Monday Evening, October 1st, 2125. Fauverde, Illinois. Molina Alternative Highschool, Football Semi-Finals Vs. Aurora Oil High.
The sports commentators sat in their glasses in lounge above what looked like a sold out NFL Stadium. There was over three thousand people in attendance ranging from esteemed D1 college scouts and recruiters to celebrities from the main city of Chicago.
It wasn't normal for two outer-city district schools to have such pull. That was part of the attraction.
But ultimately, it boiled down to two individuals.
All eyes were hard on them as they were substituted back in to play the fourth quarter. To break the even scoring of twenty-one to twenty-one.
The crowd went wild.
"Ladies and gentlemen! By the sound of this stadium I'm sure you can tell, our two star players just re-entered the field in crunch time! With two minutes on the clock left, it's anyone's game."
The crowd was so loud it shook the ground.
The sportscaster continued as each team lined up at the fifty-yard line on the wet and muddy green field.
"I've gotta say, John, if I was a betting man I wouldn't know where to place my money. On one hand, we've got a near untouchable marksmen of a quarterback in Jaheem Parker, senior of AO High. But on the other hand, we've got a young bull— a defensive nightmare, in Molina High's star defensive end, Amaru Mawh. He's only a freshman, but by god would you not be able to tell."
The other sports broadcaster laughed, "Yea, no kidding! We've got interview this kid after the game and find out what his parents and coach are feeding him. You don't see too many six and a half foot fifteen year olds. Much less ones that are also two-hundred and twenty pounds lean! I fear for the quarterback."
"What?! No. Parker's got a near perfect throwing percentage! Only one interception."
"And who intercepted it?"
"Yea, yea. Let's just hope Mawh doesn't follow through on his increasingly reported bouts of aggression. I mean seriously, in his last six games he's abandoned the on-ball tackle to take down a defender. One time his own teammate! Mawh's got a temper. If Parker wants to lead his team to victory, they'll exploit that."
Down on the field, things only grew more gossipy.
"Hey…..psst….. hey, hothead." An offensive line-man said, grinning through his visored helmet.
"Mawh, don't." A defensive player on the other team said to their teammate in question.
"Yea don't act like a tard and attack the wrong player, hothead." Some on the other team yelled.
Amaru kept his head down. He calmed his breaths. He tried not to listen to the raucous cacophony of people in the stadium. Or the commentators above them.
"Hey! Mawh! You ready to throw the game for your team? When you get booted off the team, don't try to transfer schools. I hear you do that a lot. That won't work this time. You got yourself famous…. Haha! How's the life? Cheating scumbag. When you get sent to a new foster home, do you think you'll still be able to afford all those steroids?"
"OIL IN THE FOIL! RED ON DEAD!" Jaheem— Aurora Oil's quarterback yelled the play, ready to hike the ball as he stood behind Amaru's tormentor of the day.
Amaru kept his senses focused on Parker. On the smell of his brand new shoes. Leathery with a million anti-slip chemicals. He listened to his gloved hands as they flung around pointed and clapping. He envisioned the tall and lanky senior. Right foot forward, left foot back. He switched on the catch in a high speed feint to set up pass to the right. To their wide receiver that hadn't played a second of the game yet. He wasn't exceptionally tall. But he was lean and walked like he was dribbling a ball. A soccer player. High speed with jumping power. A trump card.
"I got it." Amaru told himself. He didn't need to study film. He studied body language in the moment.
"Hey! Hothead! When was your last drug test?"
Amaru shook off the students words. Trying to ignore the beginning of a cold sweat. It always started with a cold sweat.
"You probably know a lot about drugs, huh? Hey, Heem? You think Mawh's mom was a druggie? You think that's what put him in the system?" The O-Line yelled back to his quarterback.
Jaheem shook his head in the short span of silence. Only silence among them. "Nah, man, his mom was abusive. Or a bitch who let his dad beat on him. You know, one of them spineless broads. A real coward. I see it in him. That's why he took out our boy Franky last month."
"Yea…. He was just a kicker. Start of the season. And you broke his legs. Come try that with me, druggie. Come on…"
Amaru's vision blurred. The cold sweats froze him in the crystal hold of reactive rage. His hands ripped into the earth. His muscles tensed up against his pads.
The crowd sounded like a swarm of bugs. Like a pack of dogs. Like too much of anything.
His team was dead silent, save for a few stifled laughs. He knew that had no defending urge on his behalf. They didn't like him. He couldn't explain his actions to them. He didn't even understand them. He was alone. Surrounded by enemies.
Then the pains came. His bones throbbed. His gums itched. Noise fluctuated, switching from so loud his brain stung to so quieted he felt like he was under water. Tears flowed from his burning eyes.
"Come on….. try not to be a coward like your spineless mother. Try not to beat on the weak like your abusive animal fathe—"
"HIKE!"
The o-line hiked the ball, throwing it between his legs back to Jaheem Parker. At the same time, the six foot, two-hundred and forty pound player charged Amaru.
Amaru was up long before him. One quick burst of movement before getting low and charging the student's midsection, revving up to knock him off his feet.
He grabbed air as the student hit a quick spine move and dodged his charge.
Amaru fell to his knees right in front of Jaheem who was casually looking across the field, waiting for his opening pass. His winning pass.
All Amaru had to do was get up and take him down. His coach was yelling so loud his voice was cracking. But Amaru's vision was still blurry, forming weird shapes in the crowd and swirling black slime in the sky rising behind the stadium.
"No… please…" Amaru shook his head.
"GOD DAMMIT MAWH! GET UP! GET HIM! IF YOU THROW THIS GAME YOUR ASS IS GRASS, BOY!"
All around him, players collided and pushed to reach or defend the quarterback. His calm in the chaos was masterful. Amaru forced himself u—
"AAAACK!" A spiked cleat stomped his calf.
He knew who it was.
"Get off the ground, druggie!" The o-line yelled as he locked into a pushing and shoving match with Amaru's teammate. Blood dripped from his cleat.
Amaru growled. He tried to focus on Jaheem. On his long fingered hands spinning the ball. Gripping the white knots to prepare for a perfect spiral throw.
But then he looked back at the o-line. As he pushed and shoved against Amaru's team, a hideous oily black swarm of insects surrounded him. Some fed on his skin, leaving horrendous gaping blisters while others crawled beneath the surface of his uniform.
The sound of the swarm returned.
He tried to focus. He tried to listen to his coach. To his own desires. But the sight of the bugs. The tendrils in the sky. The way the grass was dying beneath his hands and feet. It was wrong. Disturbing.
Enraging.
In a blur, he exploded to his feet, roaring as he turned away from Jaheem and charged the o-line covered in hideous evil bugs.
He hit the student so hard, he heard his pad buckles snap and the pads themselves cracked. Three other players went down with them.
Amaru rolled the student over and punched him, shattering his visor and cage.
He went in for another punch.
Another o-line grabbed his arm.
"The fuck are you d—"
Amaru snarled and grabbed him by his jersey before throwing him off sides.
The stadium erupted with screams and curses.
Another player tackled him from behind and broke his shoulder against Amaru's back, sagging behind him in pain.
Two more came. Members of his own team. People who laughed at the idea of his theorized drug abusing mother. Amaru elbowed and head butted them off before slamming another fist into the o-line's helmed face.
His helmet split down the middle. A swarm of fat black bugs erupted from the remains.
At the same time, players from both team benches joined the fray, tackling him a dozen times over.
He raged under the weight of his enemies. Under the weight of his overwhelmingly opposed circumstances.
The rest was a blur.
All he knew was, he cost his team their last game.