Golf Ball was down at her Factory, where she usually is.
The world was, is, and always will be a dangerous place. Of course it would; it's a place created with no rhyme or reason, with absolutely no intention for habitation by some curious little lifeforms. It came to thinking an unfathomably long time ago, and ever since then it's been guided solely by a wide degree of laws and constants, dictated by cosmic powers that are absolutely above and beyond the thoughts and considerations of any feeble, mortal beings. Powers that may not even be conscious about their making, maybe; that's one mystery that's never been solved, not even in the 2,763 years (give or take) that GB's been at it. There was absolutely nothing and nobody that told the universe it needed to make a planet orbiting a star, an orbit which put it at just the right distance, giving it the right temperature to support water and an atmosphere, which allowed it to incubate life after unfathomable eons, which grew in a specific way that eventually led to walking, talking inanimate objects with little to no thought about their place in the order of things, of just how miraculous and improbable their way of life is. There *is* some sort of design in the fabric of reality, but whatever it is is *clearly* not meant for them. They just so happened to... come across it. There are some that theorize that perhaps, just maybe, it *was* made for them, that there's some intelligent being up there designing the way things worked just for them. But Golf Ball found it to be frankly ridiculous. Just *why* on Earth would anyone capable of creating a universe, one that clearly has immense knowledge and power over all things, would want to do such a thing? Especially given the circumstances of it all. Who would be mad enough to create a world where living household items get their diktats from some speaker box or numeral that fell from the sky, forcing them to do all sorts of humiliating and degrading things, all for the sake of some prize that they'll likely never even get to see, let alone possess?
Ellipsis.
Another threat is those aforementioned walking, talking inanimate objects. Undoubtedly, they were the product of great amounts of hard labor, a miracle in every sense of the world. Despite having pored through over 2,763 textbooks- ancient tomes from a better, wiser time -the only conclusion she could derive is that nobody, *nobody*, still has a grasp on why life is created, let alone why it manifests in the form of them. And she'd been focusing on that *really* hard; she wanted to know what sort of cruel maker (if one exists, which, again, she doesn't particularly buy) would decide to make the *one* person that actually has some sense, some grip over it all, have no means to actually physically grip things. That's a sick practical joke, that one. If *GB*, of all people, couldn't crack that enigma, then absolutely nobody could. Perhaps not even if they put all their heads together, committing their neurons to it like never before. And *that's* why they pose such a great big danger to society. They do *not*, in fact, do that. They don't care about the fact that every waking moment is a treasure, that the probability of them existing was one in a trillion, or even more improbable than that. They don't care about *any* of it. All they care about is themselves, how they're gonna survive the day, how they're gonna find entertainment. Instead of working hard against this cruel, indifferent world, instead of putting in the extra effort to make this place a little more tolerable, they instead decide to just... *survive*, persist in this miserable, wet rock.
Golf Ball hated it. Golf Ball hated *every* single moment of it. Every second of every day, she had to think about those *fools*. All the contestants of the Battle for Dream Island, all those that have burned years and years of their precious lives, seeking some greater prize that they'll likely never get their hands on. They don't care in the slightest about the wonders of their world, how they're lucky that they're even *alive*, let alone able to enjoy it. They just continue to waste each and every precious second, every moment that they'll never get back, slipping from their fingers and fading away into the pages of history. She couldn't bear to watch it any more than she was forced to. *Especially* after random chance decided to drag her to a team that absolutely hated her guts, that didn't even want to listen to her for even a second. She should've left a long time ago. She *should've*. There was clearly nothing for her here, at least nothing beneficial. Her brain was rotting with each and every second she spent here, her mind and memory degrading with each episode she had to endure.
