Futureland: Battle for the Park

THE BUGGED-OUT REV
Sunday, August 30, 2048 7:23 a.m.
Look, you’d probably think I was the luckiest kid in the world… because I live on top of it. No, seriously.
Literally.
Well… more like above it, if I’m being precise vocabulary word! (My teacher, Madam Bonnier, would be proud.) I’m growing up in the coolest, most famous theme park. Ever. Like, for real for real.
Yeah, yeah. That one. Only one above the rest. FUTURELAND.
Seen the holograms of my mom and dad on your news tablets? Maybe they even mentioned me their only child. Bet you wondered what life was like growing up in a roaming theme park. You probably called us the luckiest family in the world.
Maybe.
Most kids would think having a permanent ticket to Futureland would be the best thing ever. A regular kid might be so gassed up, they’d turn into an insomniac. You know, the people who stay up all night guzzling down coffee which Dad says stunts your growth- and wandering the park destinies until the sun comes up. Or they’d get heads so big, they couldn’t even strap into the Jet-Blur and fly around to each exhibit.
To me… Futureland was just home. And on most days, I loved it.
But this was not one of those days.
“Good morning, Cameron Walker,” Dooley chirped, bursting into my room and leaning over my bed. Her unblinking eyes scanned me, the irises turning from hazel to neon orange.
I covered my head with a pillow. “I’m still sleeping.”
“You are verbalizing, so you must not still be sleep- ing, and your mother asked me to wake you.”
I let out a big snore and covered my face with my top blanket. It was Scooby-Doo themed. My favorite show on my favorite blanket, of course. “Ugh. It’s too early.”
Dooley yanked the covers back. “Actually, it’s seven- twenty-five a.m. You’re five minutes and three-point- two-five seconds late to meet your mother, though I see that you’re in need of at least another hour of sleep, based on your oxygen levels and brain waves.”
“Yeah, yeah, good morning to you, too.” I opened one eye, spotting her two perfectly round afro-puffs.
I scowled.
She smiled wide. Our grins were identical, our skin was the same shade of bronze brown, and our faces had the same tiny, star-shaped birthmark below our left eyes. Mom designed her like that so most people would think we were family. So I wouldn’t be lonely. Sometimes I’d forget Dooley was even a rev. She fooled just about everyone. People called Mom’s androids the best ever made.
“You are now seven minutes late to meet your mother.”
“Fine! Fine!” I rolled out of bed, brushed my teeth, and pulled on an old Futureland T-shirt. I flipped through a few pages of a Watson and Holmes graphic novel while I brushed. Probably reading more than I was brushing, honestly. I like the new version set in Harlem, New York. “Dooley! Where’s Mom?” I called out.
“Elevator.” Dooley practically yanked me through the condo. Only tiny colorful lights marked the path, the windows blacked out by the auto-shades. “Here, take these,” Dooley said as we rushed, handing me a pair of Future-vision goggles the special, high-tech eyewear that helped us navigate Futureland and see all its wonders.