This is my ninth story, it has over 9,000 words, and it's being published on the date of my ninth-month anniversary. So what's it about? Nine. The Psycho Trent kind of nine, to be specific.

This fic is only my second one-shot, but it'll soon be followed by eight more Psycho Trent one-shots. To make a total of nine. Duh. The next one will be released October 19th, the (not) official Total Drama Writing Spree Day.

Rating: Yes, this is a K Plus. It would be T, except for the fact that there's no language whatsoever. The crude humor levels are a little high for a K Plus, and there's some minimal violence. Also, you might find Trent's nine obsession funny, or it might scar you for nine whole years, you never know.

Trent wants me to tell you guys to read this nine times over, but anybody dumb enough to listen to Trent is probably too dumb to read. So, keep your hands and feet inside the fanfiction at all times, no flash photography, and enjoy!

It was Trent's nineteenth birthday. Nineteen was a special number. It contained the unbelievable amazingly cool awesomeness of nine, and the awful terrible evilness of ten at the same time. It was just over the beloved twice nine, but just under the dreaded twice ten. If the word nineteen was chopped in half, one half said nine. NINE! In conclusion, nineteen was a very glorious number, with some evil overtones sadly existent in it as well. Because of all this, Trent wasn't about to let his birthday go by without something momentous to celebrate the occasion. The insaner, the better.

Trent lived by himself, as his parents had kicked him out when the whole nine thing got out of control, his craziness left him unable and unwilling to find a steady girlfriend, and all of his previous roommates had mysteriously disappeared.

The guitarist's home was a small apartment in a small city. The only thing special about it was the nine-ness. He lived on Ninth Avenue, and the street address of his apartment building was nine. His apartment was on the ninth floor, room number 909.

Inside his apartment he had nine toasters, nine televisions, nine microwaves, nine teddy bears, nine alarm clocks, nine beds, nine refrigerators. You get the point.

On the morning of his nineteenth birthday, he woke up. Then he went back to sleep and woke up again. Then he fell asleep again and woke up. He repeated this until he'd woken up nine times.

Over a breakfast of nine hard-boiled eggs, nine strips of bacon, and nine slices of toast, he thought. And thought. And thought. And thought. Ninety point nine nine nine nine nine nine nine nine nine percent of his thoughts were on the number nine. The other approximately nine percent dealt with his crazy scheme he had for the day. After nine showers, nine mouthwashes, and nine applications of deodorant that smelled like nine, his plan was fully formed. It involved a lot of insanity, starting with kidnapping eight other former campers to form a Circle of Nine. What else did it involve? Oh yeah. Nine.


He planned to kidnap the eight most beneficial to his plan. After the abductions, the nine things, otherwise known as birthday presents, he had planned would generally be carried out by one individual person at a time, with some help from the others. Most of them wouldn't be on board with this, but Trent was prepared to take desperate measures to get them to comply.

The first unlucky camper who was to be captured was Cody. Trent did some Internet searches to pin down his address, then drove off in the middle of the night. He had nine cars, and the one he selected for the task was a white van. Appropriate for the situation, right?

Arriving at Cody's house, he rang the doorbell nine times. When no one answered, he rang it eighty-nine (or nine times nine) times. Lights turned on in the house, but still, no one answered. So he started to ring the bell seven hundred and twenty-nine (nine times nine times nine) times, but he'd barely gotten to ten (AARGH! CURSE TEN!) before the door opened and Cody's mother, still in her night gown, smashed Trent in the face with a baseball bat, thinking he was an intruder. Actually, that's true, he was an intruder. Although if you asked Trent he would've called it a ninetruder.

Trent grabbed the bat from her and smacked himself eight more times, to make a total of nine concussions. Then he locked Cody's mother in a closet and headed upstairs. There he quickly located Cody's bedroom, picked up the geek's sleeping form, walked downstairs and outside, tossed him in the trunk, and drove off into the night.


Who was next? None other than Heather. The psycho didn't need to look up her address, he'd memorized it during TDI's ninth episode. Considering her home had more security, and that she was a lot more likely to resist than Cody, a direct approach wasn't wise. Instead, Trent, with a coil of rope on his shoulder, broke into her garage and pulled out a ladder. He accidentally banged against something nine times, causing Heather to wake up two stories above and turn her light on. Her parents slept on.

Trent exited the garage with the ladder. One room had a light on, so he leaned the ladder against the wall as quietly as possible (which wasn't very quietly), and extended it to reach the windowsill. He had no way of knowing whether the room was Heather's, but thankfully for him, it was.

Heather heard the ladder thunk against the wall, and she stood up, fearfully listening for any sound. Meanwhile, Trent reached the top and cut a nine-shaped hole in the windowpane. The circular part fell out and he crawled through, standing up next to the world's most shocked and terrified queen bee.

"TRENT?!" she shouted. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?! IT'S TWO P.M.!"

Trent grinned. "I'm abducting you." When worst comes to worse, what's wrong with honesty?

Heather screamed, but Trent covered her mouth with one hand and wrapped his other arm around her, pinning her arms to her side. He pushed her onto the bed and shoved a blanket partially in her mouth, before taking the coil of rope off his shoulder and binding her arms to her sides, her hands together, and her ankles together. He nonuple-knotted each part. Then he stuffed a rag in her mouth and covered her lips with tape.

Since he couldn't risk going back down the ladder with her struggling form, he quietly took the stairs and exited through the front door. Heather was tossed into the van with Cody, who still slept on.


Before Trent could kidnap the next person, he had to make a quick stop and pick up a package. This accomplished, he set out to Harold's one-story house, where the dweeb lived by himself. Once there, he exited the van and poked around outside until he found Harold's cat door, which he slipped through. It was a bit of a tight squeeze, but he made it.

