A long time ago, there was nothing. Nothing but the great big void, an eternal abyss of emptiness and darkness. That sounds bad, but there was absolutely no one to complain, so, like, *whatever*. But then, for seemingly no reason at all, on a whim, taking everyone (though there wasn't anyone) by complete surprise, where there once was nothing, there was... *something*. There was a great big explosion (according to what Golf Ball's textbooks say, anyhow), and all of a sudden, there was stuff. *Lots* of stuff. Stuff that would eventually go on to make the universe. When most people read that story, that story of something being created out of nothing, they tend to ask the same old question: Why did that happen? That can be shortened into something more potent, more powerful: *Why*? It's a quandary that packs quite a lot of punch in such brevity. Three words, and perhaps a punctuation mark if you want to be formal and highbrow about it, and you've got yourself the stepping stone to 2,763 (and more) mysteries, the first step to all sorts of enigmas and questions. Why was something created out of nothing? Why did that something go on to create stars, planets, and all the other objects in the firmament of the cosmos, instead of just remaining as... *other* stuff? Why did one particular miserable rock wound up developing to become the Earth they all knew today? Why did life come to be out of things that are very distinctly *not* alive? Why did that life happen to come to being in the form of household objects? What even *are* household objects? Well, that particular question is quite easy to answer, isn't it; it doesn't even start with *why*, for crying out loud. A house, according to Golf Ball, is an ancient structure used by those before them in order to... exist. To live comfortably and well-off instead of just persisting in the fields for ages and ages, just waiting for some speaker box or algebralian or whatever to fall out of the sky and announce that they will now Battle for Dream Island, or whatever. In fact, if they racked their minds to go through all their memories of the competition, they'll find that the concept of a house shouldn't really be all too foreign to them. There was at least one instance where the remaining contestants were given houses as a reward for being so good at crushing everyone else's hopes and dreams. In retrospect, the term 'ancient' really isn't a good descriptor for what a house is. But was it *really*? Again, they were just willing to live their days and nights in the endless grasslands, doing nothing except talking and pranking. Why were they so content with that lifestyle? It's like what Leafy said: there's a life out there to enjoy, so why not *enjoy* it? The BFDI now kept them constrained and imprisoned, sure, but before then, the world was pretty much their oyster. If some Blocky or whoever was inconveniencing you, there was nothing stopping you from just... leaving. Nobody could prevent you from just walking off in a random direction, not caring one bit as everyone else turned into mere specks on the horizon before disappearing outright. There was absolutely nothing hindering them from exploring what else the world had in store for them, to go on all sorts of wacky and crazy adventures without anybody and anything to interfere with their fun and excitement. Everyone had so, *so* many reasons, so much incentive to just leave everything behind. An entire planet was handed to them on a silver platter, and yet they just didn't take it. *Why*? It's times like these where that word *truly* shines. Sure, it's the engine that's propelled the sport globules to become the intellectual titans they are now, always seeking answers to inquiries that have puzzled and befuddled minds for ages. But that's a more subtle influence, one which permeates their very bodies and souls, one which isn't really appreciated all too much in this day and age. The true power of that three-letter word only reveals itself when you come across something so baffling, so enigmatic and esoteric, that every single part of your body and mind can only think about finding a reason or logic to this insane, twisted world. *Why*? Nobody was telling them that they had to continue living in this barren, abandoned field. Nobody said they had to live with these insufferable souls. The speaker box may have declared that they were now Battling for Dream Island, but *surely* that was just a suggestion. You could participate if you wanted the eponymous island for yourself, but if you didn't want to, what incentive was there to participate? Really, was there *any* incentive to begin with? After spending so many years suffering and fighting, some of them have come to the realization that maybe, just maybe, the real Dream Island was the friends they made along the way. Tales have spread that Firey and Leafy have gone off to create a Dream Island of their own. Dream Island can be *made*. Really, they should've seen that conclusion coming. What makes an island a *Dream* Island, exactly? By its literal definition, a dream is a product of the random activity of your brain going off whilst unconscious. But through countless years of usage and change, it has taken on a metaphorical meaning as well: to say that something is your *dream* something is to say that it's your ideal, perfect version of that thing. Applying that logic to Dream Island, it checks out. To quote the Announcer that started it all, it's a whole square mile of paradise. A five-star hotel, a casino, six restaurants, robot servants, and the winner even gets to decide who gets to come in and who doesn't. *That's* a dream, no? But here's the kicker: that metaphorical definition of a dream is dependent on what the user of the term defines to be perfect