The Precursors 1: The Darwinists chap 1

Chapter One: David’s World

David almost laughed as he walked out of Mr. Rodney’s office. Three times in one week. It’s got to be a record, he thought. He pushed open the school door and walked out onto the campus to wait for his mother to come pick him up. She would be driving a cheap 2046, she always did. David had overheard her talking to his dad about how they didn’t have enough money to buy a new 2054.
“Damn. That sucks,” he had said as he walked into their bedroom.
“You little eavesdropper!” his dad had shouted as he spoke. “And where did you learn that language?” David laughed.
“From you, dad.”
“Well, leave.” So, in a bad mood, David had left their room, wondering what had given them such a loss of money anyway. He had, a few weeks later, heard them talking about how they had lost their high paying stock-market advisor jobs to robots. And life had fallen from there. His mom and dad stayed home during the days, David’s grades plummeted, he started getting into trouble a lot, and they moved into a rusty, old apartment in New York City from a nice big house in a suburb a few miles south from the city. David’s teachers had started to think he was depressed, which, in David’s opinion, was a load of horse shit.
Life was just all messed up.

After nearly an hour of waiting, David realized his mom wasn’t coming. She was probably drunk; she and his dad had been getting drunk a lot lately, so David decided to run home. David wasn’t good at much (besides getting in a load of trouble), but he was good at one thing. He’d always been. Running. He was really fast.
And it wasn’t just ninth graders like him that he was famous among. Everybody in P.S. 103 knew two things about David Rolly: he got into trouble a lot, and he was the fastest kid in the school.
Probably the whole city. He ran a mile in five short minutes, or sometimes even less. Nowadays, it was the only thing anybody praised him about.
As he ran through the urban sidewalks of New York City, he watched things pass by him. He watched the whole goddamn world pass by him. Overweight television addicts (a large amount of the population was taken up by this certain breed), underpaid laborers, illegal immigrants, little girls begging their moms for ice cream, and little girls begging passerby for a quarter or two. And the people like him. Just normal, average people with messed up lives.
He got to Apartment Complex 539 on Pigeon Avenue in about ten minutes. He walked in, gave a beggar his spare change, and went to the elevator. “Floor 15” he clicked on the plasma touch screen. He felt a rush of air as the elevator shot up, heading to his apartment. 13…14…15. Ah. Finally. Home.
He jogged down Floor 15’s dirty, smoke-smelling hallway and got to the last apartment. “795.” He came in to an eerily quiet house, really only loud from the house-cat, Ginger, who was knocking things over, looking for her canned food.
He realized his mom and dad were watching TV. A roball game. And, unsurprisingly, seven or eight bottles of beer shared the spot with them.
“Mom,” said David in an annoyed voice, “what happened? My principle called you to pick me up.” His mom stared at him with a look of innocence on her face.
“T…t…tooo tired,” she said drunken.
“Well, I’m gonna’ wait to talk to you till you’re a little less drunk.” He walked through the breaking hallway, with it’s cracks and rats and broken beer bottles and eventually got to his bedroom. NO ENTRY the sign on his room door said. He chuckled at it, remembering when he got it when he was three years old. Some ads on the television had told that it was “Too Cool For School.” Ever since the Ultimate Channel came on, commercials and ads on other stations had gotten more and more frequent….until two hour long movies were slated as four hours on the lineup.
David’s room was a small, cramped up, uncomfortable poster-covered dirt pile. Clothes and socks and boxers lay all over the place, mixed in with a TV, a V-Gamer and a small bed. David pushed the socks off of his TV and turned the roball game on.
It was the New York Fireballs facing off against the Houston Tornado, a heated rivalry that had begun for marketing uses at the premiere of roball in 2020.
The robotic football players slammed into each other, warring for the roball. Each bot had a TV screen on its stomach showing off a Budweiser: Get Into the Game ad on it. A Fireball got the ball, its fake muscles pumping all over its body. A Tornado chased after it.
“Look at this, folks!” the announcer shouted. “A Houston Tornado bot has ripped out a Fireball’s circuitry in pursuit of the roball! You saw it here, on ESPN Roball Tuesday!” Bored with the stupid robotic drama, David flipped through 6,500 channels only to find himself back on ESPN Robosports. He watched for a few hours, and heard a knock on his door.
“David, honey?” said his mother’s voice from outside his room.
“We’re sorry about earlier,” finished his father, sounding genuinely embarrassed. “We haven’t really been setting a good example for you.” David sighed.
“Whatever. Come on in.” His parents opened the door and walked in.
“David, you got kicked out of school again today,” said his dad, sounding mad, a quick change from his guilty voice from before. “Eight times in one month, and three in a week.” David shrugged, and his mom and dad gave each other a look.
“David,” said his mom sounding annoyed, “you don’t seem to feel much remorse for your actions.”
“What?”
“You don’t feel bad about it,” translated his dad.
“Why should I?” The room was silent for a few moments, with David looking annoyed and his parents looking worried.
“Then it’s decided,” said his dad. “You’re going to military school.”