Once inside, he sat down on the living room carpet and put together the materials in the package. It was a fully functional tranquilizer gun with three complementary darts. Trent was a little ticked that it didn't have nine darts, but he got over it.

With the tranq gun in hand, he opened door after door, but saw no Harold. Then he noticed the nerd standing right behind him. "Gosh, what do you want, Trent?" asked Harold. "Is this about the Drama Brothers again? For the last time, the band's broken up. Idiot! Our ninth album will never be released! Got it?"

"That's not what I'm here for," replied Trent. "Oh, far from it." Without explaining any further, he aimed and fired. Harold ducked out of the way and the dart missed, zooming over his head. The nerd ran as Trent reloaded, but the next dart hit him in the back of the shoulder. He collapsed within seconds. Just to be sure, Trent used the final dart to hit him in the leg. Then he swung Harold's lanky form over his shoulder, and the unconscious teen joined an infuriated Heather and a snoring Codester in the back of the van.

At that point, it was far too late to kidnap anyone else without risking discovery. Trent drove home. It was already a day after his nineteenth birthday. He wanted everything complete by the time he was nineteen and nine days. If it was not, things would most likely fall into place on the tenth day, and that was unthinkable. It had to happen on the ninth.

When he reached his apartment, Cody was already stirring. He'd left his window unlocked the day before so he could take the fire escape. Walking through the lobby dragging two unconscious guys and a bound girl wasn't exactly the best plan ever. So he'd bring them in through the fire escape. He brought Cody up first, and locked him in a closet. Next he carried Heather to his apartment, while she struggled in vain the whole time. Judging by the screams coming from the closet, Cody was awake. And he wasn't very happy about it, either.

Ten minutes later, Harold was laid out on the kitchen table, talking in his sleep about tranquilizer darts. "The tranquillizer gun was invented in the 1950s by Colin Murdoch. The tranquilizer generally consists of a sedative or anesthetic, intended to..." The nerd trailed off and started drooling in his sleep.


The next night, it was kidnapping time again. Trent planned to kidnap one of the Season Four campers. He hadn't met her in person, but from watching Revenge of the Island it seemed like she would be useful to whole nineteenth birthday fiasco.

Dakota Milton would be a real challenge to abduct, considering the intense security surrounding her mansion. But Trent was confident. He parked his van nine miles down the road and crept through the woods until he reached the electric perimeter fence. Trent climbed right over, fatally electrocuting himself nine times in the process. Being Trent, he survived. Probably because he had nine lives.

Then he snuck past the security guards and approached the front door. Above him was a balcony, which, with the aid of a potted plant as a stepping stool, he climbed onto. Then he looked up and breathed a sigh of relief. A window on the third floor had been left open, likely to let in fresh air. Standing on the doorknobs of the door leading in from the balcony, he pulled himself up onto the next sill. Then he banged his head, swore nine times, and fell through.

He was in the bedroom of Dakota's parents. He crept across the room and opened the door, ever so slowly. Then the psycho slipped down the hall in search of Dakota's room. There were a lot of doorways, but he found it on the ninth try. Trent duct-taped Dakota's mouth as she slept, woke her up, and held a pocketknife with all nine blades opened to her throat. The message was clear.

Boisterously dragging the teen celebrity along, he was surprised to find that the security guards didn't try to stop him. They'd fallen asleep. So much for that.


Next on Trent's good ol' kidnapping list? Mike. It had been a little hard to track down where he lived, but Trent had managed it. After all, Trent could do anything for nine. Heck, he could probably even fly, but he didn't know 'cause he hadn't tried.

Mike, like all of the still-underage TDROTI campers, lived with his parents. Their house was two floors tall, and Trent was ready to pull a Santa Claus. He snuck around back, walked onto the porch, shimmied up a nearby tree, and jumped onto the roof. He made his way across the peaked gables and towards the chimney. Once there, he removed the cowl, climbed up onto it, and lowered himself down. With his hands and feet braced against the sides, he slowly slid and landed in a pile of ash and burnt logs. He opened the fireplace doors and stepped out, getting ash all over the rug.

Trent then repeated the process of finding his abduction victim's room. He lifted the sleeping Mike up, set him on the ground, rolled him up tightly in a rug, and carried him off. As he exited the house, Mike woke up and tried desperately to break free, but to no avail. Rugs are great capturing devices, as Trent was only too happy to find out.


His final abduction of the night involved a certain babe named Gwen, who he had once been in a relationship with, until something got in the way. That something was nine. Duh. How was she involved? She was the one being kidnapped. Again, duh.

Unlike all the other ex-campers he'd kidnapped so far, not counting Harold, as Harold counts as negative nine, Gwen had a home of her own. Well, actually it was an apartment, but still. The doors to the lobby were unlocked, as it was already close enough to morning that some early risers were out for their coffee and donuts.

Trent found out which apartment she lived in via some help from a directory. He cursed her name nine times for not having a home on the ninth floor. The building had only four stories, but that didn't matter to Trent.

The guitarist took the stairs and knocked on her door nine times. Then he knocked another nine times. And another. Inside, Gwen awoke to the sound. Once her mind cleared, she counted the knocks. Nine. Just great. It was Trent. She groaned and tried to fall back asleep, but it was pretty clear Trent wasn't going to go away any time soon. So she groggily stood up and answered the door.

"Trent? It's four in the morning! What do you want?"

"Nine." was his reply as he held a piece of chloroform over her mouth, knocking her unconscious. Then he picked up the goth girl's body, took the elevator, left the building, and threw her in the van. Thankfully he didn't passed anyone on the way. Inside the vehicle, Dakota had awakened and was trying to free Mike, so he chloroformed them both and drove off.


The next night, Trent was driving in his car again. He had only two more former contestants to kidnap, the first of whom was B. Beverly. Silent B. Silent Treatment. The guy went by many names, although it remains a mystery how anyone knew his name since he never told them. After all, why talk when your silence can be used as an annoying recurring gag?

