An elderly contestant dies during a particularly heated immunity challenge. His tribe members unanimously attempt to vote him off during the next tribal council, but they can’t write his name down because no one remembers it. “Perhaps death is the greatest immunity idol of all…” whispers an unusually cryptic Jeff Probst, who has begun to suspect that all of the players are just figures of his imagination, anyway.

You experience a brief fugue: Picture one of the “eliminated” contestants returning home to their job as [something], meeting friends somewhere for a meal or coffee/tea beverage, picture them far away from a world that manicured them and plucked their brows, picture them exactly like you again, like… having had to go from being a Person on TV to being exactly like you except maybe a little more gorgeous, and that they have all these friends who were not chosen to go on TV.


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