This is a simple story about how the world ended.
I know that might seem crazy, but this is my life.
Let's start with the basics; rocket science. Nukes were launched, but they all self destructed in the air. The problem with bombs is there is always a problem. The debris rained down all over the world for a little under a week.
In response to the people being killed by raining metal, and "slight" radiation the governments finally pulled together to do something useful.
Too good to be true? Yeah. They succeeded in making a new rich environment, and even gave the people service robots...
As such things tend to go the upperclass got all of it.
Even when Earths new heaven shot upward into the sky the hopes and dreams of our dieing race went with it.
Sure we scavage, sure we farm, and of course we have a new society, but the worst of it isn't even that people are still killed by new debris or radiation pockets. Not even the sandstorms everywhere. No, I can live with that and more, but what I hate isn't even the rich snobs that live up there. Instead it's the idiots down here I can't' stand; the ones who still hope to and want to go up.
Well, there's some history for ya, but I've always been one for action; whether it's boring or not.
So anyway...
"Hey, flyboy whatdya' think you're doin'?"
A rock bounces off of the metal frame that blocks my shoulder like a backpack strap.
"Not talking to you..." I mumble under my breath as I fly over the market street.
I make a sharp right turn around a metal beam that used to be the wall support for an office building. I bank up and hover.
I take a look back at my wingset. Only a couple of dents. Nothing I can't easily fix.
I start to peddle my feet as I make a slowed fall towards the ground in front of me. I hit the ground with a practiced stride.
"How do you always manage to be late with that thing?" An accusing gruff voice calls from the back.
"Same way I do everyday." I shout back.
"Hmmph."
The shop is nothing but bent metal roofing that rounds at the top. A sign has been ratcheted down, or rather up in the front window. I hop in over the counter knowing full well that Gruff is too bad with a wielder to make even a crappy door.
I slip my pack off if my shoulders and place it on a roughly made hook; metal as well. I step down into the main building through the destroyed car trunk. I still can't believe people ever flew in those rickety things.
"Need a hand?" I ask Gruff.
Ok, so Gruff is actually named Sabian, and hates it when I call him Gruff, but everyone does.
He's an overly stockey man with broad shoulders, a constant frown, and a face only a mother could love. Gruff was Built.
He got that way from a rough childhood, and his father, but that's a story for later.
"Hmmph. You might as well give it a shot. But I don't expect you to get it."
Actually, he did, but he would never want me to know that. Gruff is like an overcooked bread roll; crispy and burnt on the outside, but with a soft sweet center.
I take a quick glance at the old service droid, and imidiatly spot the problem.
So I grab a wrench and crank in the loose nut on the side before I twist the head back around. I smack the coil sticking out of its chest and it snaps into place. I flip the switch near where a collerbone should be, and it whirrs to life. One eye is broken so I quickly grab a new one from the wall and replace it.
"He...llo I'm a maitnance droid I can c-c-cook and CLEan all that you wan... courtesy of paradi.. incor...p..."
Gruff smacks me square in the back almost knocking me over and laughs.
" Good job kid! Now go sell it."
(3 days before February.)