The six teens he'd kidnapped were all either bound, locked up, or otherwise restrained, as quite plainly none of them wanted to be within a nine mile radius of Trent. So he didn't have to worry about them as he drove on.

B was a nocturnal person, and liked to go for walks at night. Fortunately for the silent genius and unfortunately for the psycho with nine fetishism, Trent wasn't aware of this. After he broke into B's home and found no B, he guessed at the truth and realized that Beverly would likely be back soon. So he hid himself by the back door, and as soon as B opened it, Trent clubbed him with an umbrella and dragged him into the van.


Trent was giddy with happiness. One abduction more, and he could begin the next phase of his outrageous birthday idea! Who was his final kidnappee? Lindsay. The blonde was engaged to Tyler, and they'd bought a small house together. It'd taken a while for either of them to figure out how to use money to buy things (and in Lindsay's case, to figure out what a house was), but they'd managed it eventually.

Owing to their stupidity, they'd left the front door unlocked. Trent walked right in and quickly found Tyler's bedroom, where the jock was snoring away. For a second he was tempted just to kidnap Tyler, but that wasn't part of the plan. Not to mention he already had one Peter Oldring character. Why would he need more?

In another room he found Lindsay, comfortably sleeping. Trent pulled back the blanket and was moderately shocked to find that the blonde apparently slept in the nude. Thankfully for her, he wasn't very perverted about girls. He was extremely perverted about the number nine, but that's another story. So, to preserve her modesty (and keep this story K Plus-rated), he used nine pieces of duct tape to cover her groin and chest areas. Then he picked her up, as he had done with seven campers before her, and carried her out to the van.


The next day Trent loaded all his abductees back into his van, with the help of more tranquilizer darts and the fire escape. There was no way he'd be able to carry out his craziness in his apartment. So he drove to his parent's summer home. Thankfully his parents weren't there.

After preparing a few things, he sat down and watched the contestants slowly wake up. None of them were bound, handcuffed, or the like. Trent quickly started talking. "I've kidnapped you all for a scheme of mine. Should you try and hurt me, well, heh heh. I've got a knife; I'll stab you nine times. Both doors and all the windows are locked securely."

"Hang on," said Cody. "Did each of those sentences have nine words in them? Seriously?!"

"This is all about nine again, isn't it?" asked Heather. B nodded and glanced warily at Trent.

"Geez man, you're even more insane than you seemed on TV!" shrieked Dakota.

"Didn't any of you see this coming? Idiots!" quipped Harold.

Lindsay, who was now dressed in clothes and not duct tape, looked confused. "So everything here has to do with a letter?"

"NUMBER, NOT LETTER!" yelled Harold at her. "YOU ARE AN IDIOT! GOSH!"

Trent interrupted everyone by clearing his throat. "Everybody shut up or I'll kill y'all nine times. Now, my nineteenth birthday was very, very, very recently. To celebrate, you will each do something nine times. This includes me, so the Circle of Nine's complete. We will begin first thing tomorrow morning, or else!" After this latest batch of nine word sentences, Trent went off to get some shut-eye. The drive to the vacation house had taken a while; it was almost dark.

The other eight talked amongst themselves and tried different ways to escape. Nothing worked. Eventually they gave up and fell asleep.


B was the first one to wake up, at about five in the morning. Realizing Trent wouldn't get up until nine o'clock, he quickly woke the others. A few of them (specifically Heather and Dakota) grumbled and went back to sleep, but the other five got up and helped look for ways of escape. After all, they were more alert than they'd been last night, and the shock of being kidnapped had worn off.

The windows didn't break. The doors didn't budge. And there were sadly no secret passages. That didn't stop the former campers from trying to leave, though. What else could they do? Sit around and wait for Trent to wake up and go bananas again?

It was near six when Cody accidentally knocked over a flower pot perched on a counter. It shattered on the ground, and the geek winced, fearing the noise would awaken Trent. It didn't, and as soon as he stopped holding his breath, he made an interesting discovery.

In the dirt spilled all over the tile was a key that had obviously been hidden in the flower pot. Maybe it was to one of the doors! Cody beckoned the others over to him and tried the front door. The key fit. He turned it in the lock and - - -

"What in the name of nine are you doing?"

Uh-oh.

Everyone turned around to confirm their fears. Trent was indeed standing there, watching them. "N-n-nothing," said Cody nervously. He dropped the key by accident.

"Gosh Trent, we were trying to escape!" shouted Harold. "Couldn't you figure that out by the way we were clustered around the door, Cody held a key in his hand, and we all were acting so suspiciously?! Those clues weren't enough to tip you off?! Besides having a nine fetish, Trent, you are a complete and total IDIOT!"

"Believe, I know," said Trent. "I take pride in it."

"How are you awake already?" asked Mike. "It's nowhere a near nine o'clock!"

"Yes," Trent explained, "but it's exactly six o'clock. We all know the number six is just an upside-down version of the letter nine, now don't we?" Cody chuckled a little. "Normally I would murder you nine times for your pervertedness, but considering it deals with the number nine, I approve of it ninefold! Now sleep tight, duckies!" Trent put on a gas mask and gassed the room. Within seconds, Gwen, Heather, Dakota, Lindsay, Cody, Harold, Mike, and B were all unconscious.


The eight of them woke up to find Trent grinning at them, and holding nine pistols in his nine fingers. (He'd chopped off the little finger on his left hand so his digit count would drop from the dreaded ten to the incredible nine. He'd done the same to his toes too.)

"Anybody who moves gets shot nine times," he deadpanned. "And I really would like you all to stay alive, as any of your deaths would require me to abduct another member for the Circle of Nine."

"Circle of Nine?!" exclaimed Gwen. "That's what you're calling this?! Trent, what the heck happened to you? A few years ago we were dating! Now you're a psycho kidnapper!"

