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Philip entered the school like he always did every weekday. It was a second home to him, one he automatically went to, unless he felt under the weather or just wanted to go elsewhere for a change. However, the only thing that mattered was the fact that he was there; and nowhere else. The dark tan walls were familiar to the 17-year-old boy. He's been going to the school for a year already, and another two months on top of that. The school never changed, save for the occasional damage from laser beams, missiles, or generally being smashed up by physical force.
That robot girl definitely made up for the blandness of the entire school. As time went, it just became another "planned show", in which everyone knew the result: The robot girl... Wakeman... would win. If not, some miracle by her human friend or friends would still make up for it; then the day after, the Wakeman girl would return all fixed up and acting as if it never happened.
Come to think of it, there has yet to be some form of destruction for the past three days. The recently replaced drywall nearby the southern bathroom was already painted over and clean as a whistle. No burn marks anywhere.
It was... strange, Philip thought. No alien attacks to be thwarted by the robot girl. He suspected everyone else started to think the same. This was definitely something to ask about.
He had fifteen minutes before the warning bell, easily enough time to jog to the outskirts and back again and still have time to take a leak, a drink of water, and a slow trip to the lockers. He made his way to the office of Vice Principal Rizinski.
Another thing Philip found odd was the lack of the Big Cheese; the real principal. He's never shown his face for as long as he or the 12th-graders could remember. He would be better off asking Radzinski, as the ones one grade superior would just use that as a reason to pointlessly beat the crap out of him any time they wanted. At least he wasn't a tenth-grader, whom the "twelvers" target more, apparently. Especially that Don bastard...
"Whatever..." Philip thought as he knocked on the warped glass plate that took up a third of the overall door to the principal's office.
"Who is it?" the gruff, authoritative voice boomed through the door.
"It's Philip Jacobson. Can I enter?" the boy asked.
"What did you do this time?" the Vice-principal asked through the door.
"I just wanted to ask something." Philip replied.
"If it's about the recent... lack of events, your guess is as good as mine. Go away." the semi-big cheese replied.
Philip hummed as he walked off. His locker was nearby, making preparation for the day relatively quick. He then made his way to his class.
The robot girl passed by in the opposite direction Philip was going, accompanied by his orange-red-haired friend. Philip never learned their names, just the last name of the robot, as she was called down to the office quite a number of times. The two of them didn't seem to have the same thoughts as Philip did. Then again, who would ever notice a normal person.
That's exactly what he was: just a normal student who occasionally played paintball with a Facebook group he found that comprised of a few inhabitants of Tremorton. He wasn't even the best. Hell, none of his group was. They just played paintball, ended up getting owned by another team from another town, and they end up going to Mezmer's like every other teenager. They enjoyed the thrill of paintball; the so-called "mark or be marked" theme behind the lesser-known sport.
The group itself was comprised of eight members, just enough for an official team with substitutes. Philip was not the leader, nor could he be leader material. The leader was a girl only a month older than Philip by the name of Sally. She was better than the rest of the team, which ultimately comprised of three girls and five guys. All of them were around the same age group, between sixteen and eighteen.
Paintball was the only thing Philip had as a form of escapism. It always felt good to be doing something you enjoy with a bunch of your friends, even if it's just talking. At school, it was all repetition, the unsurprising stuff, things that happen without fail... Except for right now...
Right now, there was no chaos or mayhem caused by robotic space-travelers whom Philip learned to be simply called "The Cluster", a vast society comprised of robots gone rampant against their ultimately-organic creators. They could have asked for a simple apology, but instead, they try to invade the Earth just to take the human race as slaves. Philip guessed he should be thankful for the robot girl's existence, despite the danger her presence still brings to the school.
Except the school was still in one piece, fully repainted, fully repaired, with a boiler equipped with a device designed to cool the boiler safely if it were to overheat; hot and painful memories from the first day she arrived.
The Krust Cousins were the ultimate cause. Jealousy because of the fact that the robot girl was the center of attention. Endangering the whole school just out of an ego trip. It's a wonder why they were not expelled at all...
Philip entered his first classroom. It was quiet, like usual. It always is; Art class always is quiet. Philip himself was no artist, but he liked the subject and the quietness that came with it. Always fascinated by the paintings by greats long passed. Those who never got rich until they died, in which their paintings sold for fortunes. The unfortunate part about being an artist: The real worth of one's great, unique efforts are realized when one passes on, unable to reap the benefits. It was a job only the least greedy could pull off and survive.
The teacher was asleep, which came as no surprise. Everyone knew that without his daily cup of coffee, the teacher was a sack of potatoes comprised of a fleshy carcass and specially-shaped organs that are inedible by moral standards. There was a mug, but it was empty and dry, with a coffee stain resulting from yesterday and the day before that. Usually he goes to get his coffee at lunch. After that, he's as normal as a teacher could get.
