha James, mentored by Gertrude Robinson and just as intelligent; the repertoire of names grew on and on).
In preparation, he took several survival classes, took up the hobby of hiking and playing plant detective, and joined mycelium enthusiast conferences. However, nothing prepared him for the real thing.
At the end of his first season of Survivor, Jonathan Sims would end the world as he knew it, ushering in a new age. He would become a monster himself.
He splitted the world in pieces and remade it in the likings of the Eye, and for a long year Jon hunted and fed. He learned.
And now Jon has found himself back here again anyways, a hook in his gut pulling him to where it all started. The next season of Survivor will begin, and with it Jon will finally have a chance to understand what the hell is happening.
Jon just has to confront everything that went wrong (his former teammates, his feelings, who knew what else) first.
In the year during their new acclimation to their surroundings, Survivor exploded in popularity as the surviving population combed through countless episodes to explain—to understand—what had happened. Investigation from what remained of the government tried to make sense of the supernatural and release information to the press, which still existed, as small in comparison as it was now. Podcasts and ghost hunting were now the trend in popular media; foremostly, What the Ghost was now the leading podcast on information about the supernatural, but formerly it used to be a conspiracy podcast recounting theories and episodes on Survivor, aside from the occasional ghost hunting and creepypasta the podcast tended to (Melanie, on insight of her girlfriend-slash-contestant of Survivor was many a highlight for listeners).
Coincidentally, Georgie Barker is the head of What the Ghost—when the apocalypse happened, Jon had apparently accidentally beamed the podcast’s existence into many a person’s head, and so What the Ghost enjoyed a major increase in viewership as the panicking populace begged for explanations.
A few strings pulled here and there and Jon is back as Georgie’s roommate and occasional guest speaker on the podcast, and a sufferer of Melanie’s patience.
He has to lie low, at first. Soon enough, people would figure out who was responsible for everything. “You mean Elias,” George says, chewing on a pencil.
“Right,” Jon says weakly.
Lying low turns out to be the right action, because people are angry and scared of the increase in supernatural activity, and have chosen to direct their anger on the only scapegoat available; the person who played the villain in Survivor. Georgie frowns at the news anchors, and then it turns into an outright scowl as they blame him.
“They don’t know, Georgie.” It comes out as a tired exhale.
“It isn’t fair, is what it is,” Georgie retorts. She grimaces at every trending topic and popular tweet on Twitter regarding the matter, every wanted poster that pastes Jon’s face and name out on the streets saying “WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE.” Jon thinks she’s biased.
“Yikes,” Melanie says, peaking over her shoulder. They’re looking at a particularly scathing article.
“I think I’ll have to lay down low as well,” Georgie considers unhappily. “I was Jon’s teammate, and they’re already asking questions from everyone else in the Survivor crew. It’s only a matter of time.”
“I’m surprised they haven’t already been asked questions, honesetly,” Melanie snorts.
“They have,” Jon says. “By government officials, at the very least. They’re keeping them in longer because they’re not convinced whatever they’re saying is the entire truth. The press will have to wait for a bit for when the cast isn’t as hounded by protective details.”
Melanie and Georgie look at him searchingly, and with a start Jon realises why. “How did you know that?” Melanie asks. She turns to Georgie. “Was that just a very good… guess?”
“No,” Georgie says quietly. She’d watched Jon’s face bloom in realisation, and watches Melanie’s as she makes the connection now as well.
“Oh my god,” Melanie says.
“I just knew," Jon says. His ears are ringing, and his stomach swoops. "Shit."
Everyone already knows about the supernatural, of course. They didn't believe it, but it's there on internet forums, in folktales, and mythology. Jon himself, as well as everyone else, has been raised on it young: told stories of monsters and beings that fed on your fear, who wouldn't hesitate in gnawing your innards out and playing psychological football with your mind.
Everyone knows of Smirke's list of fourteen, leaked from the Archives all those years ago (it's achieved creepypasta-level fame). What no one used to acknowledge, even those who experienced them, was that interactions with the supernatural are commonplace—many make it out alive, and a lot of them don't even know they had an encounter in the first place.
It's practically a rite of passage, at this point.
(Jon has an encounter when he's eight years old, and it changes his life.)
Survivor is different. It is, first and foremost, a survival game: the contestants are split into different teams (the number differs depending on the season), and are transported to a remote place, often some very far off tropical island. They are forced to live off the island for thirty-nine days. Every so often, the teams will meet together to compete for a reward, usually items that would improve living conditions or meals, or for immunity from being voted out during the next tribal council.
Usually signalling the halfway point of the season, the competing tribes would form one final tribe in an event called the merge. At this point, the competitors would start competing in challenges individually (though some post-merge Reward Challenges may divide the remaining castaways into teams). At least one person will win individual immunity in the form of a necklace, preventing that castaway from being voted out at the next Tribal Council. Most castaways eliminated after the merge will begin forming the jury. Once the season gets down to the Final Two or Final Three, the finalists will plead their case to the jury. The jury will then cast their vote for the castaway they consider should be the Sole Survivor, in addition to the $1 million prize.
(Elias Bouchard staring at him with glittering eyes, proud eyes, and Jon feels sick as he stands there alone. This wasn’t right, couldn’t be right.)
Ultimately, the supernatural aspect of the show is what raises it to new heights. Monsters are released on the island—teams are on a deadline to give themselves sufficient protection, and more than one person has died from horrors during production and livecasting.
It was all CGI, of course, or so everyone told themselves.
Of course, with nearly the entire cast of Survivor turning out to be avatars themselves, maybe all the drama was all for naught.
… Well, this was reality TV. They didn’t exactly have the healthiest reputation of being reliable, but still.
When Jon had opened their PO mailbox to the Survivor ensigned letter inviting him to the next season (an All-Stars season one at that), he grimly knew he had to go. Finding out what the hell was happening depended on it.
“I’m coming too,” Georgie says. “They also sent me a letter.”
“No,” Melanie corrects. “We’re coming too. I’ll be there as well.”
“I don’t know if you have a choice in that. It’s All-Stars,” Jon points out.
They are all gathered around the kitchen table, squinting their eyes at the letter while they wait for the kettle to boil; Georgie had been just about to make her morning cup of tea.
Ultimately, awfully, Jon is right, and while Georgie on the other hand had been a competitor in the last season, she hadn’t been on the same team as him anyways. She couldn’t go no matter how hard she wished.
Unlike previous seasons on the first episode, contestants don’t have to sort themselves into teams. Because it’s All-Stars, the tribes are selected from the last seasons’ winning teams, all to see from which victorious team would emerge titled as the best of the lot.
Jon’s team had only won as a technicality. With his and Martin’s individual points from both making it to the very end, it had tided them over by only a few points from the second-place team.
As the government helicopters come ever closer, white light sharply defining lines on the contestant’s faces, fog begins to rise once more around the island.
Brine and damp cover them with the smell of wet sand and earth. The waves crash against the shore, shouting it’s force for all to hear. Tugging wind dances through their clothes, and the island is enveloped in white once more as it becomes harder to see—a hazy blankness and curls of smoky air that currents throughout the island. Despite the rushing noises, Jon feels a sense of eerie quiet and stillness, and he can see the other contestants—no, survivors—become slightly affected too, even if they shrug it off soon after.
Everyone, that is, except Martin Blackwood.
Fuck.
“Welcome, everyone, to Survivor's seventh season: All Stars edition, I’m so glad all of you could make it! A new start is about to begin for us all."