Trent laughed. "The kidnapping wasn't very important, that was just to get you here. After all, it's clear you wouldn't have come even if I asked you nine times."

"You got that right!" growled Heather.

"No," continued Trent, "there is a much greater purpose at work here. Four days ago was my nineteenth birthday. As such, I require each of you to give me nine birthday presents. Every present from an individual will be of the same nature, and all of them will make you squirm." He cackled evilly.

Dakota flinched. "How are you going to make us do this?" Trent twirled all nine pistols in answer. "Oh. Right."

"But why?!" yelled Mike.

"Because it's fun, it's evil, it's crazy, and it involves nine," said Trent smugly. "But, as you'll discover when it's all said and done, there's a much greater force at work here. And you, Mike, are up first."

Mike gulped. "What do I have to do?"

"You must create nine more personalities."

"What?! I can't just create more personalities! I have some that come and go, but making one?! That's impossible!"

"I never asked you to make one," said Trent. "I asked you to make NINE!"

"I can't!"

"Try."

"What? No!"

"Try or die. Simple choice."

"Fine." Mike inhaled deeply and held his breath. The others watched in mute horror as he searched far back into the deepest and darkest corners of his mind. Maybe he couldn't create new personalities, but he could always find the fleeting ones that were to weak to take control of him, and let them out.

On his mental journey, he immediately passed by Vito and Svetlana. Not long after he encountered Chester, then Manitoba Smith, then the mental barrier that The Malevolent One was locked inside. But all of those were his normal personalities, they wouldn't help him.

Rather quickly he found two more personalities. These two he had been aware of, they'd rather frequently tried to take control of him, but they'd never succeeded. Now it was time for them to finally meet the light of day.

He exhaled, and the first new personality showed up. "HI! I'M BOB! COOKIES ARE MADE FOR CATS WITH CINNA! TELL ME IF YOU HAVE A BUFFALO RANGE! GOLDFISH FROWN 'CAUSE THE NARRATOR MADE ME SAY THIS! YOU ARE A SON OF A GOSH DARN- - -"

Trent slapped Bob in the face, returning him back to Mike. "Good. Now eight more!" Mike grudgingly obliged, and since the next one was already ready to come out, it was easy.

"'Sup yo dudettes o' chick, what'cha gonna whooswhat to the bling-now, you checkin' what I'm a'meckin'? Steve here to y'all party down the bathroomy stall, now ain't that a bubblety goop blop? Chess, man, chess. Outta here!"

Mike forced Steve, a persona that could only speak in bad slang, out of his head. It was a great relief to be rid of him, as his idea of teen speak was almost as bad as Zeke's, and now he could begin searching for seven more personalities, all of which would be harder to find than the first two.

It took him a while to locate a third, but locate a third he did. "Wie geht es dir heute? Hallo? Sprechen keine hier Deutsch? Ach du ScheiƟe, wie furchtbar! Auch wann wir in Kanadien sind, beduetet es nicht das wir nicht 'ne bisschen Deutsch lernen sollen, oder? Trotteln."

"Okay, is what he said really confusing, or is it just me?" asked Lindsay.

"Idiot!" yelled Harold. "Obviously this personality speaks German instead of Mike's native Canadian English. Gosh."

"Well what did he say?!"

"You would know if you payed attention! Gosh, idiots!"

"But I don't speak German!"

"Are you telling me you don't already speak every language known to man, including Dog? IDIOT! I can't even stand talking to you. Gosh."

"Shut up!" commanded Trent. "Mike needs to concentrate, otherwise he'll never reach the desired amount of personalities. Mike, continue!"

The German guy vacated Mike's mind, and the skinny teen got lucky. He found some type of fiber in his brain with three personalities inside of it. Just what he needed! He freed the first one, who spoke in a British accent. "Hello all, I'm George the Optimist, here to shed a drop of sunshine on your rainy day!"

Lindsay looked out the window, confused. "It's not raining."

Harold began to say something, but everyone glared at him and he shut up. Instead, Cody talked. "What's up George?"

"The sky is up, and it is ever so bright and sunny! What a perfect day to be alive!"

"This is an awful time to be alive," spat Heather, "considering we're in the clutches of a total lunatic!"

"Thanks," said Trent.

"You're welcome."

George continued talking as if he hadn't heard them. "The rolling meadows and the beautiful blooming flowers! I'd sing in joy, but the quality of my voice can't compare to the wonderful sound of nature! Birds tweet, animals growl, waves crash, trees rustle in the wind, and brooks flow. So beautifully optimistically beautiful!"

"Okay, his optimism is getting on my nerves," said Cody. Trent apparently agreed, as he smacked Mike upside the head and the MPD teen changed yet again.

"More Than a Feeling. Peace of Mind. Foreplay/Long Time. Rock N Roll Band. Smokin'. Hitch a Ride. Something About- - -"

"What the heck?" exclaimed Gwen. "What's he saying?!"

Harold snorted. "Obviously he's listing the songs from Boston's self-titled debut in track order. Only an idiot like you wouldn't know that."

"Harold, you're more annoying than Trent and this new personality combined, and that's saying something!"

"I take no offense from that comment, as you are an idiot and I never listen to idiots."

"Wait, why is there a personality that just lists songs?" asked Dakota.

Cody shrugged. "The writer's gotta have some guilty pleasures."

Meanwhile, Mike had switched yet again. "Ahoy mateys, and welcome aboard the ship of ye old Purplebeard! Arrr, now shut up, parrots, or I'll keelhaul ye for breakfast! Purpleboard's got a fine ship, aye he does, she's a real beaut, a gem o' the sea. And the best crew ye could ever desire, even if some o' them need the old-fashioned walk the plank discipline now and again. Arrr, and you ain't even heard o' Purplebeard's treasure! It's the finest treasure there ever was, no doubt about it! In fact, it's buried precisely- - -"

This personality also disappeared at another smack from Trent. Mike saw the next one in his head, but it consistently fled from him. Eventually he seized it and forced it to dominance.

