Alternate Battle for Dream Island

ABFDIA 7a: No More Words

Golf Ball would barely even notice Tennis Ball returning to the base.

He'd struggle a bit to fit both himself *and* the bag full of assorted metal through the cramped corridors and tight passageways, but the dimpled despot wouldn't care at all. She'd simply mutter to herself about how much of a bother he was being, wondering why he can't just keep his mouth shut. She knew from experience that there was some truth to those calling him that clumsy Tennis Ball, but never before had it felt *this* true, this obnoxious.

The fuzzball eventually arrived to where he needed to be; which, unfortunately, turned out to be precisely where she was. "Golfy..." He'd strain one last time as he collapsed onto the nearest available bit of floor. "I got it." He'd let out a deep sigh. That seemed to finally get her interest. The bossy-bot quickly swiped the bag off him; she'd been reading a few of the books stockpiled all over the place during her downtime, and it taught her quite a few impressive kicks and whatnot. She then quickly peered inside, wanting to ensure that everything was safe and sound. "Are you sure you didn't break it along the way?" TB grumbled. "I'm fine, thank you." He'd answer. "I was talking about *this*." GB pointed to the scrap.

Ellipsis.

"There's some more things I need you to do." She continued; the greenish-yellow one sighed. "What else is new?" He'd remark. "What's that supposed to mean?" The bozo-brain shook her head before burying it into the bag again. "You can have your break for the rest of the day; I expect you to be up early tomorrow, though. Understand?"

Tennis Ball remained silent for a little while, unmoving, unfeeling, unthinking. He stared up at the ceiling, then down at Golf Ball. He thought about all the things he'd suffered through as a result of her shenanigans, all in the name of scientific progress and endeavor. He developed this grand network of lies in his head, proclaiming that all that was working towards some greater good, that the end justifies the means. Sacrifice is required, she said; nothing is ever gained without losing something along the way. If they wanted the better future they kept on dreaming about, they had to *work* for it.

All that work, and what did he have to show for it?

The feelings had been building up inside him for quite a while now; all those days without her, while she was off and away working on the next episode, the latest installment in their torment. All the times he tried reaching out to her, concerned about her safety and wellbeing, only for her to just immediately shrug it off, claiming that he was just over-reacting. Now, presumably because of an error of her own creation, they were stuck in this complete mess, fearing for their life each and every day. Despite *everything*, he continued to hold on, continued doing her work, and yet. Not a single word of thanks, not one show of appreciation. Nothing.

He was *far* bigger than she was. Probably far stronger, too. Why couldn't he just...

"Got it."

Tennis Ball stumbled back to his little nest. He quickly sat next to his DDS, still sitting exactly where he placed it, and turned it back on. Within a few button presses he was back to where he was, overlooking this vast... whatever this place was. He'd quickly go through all the cameras, looking for a trace of Teardrop, but she was nowhere to be found today. All the horrific possibilities started flickering through his mind, constant reminders of his fragile position in this world, how it could all end in just a moment... Then he'd shake it off. The drop of water was probably still around, exploring some corner that he couldn't access.

There were a lot of things he couldn't see, it turned out. Doors, passageways, entire sections that are clearly there, clearly visible at the edge of what he could see, but he couldn't find a single viewpoint that got a better look. *Surely*, though, it existed. Surely, there were more cameras. Why wouldn't there be? Why wouldn't there be *more* disappointing mysteries, threads that he just can't quite pull on?