What was really a little more than an hour seemed like more... lots more. Finally, the bell rang. The teacher sloppily moved his arms over his ears, complaining about crazy teenage neighbors. Typical, since he lived in a neighborhood that was comprised of kids planning to get into heavy metal bands. Philip knew; he once passed by the neighborhood to meet up with two of his paintball friends, and almost every garage door was open, revealing huge amps, guitars, bass, and colossal drum sets. Bass pedals littered the ground within the garage as well. The neighborhood was always circulating noise throughout the area of town. Philip saw his teacher while passing by, watering his garden while wearing a pair of earmuffs and sipping on coffee.
Philip exited the room along with the silent crowd, into the sea of noisy and smelly human hormone-boilers. He couldn't wait for the end of school, as today was going to be a paintball day, where he and his team make their way to the field on the outskirts of Tremorton, to the specially-made field. Paintball, the ultimate form of escapism, next to video games. This time, Philip hoped that his team would at least win a game. They've been on a losing streak for two weeks already.
What they needed was a strategy. All they did right now was just go their own way, and mark any contact they see. This time, they needed a plan. Philip knew that, and he hoped the rest did. If they didn't. Philip would have to speak up.
The next class was over already, as Philip was thinking over what kind of strategies there were. Fortunately, the class at the time was simply a work day, with no new lessons. Lunch was already upon the school. A time of general chaos originating in what was determined by the English language makers as the "Cafeteria". It was a gathering place for those who were hungry- whether it be for actual food, attention, or socializing, the place had it all. Philip was once again part of the anonymous crew, just trying to get through the day with a head remaining on their necks.
The rest of the day seemed to pass by normally. Once again, no attacks by aliens or the Cluster, or anything. Not even a crazed gunman blasting through the doors, blazing a machine gun at innocent civilians, trying to get a spot on a news channel when he's detained and/or removed from existence, trying to pass on a message that every other human has, but is not stupid enough to be so extreme to try to dish it out. It was peaceful... boring... Nothing out of the ordinary, except the white-and-blue-"skinned" android, who was comparatively normal, compared to the events that stopped happening.
Classes afterward were work days much like the class before lunch. Upon the final bell, Philip was out of the door. If he didn't hurry, he would be late for the meet-up with the others at Mezmer's. He rushed out of the plain, brown doors and fished his way through the crowd of fellow students. Mezmer's was within sight, along with the seven people with backpacks. Philip never got his own marker. His parents never knew he played paintball. All he had was his current apparel.
"Phil, we almost left without you." one of the other guys said when Philip was within speaking range.
"Math teacher wouldn't shut up about current events. Just so you know, Travis," Philip replied.
Travis shrugged as he stood straight from leaning on the wall. "Well, we ready to go?" He asked, turning toward one of the girls, whom Philip knew as Sally: the leader.
"Yeah. We all know the drill, just do your best," the girl replied.
Philip was about to suggest a strategy, but everyone was already making their way toward the outskirts. Philip had to jog to catch up. A few minutes passed, and they were soon at the lobby to the paintball arena. The tired, bored cashier soullessly waved to the group, recognizing them easily, since they went to the arena a lot. Philip waved back and grabbed an unloaded paintball marker off of a nearby shelf. Everyone else just reached into their backpacks and produced their own paintball markers. Some were standard, but some were even custom-built to resemble ordinary firearms, such as Travis, who's marker easily resembled an M16 when not loaded with the gravity-fed paintball clip.
Soon, another team entered. Philip could easily tell that they were more experienced, as they wore actual camouflage suits and had their equipment strapped on like real soldiers.
Maybe the strategies won't help them after all, Philip thought as he got a protective paintball mask on. His black hoody and dark gray cargo pants complementing the overall look.
It was all going to be a normal day at the paintball arena. At least, it should've been. Philip should have given the plan to everyone once they were out in the field, when the enemy team could not hear them or see them. He should have done some practice shots on the tree just twenty meters from the door that they just exited. They should have just had a normal day.
Today just wasn't their day.
Before Philip knew it, Armageddon smashed down into the paintball arena, wiping out whatever tree or form of cover that once existed seconds before. Before Philip knew it, utter chaos ensued. He was the only one out of his group that didn't react quick enough to take cover, wait for the Robot Girl to come and save the day.
Today, however, Philip finally found out what it was like to black out. He never lost consciousness before, and had heard stories about the relaxed, dead, but not quite dead feeling. He never got into many sports except for paintball, and even then, he was tough enough to not get knocked down that easily by little balls of coloured semi-fluid.