"Muhahaha, I'm finally free upon the world. At last, Dr. Victor Mikenstein is here! Now I can wreak havoc on the world with my evil inventions. Some may call me a mad scientist, but I am more than that! I am a genius! A GENIUS! WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

This time it was Harold that punched Mike. "Gosh, what an idiot. Doesn't he know that I'm the world's only genius?!"

"Shut it, Harold!" yelled everyone simultaneously.

"Gosh," was all he replied.

The penultimate personality seemed to Mike to be the last one in his head, and it wasn't very fully-formed. It was as if he had to pump life into it before it became real. But real it became, alright. And sadly, it was a terrible personality indeed, far worse than the so-called 'Dr. Mikenstein'. "Dave here! I'm a brony and proud of it! My Little Pony is the best show that there ever was, is, or evil will be! It's an incredible show and I'll strangle you all right now if you don't watch it immediately- - -"

Trent was tempted to shoot 'Dave' to stop his ears from shriveling up and dying, but as that would kill Mike, who had yet to achieve the goal of nine new personalities, all he did was slap him extra hard.

Once Mike was brought back, he set himself upon the task of finding the ninth and final personality, but to no avail. There were no more in his head, he was certain. What could he do? Maybe he could actually form a new one like Trent had wanted him to do the whole time. It was worth a shot.

Mike concentrated so hard he started sweating and nearly fainted. Just as he was sure his brain would explode, a mental barrier broke, and like water from a dam that's just collapsed, thousands of potential personalities flooded out. Mike choose the one that appealed to him most.

"My name's Seth, and I'm a number cultist! Guess what my favorite number is! TEN! Ten is unbelievably awesome, especially when compared to the terrible nine- - -"

An enraged Trent threw Mike against the wall. He collapsed in a heap, unconscious. Then the nine-lover turned to the other seven. "Who's next?"

"I am," volunteered Heather.

"No, shut up! It was a rhetorical question! The next one in the Circle of Nine is B. He must say nine words."

Silent B was stunned. He'd never said a word in his life. He wasn't even sure he knew how to! But if he didn't, he died. That made the choice pretty easy. He swallowed once and began. "**** ***** ** ******* ****** **** *** *********** *****************************!" he hollered at the top of his lungs. Everyone present except him and Trent winced at the vulgar profanity.

The nine-addicted teen, however, applauded loudly. "Amazing! I know that most of the obscenities were directed at me, but still, amazing!"

"Wow, that was even worse than the time I cussed at Heather," noted Lindsay.

"I'm just happy I learned some new words," said Cody.

Trent grinned. "We've done enough for today, wouldn't you say? Nighty night." He gassed them again.


The next morning Trent shook them all awake. This time he had nine knives clutched in his hands; five in one, four in the other. After making sure the eight were aware of this, he got down to business.

"So, Mike and B did great yesterday, and the craziness is two-ninths complete."

"Will you set us free when it's all over?" asked Heather.

"That might not be necessary at that point," said Trent, laughing evilly. The others glanced at each other nervously. After a little bit Trent's laughter died out, and he resumed a serious tone. "Today we'll only have one person complete their birthday gifts to me, that person being Lindsay. She must come up with nine good ideas."

"Gosh, don't you know that's impossible?" scolded Harold. "Lindsay is an idiot!"

"Hey!" exclaimed Lindsay. "Sometime's I get good ideas! Like, what about this one? You let us all go now!"

"Wrong!" yelled Trent. "That's an awful idea."

"Actually, that's a great idea," said Dakota.

"It's such a great idea, in fact," began Gwen, "that it should count as nine and you should free us immediately!"

"Gosh, isn't it obvious it's almost one infiniteth as good as one of my ideas? Which is obviously good, idiots."

"SHUT UP! THIS IS MY BIRTHDAY, MY INSANITY, AND MY STUPID SHOW TO RUN! Now Lindsay, start over."

"Erm, how about you don't let us go right now?"

"Aha! Now that is a perfect idea. One down, eight to go!"

"And what about, um, er, wait a sec. Erm, nine is cool?"

"Awesome idea!"

"Oh, and how 'bout nine's a nice person?"

"Exactly! Third of the way there."

"Well, what if nine was so great that ten was bad?"

"Yes!"

"And so nineteen was extra special, just like my favorite stuffed animal!"

"Spot on!"

"And then people should do something extra special for their nineteenth birthday, just 'cause."

"Couldn't have put it better myself!"

"Maybe then they could even do things a little crazy, like kidnapping nine people!"

"Woo hoo, you're gettin' the hang of it!"

"And they'd make each of those people give them nine birthday presents."

"Totally."

"And then nine of those presents would be good ideas! Yippee! Yay me!"

"Yes, you did it! Those were the nine best ideas I have ever heard!"

B face palmed. Harold shared his sentiments. "Idiots! Trent, every one of those ideas came from you! Gosh!"

"Dang," said Trent. "I must be good at ideas then!"

"That wasn't the point! The point is that you're an idiot! Gosh! If, ahh, what? Yes, if you'd only cough listen to, um, to to to, hmm, people like cough me, mm hmm, hmm, hmm, ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ."

As Harold ranted on, Trent gassed him and everyone else, including himself, as he'd actually been an idiot and forgotten to put his gas mask on first. On the bright side, he didn't have to listen to Harold talk anymore.


Harold was the first one to wake up again, probably because he hadn't talked in several hours and now felt the need to. It was already the next day. "Gosh, it's highly improbable that I wouldn't be the first one up," he chided the narrator, a.k.a. me. "My mad skills allow me to do so."

"Shut up Harold!" I, the narrator said. "No fourth wall jokes. Remember I'm in control. Annoy me and I'll kill you off for no reason."

