Alternate Battle for Dream Island

ABFDIA 23c: Reverence

Pen was all alone. Yet again.

This was completely and utterly ridiculous. He had been through so much, *suffered* through so much, and yet he still seemed to be no closer to any sort of relief, any sort of closure. To think that there was a time where everything was just fine, where it was just him and his bros hanging out in a perfect little world, getting into all sorts of mischief and funny doings, that just didn't seem like a reality. It seemed like a myth, a figment of his imagination. After all he had endured, it just seemed to be unthinkable that there was ever a moment where he was just *happy*. Everything he was familiar with was thrown away, all for the sake of winning some island. He sacrificed so much in order to get a shot of getting it, in order to stand a chance. His old friends turned their backs on him. His new friends betrayed him. He actually managed to get his long-awaited victory, and then it was immediately ripped away from him for some unknown, bizarre reason that continues to elude him. And now, now that he was able to crawl out of the latest hole he had dug himself, now that he could *finally* rest easy and catch his breath, *now* he has to go through it all over again? It had to be some sort of sick joke. It *had* to be. That speaker box, or whoever else, subtly pulling the strings from behind the scenes and deriving some sort of entertainment out of all their misery and turmoil. At some point, at *some* point, good luck had to have shined down upon him. And yet there was nothing.

There was only darkness, both metaphorical and literal.

How much more of this was Pen willing to withstand? How many more times did he have to linger and writhe for the mere chance of a shred of positivity? He talked frequently (to himself), contemplated heavily about the horror and dread of isolation, but when has he *not* been all on his own? The Battle for Dream Island wasn't exactly the best environment to keep a friend; after all, as a wise person once said, only one of them could win. This whole thing, all of it, was driving them towards conflict and aggression.

So... why not just let it go?

The writing utensil struggled mightily to get himself back up. All those days and weeks (he presumed) spent chained to that bed, with nothing to keep him company, it was working overtime to keep him grounded. With each passing moment, with every second where nothing has changed, keeling over seemed to be the best option. But no. *No*. He had to. He *must* get through it. *That* was what that speaker box would want. He was stronger than this. He *had* to be.

He'd stumble over to the door, barely visible amidst the near-total darkness. He'd try to grip the doorknob, but his hands would slip for the first few attempts. Eventually, he'd manage to clutch onto it tightly, opening the door with as much force as he could muster, and light, no matter how dim, would flood his vision.

He stood there for a moment, just taking it all in.

He lazily wandered around the hotel for a little while, partly to take in the sights, all the amenities of the island he supposedly owned, and partly because he couldn't find the exit. When he finally managed to step outside, the harsh sunlight would temporarily blind him. When it all finally subsided, however, it wasn't like there was anything for him to look at. Dream Island was right here, wide open, right in front of him, and yet it was also *empty*. Not a single soul in sight, and not a single trace that there had been anyone *ever*. It was just him, and him alone. Once more, he'd wander around, hoping that maybe all the commotion was going on somewhere else. But with each passing second, with every corner he'd gone around, it only made his fears more rational, the silence more deafening.

A thought would manage to claw its way back to the forefront, a thought he thought he'd left behind back *there*. The mind *craves* attention, demands interaction. It grows bored, it grows restless, and eventually, it just starts making things up to fill in the gaps. Given enough time, someone could hallucinate an entire world just to act like it was still sane. He thought he did it once or twice, he feared his conversation with the Announcer was a fabricated fiction. But, what about...