and ideal for *them*. It changes from person to person. For all anyone knows, their idea of a dream has *nothing* to do with hotels, casinos, restaurants, robots, or *whatever*. Maybe it's even the exact opposite of that. How can this island be considered a Dream Island then? Also, once again, Dream Island can apparently just be *made*. Going back to before Firey and Leafy created one for their own, the process of creating a Dream Island was turned into a contest upon realizing that they didn't have one up for grabs. And the process of making it doesn't even have to involve some mythical 'dream sauce' or whatever; you can just make some dumb farm or whatever and *that* can be Dream Island. And nobody questions it. With all these facts having now presented themselves, *why* were they still here? Why were they still Battling for Dream Island? Why were they still so willing to go through all this pain, misery, and turmoil, all for the sake of some mysterious, intangible prize that they'll likely never get a chance to witness or possess? It goes against all logic. All common sense. Even someone as dumb as Snowball should be able to get that. The feeling of pain is universal, and so is one's reaction to it: that it's not particularly great. People may have differing perceptions of pain, and can withstand differing levels of it, but at the end of the day, there's a level of pain so excruciating, so *awful*, that everyone can agree that they'd rather pass on the opportunity if it ever arose. Surely, *surely*, this competition could fit that definition. Even the 'winners' of the previous seasons can agree that there were moments where they *really* should've called it quits, thrown in the towel right then and there. And yet they didn't, they *didn't*. Why? *Why*? They were living, sentient beings. They have free will. They have this lovely, wonderful gift of being able to decide, at random, on a whim, whether or not they wanna continue doing something. Why aren't they making use of that extraordinary talent? Well... perhaps they can't. Perhaps, and this is a thought that's *really* dreadful, they don't have free will. After all, all it took was a *description* of Dream Island for them to willingly jump into this mess. They didn't get to see it for themselves, they were never given the assurance that all their efforts were, indeed, leading up to something. They just... *accepted* it. They just accepted that this was their life now, that this was going to be the subject of entire *years* of their life. When the first season came to an end- with a disappointing conclusion, no less -with absolutely no incentive to start another, they decided to do it anyway. Didn't matter that they didn't have a host, or a prize, or any sort of plan. Perhaps most ridiculous of all, when Four showed up and demanded that they play a game, they finally came to their senses and refused to take part in any more shenanigans. And yet, when presented with the BFDI, a prize that doesn't make sense in *so* many levels, they were back in line once again. How does one explain *that*? The Battle for Dream Island has done nothing but take time and time again: their friends, their energy, their time, their soul. There was absolutely no reason to keep the cycle going, to continue the torment. And yet, each and every single time, they choose to push through with it. They hope that *this* time around, this'll be the season where they win *something*. And yet, the only thing they ever win is yet more tension and hostilities. It just doesn't make sense. None of it makes sense. *Nothing*. And when these truths are laid out in such a clear, obvious form, the shape and form of that singular horrifying truth emerges. All of them, every single one of them, they don't have *any* free will. They don't have any agency. They may look, feel, and act like it, but that's because that's what's in store for them in the script. Even this bout of self-awareness, this horrific realization of the reality of their world, it was all planned in advance. They were just pawns. Puppets. Their strings being pulled and pushed to play out all sorts of inane, insane, asinine stories, narratives that can only be constructed in a deeply troubled mind. That was the only way to make sense out of it. There were no other reasonable explanations. But the universe is a cruel and unforgiving place, and so even *this* brings forth yet more unsettling inquiries. Why was it being done? By who? *For* who? This had to be done for some purpose, right? The end justifies the means, no? But think back to everything, to *all* of this, and it just doesn't sound right. What sort of entertainment could be derived from *this*? It was just a whole bunch of nonsense. Well, who says that this *is* for entertainment? That's just another assumption they've made up, a fiction invented to give them *some* ground to stand on. In fact, who says that this was actually staged? Perhaps they were predestined to do all this, but not by some mystical outside force or whatever. Maybe this was just the surprising result of the universe doing what it always does. Which outcome was the truth? Which was worse? Really, at the end of the day, did it matter what the answer was? At the end of the day, *no* answers actually matter. They may know of this information now. They may come across it 2,763 times over. But if what is said is true, then *nothing* will occur from it unless it is written to occur. And given all they've endured over the years, given all the hardship and struggle they've had to go through, given how all their time, effort, and *sacrifice* had been all for nothing, that they've still got nothing to show for *anything*, was there *any* possibilities that that was in the cards?
No. Perhaps not.