"Gosh," he said, but he listened and went back to pretending this story was real. Now, the whole time he could've disarmed or restrained Trent somehow, but being Harold, he didn't.

Unfortunately for the rest, Trent was the second to awaken. This time he held a grenade in each of his nine fingers. The guitarist had already learned the hard way that you shouldn't pull the pins out, so he was extra careful to keep them in.

The others woke up slowly, with Cody being the last to return to a conscious state. Trent grinned both gleefully and evilly at them.

Dakota groaned. "I suppose there's no chance you've changed your mind and will let us go," she deadpanned.

"There's less than no chance," confirmed Trent. "In fact, there's a negative nine chance of it."

"That's mathematically impossible!" yelled Harold. "Idiot!"

"Shut up Harold, you're getting too much dialogue. I'm the star of this fanfic, remember?"

"Idiot!" yelled Harold. "Don't you know that breaking the fourth wall is likely to result in your sudden and nonsensical death, as confirmed by the narrator approximately two hundred words previous?!"

"Darn right," I said. "But still, shut up Harold."

Harold swore under his breath as Trent announced the next person who would give him nine 'presents'. "Heather."

"What do I have to do? Something nice nine times?"

"No, you must kiss me nine times."

Heather frowned. "Pervert! I thought you were only attracted to the number nine!"

"I am. But let's talk about you for a minute. Your head is very circular. Admittedly, your chin comes to a point, but really, no circle is perfect. Then comes your neck. It's long and mainly straight with but a slight bend in it. Now, obviously your neck and head are your most outstanding features- - -"

"I beg to differ," interrupted Harold. "I had the good fortune back in Total Drama Island to view her breasts without any type of fabric covering over them, and I must say that they are extremely fine specimens, and certainly her most outstanding feature by far."

Heather crossed her arms over her chest self-consciously and glared at the nerd. "How is it that I'm in the same room as a grenade-wielding kidnapping number cultist, and yet I still manage to hate you more?"

"Idiot!" scolded Harold. "Obviously it is impossible to hate me. I have mad skills! Gosh."

"Can we get back on topic here?" asked Trent. "I'm beginning to think I'm actually less insane than some of you. So as I was saying, as Heather's head and neck are the two most obvious things when you look at her, not the other two parts of her anatomy Harold claims, can you all imagine just Heather's head and neck, without the rest of her body?"

"What, are you going to decapitate me?" asked the queen bee, only a touch worried.

Trent laughed. "You wish. I would, but sadly it's not possible to decapitate someone nine times in a row. No, my point is that your upper upper body forms the figure of a nine."

Gwen groaned. "I should've seen this coming. Trent, does everything about you have to do with nine?"

"Yes. Duh. Now as Heather is the only girl I know who looks like nine, she's obviously the hottest chick on the planet. Therefore, getting kissed nine times by her is a wonderful birthday present."

"And what makes you think I would ever want to kiss the deranged lunatic that abducted me?" Trent gestured to the grenades. "Point taken."

She leaned in and quickly kissed him. "That was just a peck!" he complained. "Make the next eight better, or else, KAPOW!"

Heather rolled her eyes and kissed him again. The next seven kisses thereafter were really all one long kiss with several breaks. She was tempted to kiss Trent an extra tenth time just to spite him, but as she didn't want to get blown up, the queen bee decided against it.

"Well done!" Trent praised when she had finished. "Now, I think one more batch of nine presents will be enough for today. The receiver is obviously me. The giver will be Dakota."

Dakota paled. "What, me? What do I have to do?"

"You are going to mutate nine times."

Dakota paled considerably more. "What? WHY ME?! Why do I have to do something so difficult?! I'd gladly kiss you nine times, or say nine words, or come up with nine new ideas. Anything but mutating again!"

Trent shrugged. "You don't want to mutate? Well, it's your funeral." He began to pull out the pin on one of the grenades, but Dakota quickly begged him to stop.

"Alright alright, I'll do it! Just don't kill me and I'll do it! But how am I going to mutate?"

"Simple," said Trent. "Use the power of nine."

"What?! That's ridiculous!"

"You dare insult the power of nine?"

"No! I mean yes! I mean no! I mean, I can't mutate!"

"You can with the power of nine."

"No I can't!"

"Can too!"

"Can not!"

"Can too!"

"Can not!"

"Can too!"

"Can not!"

"Can too!"

"Can not!"

"Why don't you just try?"

"It won't do any good."

"Try. Just once? Pleeeeeease?"

"Okay, fine. Power of nine, turn me into a mutant." With a dramatic poof, she instantaneously transformed into Dakotazoid, and needed to crouch down just to fit in the room. "Trent!" she yelled in her Dakotazoid voice. "That not supposed to work! Nine not magical!"

"You're right, it isn't, but we're simply characters on a screen that represent words with meaning that all together form a story. Our actions, thoughts, words, and fates are completely at the hands of the one who types away relentlessly on his mobile device. Therefore, you can illogically mutate."

"You idiotic idiot!" screamed Harold. "Fourth wall jokes aren't funny! Gosh." Dakotazoid ignored the nerd and morphed into another strange mutant. She did this many times. Some mutants were ugly, others terrifying, and some just plain embarrassing. We'll take pity on her and not describe them here. Suffice it to say that she used her last mutation to change back into her normal self.

Following this, Trent gassed them as quickly as possible so that Harold wouldn't have the opportunity to say anything involving idiots, mad skills, or the word 'gosh'. The guitarist remembered to put on his gas mask this time.


Trent was really looking forward to the next nine presents, but before he could get to that, he had to wake the campers up. It was again the next morning, now seven days after his nineteenth birthday. With any luck, all this would be said and done within two day's time, and the results would be spectacular.

