Golf Ball knew that what she was about to do was likely nonsensical, irrational, and in vain; but since most things are like that already, she figured it was gonna be just fine.
The dimpled ball had been an unwilling participant in the Battle for Dream Island for so many years now. She had absolutely no illusions that the other contestants were ever sane, level-headed folk; they spent most of their days roaming around the outdoors, for crying out loud. But from the very moment that speaker box fell out of the sky, started dangling that island over their heads and herding them like farm animals, any chance of them growing up to be rational, reasonable characters was thrown out the window. The competition was the *perfect* place to further cultivate their wild, absurd, asinine personalities. Their desire for some prize that they haven't even seen drove them to even greater depths than they already had, being more than willing to sacrifice their morals, their image, their character, and their friends, all for the sake of even the slightest, tiniest chance of winning it and claiming it as their own. She watched in horror as everyone acted in an even *more* deranged manner than she'd ever seen in her observations, spent many nights shaking her head down at the depths of the underground factory, wondering just how far they had all fallen, and how much farther they had left to go.
Golf Ball was obviously rather ashamed of the fact that she too was caught by its web. She thought she could outsmart the system, outcompete everyone else through her sheer intellect, and use the island as a means to finally get them to listen about all the ideas she'd tried so hard to have them notice. But the faceless, soulless viewers from up above decreed that that was completely boring, absolutely rude, and was not what they were looking for in their show. So, as her reward for trying to guide everyone into a brighter path, she was thrown into a metal box for years, surrounded by everyone she despised. That's *definitely* more than enough to drive any normal person mad, but someone like GB just about managed it; despite the show's attempts to break her, she persisted. She remained the bossy, dictatorial, authoritarian leader everyone saw her as, even though it hampered her chances at every turn. Maybe her boldness would eventually get them to listen.
But that's just crazy, she just knew it. In her quiet moments of reflection, she knew that the competition had won, in a sense. Here she was, still Battling for Dream Island (or... the show in general?) like everyone else, with seemingly no other ambitions. She was defeated, humbled.
No. She wouldn't allow that.
She spent many sleepless nights arguing with herself over the merits of it, but ultimately she resigned herself to committing to the unthinkable option: she tried to be *nice*. After all, is that not the exact opposite of *everything* this competition stood for? Everyone's so used to conflict being the status quo, so foreign to the nature of peace; even without a speaker box or algebralian running things behind the scenes, they'll find ways to cause mischief. Perhaps finally having some time to be calm, to be nice, to be kind, that'll be the thing she needs in order to get through to their thick skulls (or whatever living objects had for bones). It would be so jarring, so arresting, that it'll *force* them to start acting sensibly.
Knowing that every moment was precious, Golf Ball quickly got to work. As is tradition, she immediately assigned herself to the greatest necessities; she sectioned off a corner of her underground factory, intending to transform it into a place where complete polar opposites could exist in harmony. A fresh coat of paint to a warmer color, nice and reassuring decorations, soft furniture one can sink into and embrace, and all sorts of little things and games to have all sorts of fun, recreational activities. Every square inch was accounted for, every bit of floor space had its efficiency maximized.
As for the more difficult things, however...
Tennis Ball, her ever-obedient partner in science, returned from the surface with a very large, *very* suspicious, VERY aggressive bag; it was tethered to a specially-built belt, in case one is curious regarding the details. He definitely had more bumps and bruises than before, but still he kept a smile. "Golfy, your... *subjects*, are here." He'd announce. "Wonderful!" Golf Ball forced a fake smile out of her face. "Let's see them." With a quick leg motion, the straps keeping the bag together would unravel, revealing those inside like a present. A *very* horrible present.
