Alternate Battle for Dream Island

ABFDIA 11a: Alert

Once again, Tennis Ball was hard at work on that big puzzle.

It's the same old charade every single time. He goes through every single one of the pieces, looking at them with an unblinking eye, making sure he's covering every single detail that could possibly be detailed. Sometimes he'd grab one in particular, only when it's an especially an interesting one, one that's particularly of note and could *potentially* fit in somewhere. He'd spin it around, twirling it as delicately as someone with only feet to serve as hands could possibly muster. Maybe it *was* a good thing that he noticed it, and he'd set it aside and look for its match. Most of the time, however, the universe would provide nothing but disappointment. In that case, it'd go right back to the pile on the floor and he'd start the whole process all over again. Repeat this for however many hours, for however many days. Maybe he'd find a place where two pieces connect, other times he'd go to bed having gone absolutely nowhere. Most of the time, it was the latter. Just more of the same let-downs and upsets. It especially didn't help that Golf Ball, despite spending much of her working day doing *literally* anything else other than notice his existence, still manages to find enough time to irritate him every now and then. Just enough to completely dampen his mood for the day, perhaps for the week.

In times like these, obviously, his mind would turn to reminiscing about the past; with enough pairs of rose-tinted glasses, it *almost* feels like the past is better than the present. This whole thing reminded him of the days back at the Factory, back when relations between the two sport globules were still *somewhat* cordial. Besides looking for whatever structures, gadgets, and gizmos the ones before them had left behind, they'd also try their hand at making some of their own. Out of whatever scrap metal and disconnected electrical components they could find, they'd put their heads together to make something that could *somewhat* aid them in *some* capacity. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't, sometimes it failed in spectacular fashion. He'd think back to the days he spent taking inventory, cataloging every single shiny rock or strand of wire that GB had found interesting, making sure they were all neatly organized and laid out while she was out and about doing whatever it is she did.

Wow, things *really* sucked back then, didn't it? That *is* something that Golf Ball repeatedly talked about time and time again, something that their work was allegedly remedying, building a brighter future and all that. But look at where that got them, eh? Still fighting the same old battles, going through the same old nonsense. Over and over again. Forever. A story that was going nowhere. A narrative written by a clueless, inexperienced writer that thinks far too highly of themselves, or whatever.

It was hour... four. Or five. Whatever. It'd been some amount of time since Tennis Ball had woken up and started his all-day shift. While one eye was constantly fixated on all the parts that were yet to be analyzed and put together, the other was staring at his trusty DDS. The views from the cameras never changed, but enough work in his field meant that he knew better than to trust the trends. Everything always falls apart right when it goes according to plan. Happiness is ripped away from you as soon as you start enjoying it. The horror lurking in the distance starts to pick up again once you sigh in relief and declare that it's over. All that good stuff. Or ungood stuff. Whatever.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, all that diligence and vigilance would pay off. While he was fiddling with a particular piece of metal, all twelve screens of the console suddenly started flashing a bright red, while blaring alarms played as best as they could through the pitiful speakers. Without thinking, TB dropped the scrap and focused both eyes on the device. Was it some sort of error? Upon closer inspection, it became evident that that was not the case; quite frankly, however, he wasn't sure if this was better or worse.

The entire facility, after many days of poking and prodding, had *finally* started waking from its slumber. On one hand, Tennis Ball knew that it had only been a matter of time. On the other hand... Yeah, this *really* sucks.