He woke B up first. The silent teen was the person he liked the most here, or, to be more specific, disliked the least. This was probably because, discounting the nine obscenities from three days prior, he never said a word, and therefore said nothing to tick Trent off.

Today Trent had been thinking creatively, so he held nine atomic bombs. This probably wasn't the smartest idea, but then again, neither were anything he thought up.

When Cody woke up, he rubbed his head, which was sore from smacking the ground every time he was gassed and fell over. The geek pointed at the bombs. "Is that really necessary?"

"No."

"Well, at least you're honest, I can say that much for you."

"Idiots!" yelled Harold. "If he was honest, would he constantly insist that the numerical value nine whole numbers away from zero in a positive direction possesses magical quantities of limitless power? Gosh, no!"

"Do you ever shut up?" asked Mike. "I'm not the type who gets ticked easily, but dude, you go way overboard!"

"No duh," said Heather. "Harold needs even more psychiatric help than Trent."

"Thanks," said Harold and Trent simultaneously.

"Yeah, Harold is definitely more messed up," agreed Cody.

"Why does he never stop talking?" lamented Dakota.

Gwen frowned. "He needs to learn to shut up for once."

Trent flashed a smile a mile wide at all of them. "You're gonna love today's presents!"

Doubt it," deadpanned Heather.

Trent laughed. "No, seriously! Because Harold must be totally silent, for nine hours!"

Harold started to chide Trent for being an idiot, but then remembered and shut his mouth.

"Wow, I'm liking this already!" exclaimed Cody.

"I know, right?" said Lindsay. "It's so much fun!"

Harold glared at them, but held his tongue.

Trent, who had gotten only nine minutes of sleep the previous night, decided to hit the hay right then and fortunately for his cause, everyone was too afraid of the bombs detonating at the slightest sound to move or speak or try to escape. This gave Harold extra incentive to try and talk, but it still wasn't quite enough.

About five hours later, he opened his jaw, and it was pretty clear words were about to come out of his lips. Thinking fast, B applied duct tape hastily to his mouth, but because he rushed he ended up covering the rest of Harold too. The nerd, bored with nothing to say, joined Trent in loss of consciousness, as he decided to catch a few Z's too.

The next day was the penultimate one, and everything was almost over with. Two more people had to give their 'presents', three counting Trent himself. The other ex-campers woke up to find him oddly without nine of anything on his fingers. "Invisible weapons," he explained.

Cody rolled his eyes. "I'm up today, aren't I?"

Trent nodded. "Yes, you and Gwen, and then tomorrow, it'll be my turn. Only then will the logic behind all of this be revealed to you!"

"Is this logic based on Ezekielan logic?" asked Heather.

"Yes."

"Oh brother."

"Did you know I have nine brothers?"

Gwen coughed. "Trent, speaking as your ex-girlfriend, I'm pretty sure I can say you're a fricking only child."

"Your point being?"

"Never mind."

Dakota hummed thoughtfully. "Have you noticed that the day started five minutes ago, and Harold has yet to say a single rude thing?" B smirked and pointed at Harold, who was still wrapped in duct tape thanks to the silent genius. "Oh, that explains it."

Trent walked over to the nerd and unrolled him like a toilet paper mummy. As soon as his mouth was freed, Harold wasted no time in expressing his displeasure with the situation in general. "Idiots! Don't you know that you could have suffocated me?!"

"I wish we had," said Heather. "I really, really, really wish we had."

Harold glared at her. "If I died and the world was thereby deprived of my mad skills, it would be a dark, dark day."

"Just like the day you were born."

Trent coughed. "So Harold, how'd you like your nine hours of silence?"

"I was forced to hold my peace for a full twenty-two hours, I'll have you know! Gosh!"

"That's great Harold," deadpanned Mike.

"We all care so much," added Cody sarcastically.

"We may not care about Harold, Cody," began Trent, "but we do care about the nine presents I am about to receive! After all, receiving is better than giving as long as the receiver is Trent!"

"Let's just get this other with," said the geek, both impatient and nervous.

"Sure thing!" allowed Trent. "You need to look at these nine pictures of Sierra."

"Uhm, okay?" said Cody as he grabbed a packet from Trent, opened it up, and pulled them out.

"What's so bad about looking at pictures of Sierra?" asked Dakota.

Cody shuddered. "You don't know Sierra." He risked taking a glance. The first picture was just Sierra, smiling insanely. So far so good. The next one showed her holding a Cody doll. "Hey, where'd she get that? I thought those were recalled before they even got the chance to be released!"

Trent shrugged. "She broke into the Total Drama Factory and stole a few hundred. She was even nice enough to give me nine. They work great as minions!"

"Minions?"

"Yeah. See?" He pulled nine Cody dolls out of his pocket and placed them on the floor. "Who's your leader?" Speaking out of the side of his mouth, he made an awful attempt at ventriloquization in a squeaky voice. "You are! You are!" "Oh yeah! Who's the best leader ever?" "You are! You are!" "What number is best?" "Nine is! Nine is!" "Will you do anything I tell you to?" "We will! We will!" "See what I mean? Perfect minions."

Lindsay shivered. "That was weird."

"And I do not sound like that!" added Cody. He shuddered again, then went back to the task at hand. The third photo had her hugging the Cody doll, still grinning crazily. The fourth had her kissing it, at which Cody winced. In the fifth she was literally making out with the doll. Cody's eyes widened in horror at the next one, where she was licking the doll.

"Ew ew ew!" he cried. "Sierra spit! That is just awful! And on poor Mini Me too."

In the seventh photo, the Cody doll was stuck head-first in Sierra's cleavage. "Okay, I know I'm a pervert, but that's just creepy!" The eight and next-to-last photo had her shaking the doll in her mouth like a dog with a chew toy. Cody nearly fainted.

After looking at the final picture, Cody vomited all over the floor. Trent was grossed out by this and threw up nine times. Everyone else lost their lunch too, and they moved to another room so they wouldn't have to smell it.

