My eyes jolt open. In a word, what I feel is utter disenchantment, with my eyes gaping at the sight of robotic motions, with box, metallic machines just casually strolling on city sidewalks, with skyscrapers towering over two dozen vertically stacked mountains. Absolutely revolutionary is the way it would attend to the every need of its master, from feeding, to cleaning, to speaking, which is what I gathered as the hours that I observe them go by. I take a look at my body and notice that I'm still the same scrawny, pimply being that I once was. The robot scrunches its face and demands its full attention from me; I cringe at the sudden notice.  "You," it wails, "need to be in school right now!" It didn't even care to ask how I got here. Apparently, teleporting into the future is considered a normal occurrence. It grips my hand and seizes control from it like an officer would a criminal, and brings me to school. Or, "school", a rectangular building with no curves or other shape configurations, and with absolutely no color. I walk inside and see an arena filled by hundreds of teenagers just like me, with almost all of them wearing sweatshirts, having chips inside their ears, sporting blankets, teddy bears, and snacks. Men and women with laminated name tags falsifying the prestige of their occupations pace up and down and around the perimeter, popping their heads in. I see one woman peering over a kid's shoulder, and when the student goes "what do you want?", I see a glimmer of hope fade away in her eye. I rejoice in the fact that an institution that has caused me so much dissatisfaction has crumbled, but I mourn for the suffering of those who truly cared about our futures, and for what could have been.