Stapy had counted to 2,763 2,763 times by now, give or take.
It'd been a very, very, *very* long time since he was first dragged here, since he was thrown out of everything he had ever known and sent to the Eternal Algebra Class Withfour. His first thoughts, just like everyone else that were unfortunately dragged here, were those of chaos and confusion. Just where on Earth *were* they? When they first signed up to join the Battle for Dream Island, they went in expecting that the worst that could possibly happen to them was just them getting trapped in a metal box for months, or maybe years. They auditioned for the show with that possibility in mind, and had tried to prepare for that eventuality as best as they could. By the time of BFB, most of them had already experienced that isolation once or twice already; Stapy hadn't felt that cramped fate for himself, but he knew full well that that he too could be sent there one day. And so, when that algebralian suddenly absorbed them, their mind and body suddenly transported in an instant into some strange realm beyond all known conventions, beyond common sense and reason, it almost drove them mad.
But they got better, eventually; after competing for so long, you end up becoming bored of insanity.
Once the initial shock wore off, once you realized that this was just another Tiny Loser Chamber, or Locker of Losers, or Weak Trembling Fortress, you end up becoming surprisingly calm about it. This was helped by the fact that, unlike those other prisons, you actually had *something* to do in the EXIT. The atmosphere was comfortable, there was enough room for everybody, and though escape was out of the question, at the very least you got to do *something* to take your mind off the fact that you're pretty much a massive failure that'll never get a chance to win Dream Island or some other prize ever again. Sure, the *something* in question was math, a lot of math, a *ton* of math, but... maybe it was for the best, you know? They couldn't just breeze through it. They had to actually *think* about what their answers would be, or about how much they could doodle on the margins before it became too cluttered for their taste. *That* would be their sole focus, the only thing in their mind. It was a lot better than the alternative.
And speaking *of* that alternative: regardless of which terrible fate they ended up getting subjected to, no matter which small rectangular room they ended up in, they would always find time to reminisce. To think. To reflect. To account for the 2,763 little decisions and actions that led them to being here. Right now. At this very moment. What led to this? What mistake (or *mistakes*) caused them to lose favor with the capricious voters, making them throw you away? What led to you joining the Battle for Dream Island, anyway? What led you to where you are now?
...Hm. That's a question.
The stapler stopped burying his face in his hands, looking around the classroom to see who he could talk to in this hour. He gave up on his homework long ago and just turned in whatever he could, but everyone else still seemed to be working at it. Well, everyone else was still drawing their little fantasy, listing out all they wanted to do as soon as they could leave this horrible place and get their hands on the number that made it happen. He briefly considered just going back to his attempts at napping, counting the seconds away and all that. But he had another idea in mind. He had already spent so much time in the EXIT, being gradually driven mad by having to deal with the same old faces and the same old places, that he was starting to consider an idea that was a little... odd.
He'd look behind him.
Stapy and Foldy had hated Liy since time immemorial. It was one of those things that were just... set in stone. Etched into history. As long as the sun and the moon were in the sky, as long as the sky was blue, as long as Needle remained a completely irrelevant contestant that was far from their thoughts and sympathies, the two of them always had their gripes about the light switch. When they heard that she wanted to win Dream Island for herself, they just *knew* that they *had* to stop that, to rob her of that victory, no matter how small or big it was. It was a matter of honor. Of dignity. Of *necessity*. And now, neither of them had a chance of getting it; well, Foldy still had a shot, but given the odds, she probably didn't have much time left.