"What was so bad about that last one?" asked Mike.

"You do NOT want to know," said Cody. "Let's just say, that doll is way past second base."

Mike shuddered. "Heck, I didn't even want to know that much!"

Trent cleared his throat. "Ahem, we're not done just yet. Heather, go mop up the vomit."

"Why me?"

"Because you're hot."

"Okay, let me be honest here. I despise you. With a passion. You have kidnapped me against my will and locked me up here along with seven other losers. You forced ne to kiss you, again against my will. You've threatened me, and all of us, at gunpoint, knife-point, grenade-point, bomb-point, and more. Now you are asking me to clean up vomit. And not just any vomit, but vomit directly caused by you and your disgusting Sierra pictures. But I agree. I am hot. Much so indeed. So I'll do it." She grabbed a mop and a water bucket and left.

Harold frowned. "Um, err, um, err, um, err, um..."

"What's he doing?" asked Dakota.

"He's trying to think of an excuse to insult us, but he's coming up blank," explained Mike.

Harold continued on. "Um, err, um, err, idiots! Gosh! Mad skills! Leshawna! Beat-boxing! The Beach Boys! Saturn's Rings! Viva la Revolution! Chocolate chips! Jurassic Park!"

"I think he's lost it," said Gwen.

"Nah, he lost it a long time ago," dismissed Trent. "And now it's your turn!"

"Perfect," she said sarcastically.

"No, not perfect. It won't be perfect until the ninth part, the ninth phase of the plan is complete! The ninth set of nine! By me, the ninester! With an extra help of nine! Nine nine nine nine ni- - -"

"Okay, cool down. What do I have to do?"

"Juggle nine bouncy balls!"

"Wait, that's it? No special thing that tests my character, meaning both a trait and my cartoon personality? Nothing that applies to me whatsoever?"

"Nope. My creativity's kind of low right now."

"You don't say. I'm almost offended!"

"Well, you are sort of dull and boring."

Gwen frowned. "Really, how could I ever have liked you?"

"You didn't. We faked it for the cameras, remember?"

"Whatever. Just give me the bouncy balls."

Trent tossed them all at her. Luckily for her, the goth had taken up juggling in the sixth grade and practiced until she could juggle ten at a time. That's right, Trent. Ten. So, this was very easily accomplished for her. She was still juggling as Trent gassed them all, and then went into the other room to knock Heather out.


It was finally here. Nine days after Trent's nineteenth birthday. Everything had gone according to plan thus far, and Trent intended it to continue so. He woke everyone up and gathered them around, not even bothering to threaten them with some sort of nine weapons.

"We're here," he said. "At last. All that remains is for me to give myself nine presents."

"Which are?" prompted Cody.

"All I have to is say the word 'nine' nine times."

"Oh. That's simple."

"It's simple indeed. Let's begin, shall we? Nine."

"Is he really bothering to do this?" scoffed Heather.

"Nine."

"Apparently, because he's doing it," said Mike.

"Nine."

B nodded in agreement.

"Nine."

"It's a little creepy," observed Dakota.

"Nine."

Cody rolled his eyes. "Creepier than anything else he's done?"

"Nine."

"Wait, what does creepy mean again?" asked Lindsay innocently.

"Nine."

"It means that you're an idiot! Gosh!"

"Nine."

"Guys, relax. He's almost done," said Gwen.

"Nine. Haha, yes! YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES!"

As soon as Trent said the ninth nine, the room started shaking, as if experiencing an earthquake. "What's happening?!" yelled Mike.

"Isn't it obvious?" said Trent. "The world's splitting into nine pieces. Soon enough we'll all die, but it's worth it for nine!"

"You didn't tell us this would happen!"

"I didn't tell you it wouldn't either!"

"Can we stop it?!" yelled Heather.

"Hah, only if you say the word 'ten' ten times. But obviously none of you would do that. Who would want to stop this?!"

"I would!" screamed Cody as the ground around the vibrated. "Ten ten ten- - -"

Quick as a number cultist motivated by passion for the number he culted, which is what he was, Trent dove at Cody and pressed nine knives against his throat. "Next person to say ten causes the immediate death of this fine fellow here."

"You just said ten!" exclaimed Dakota.

"What? No. I never said ten- - -gosh dang it!"

"That's six tens!" exclaimed Gwen. "Make that seven tens! Sorry, eight!"

Trent gritted his teeth. "I'm serious. Next person to say the t-word will regret it." He pressed his knives a little harder against Cody's throat, so that nine little cuts formed on his neck. Cody looked around the room, begging the others to say it regardless. He'd end up dying either way.

Heather, knowing Trent's an idiot, decided to try some trickery. "Trent, what's your least favorite number?"

"Ten. Why? AAARGH!"

At this point the world was tearing apart around them. Trent brought up his knives to bring them back down on poor Cody, but the geek opened his mouth, coughed up a little blood, and said something. "Ten."

"NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!" yelled Trent. The world instantly stopped shaking and repaired itself. Trent was determined to kill Cody for the evil he had just committed, but as the knives swung down, he broke into ten pieces and fell apart. Those pieces disintegrated and disappeared. The knives clattered harmlessly to the floor.

Cody stood up and surveyed his work. Right away, everyone cheered and embraced him. Harold even paid him an enormous compliment, calling him 'not quite an idiot'. Once the congratulations subsided, Mike located the key out again and unlocked the front door. Everyone piled into Trent's van, and they drove off into a happy ending.

Ta-da! This was my longest one-shot/chapter to date, beating my previous record of 7,918 words. Remember to review; if we don't get at least nine reviews Trent will be REALLY ticked. If you liked this, stay tuned for more Pyscho Trent one-shots, and check out my other stories.

And most importantly, thanks for reading!

~TheImpossiblyAwesomeWriter