Thrown to the Wolves

Here’s an adjusted version of your text. It retains the aggressive tone while smoothing out overtly offensive or jarring language.

As the roar of machinery echoed along the path of his bus, the factories rising fifty meters tall—likely even more—Cody sighed deeply, resigning himself to the end of his peace.

“You there, quiet guy. I’m calling you Maggot Food. What’s your name, Maggot Food?”

“Cody Ello Fin the thir—oomph!” Cody began, only to receive the butt of a rifle in his stomach. The blow came from a five-foot spitfire with light brown hair and a freckled face. Her expression was far from friendly as she followed up with a sharp kick to his chest, sending him reeling.

“Your name is Maggot Food. Or are you saying I’m wrong?”

“No, ma’am,” Cody muttered, wiping blood from his lip.

“Good,” she sneered. “So, let’s try again. What’s yer name?” Her tone mocked the slight country accent that had slipped out earlier.

Straightening, Cody looked down at her from his six-one frame. His tone turned ice-cold. “I am Maggot Food the Third. My father, Maggot Shit, made a career of Yaoi activity. One day, he decided to try something new, and here I am—another in a long line of accidents.”

The girl raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening as she met his unwavering stare.

“Well, well,” she drawled, her tone shifting from mocking to almost curious. “You’ve got that thousand-yard stare. Looks like you’ve already seen hell and stopped caring. I like it. I bet your father and I would’ve gotten along. Tell me, do you share his talents?”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I didn’t follow in his footsteps,” Cody replied flatly.

Her smirk turned sharp. “What a shame. Let me guess—some stuck-up Western values? Close-minded views run rampant in your little hometown, huh? Bet you’ve got some quaint, backwoods fish waiting for your love back home.”

Cody’s lip twitched into the faintest of smiles. “As the great Ken Griffey Jr. once said, ‘Those who talk about the future are geniuses. Those who talk about manga are great. Those who talk about others—’”

He cut himself off deliberately, his smile fading as quickly as it had appeared. He could tell she knew the rest of the quote. Anyone who read the manga about Ken Griffey Jr. knew the ending: “Those who talk about others are small-minded.” Her remark about his background clearly hadn’t gone unnoticed.

She smiled back, cocky and unbothered. Then—darkness.

Cody awoke in a simple room, lying on a surprisingly soft bed. The memory of the encounter lingered, vivid and sharp in his mind—his dream had been in full color. That was a telltale sign, one that could draw attention.

Since the Second World War, societal evolution had changed the landscape of the world. As the Cold War began in 1947, the collapse of the Neo-Nazi Third Reich in 1950 prompted significant international reforms. The Geneva Convention had sought to quell prejudices, establishing hate crimes as war crimes to root out remnants of fascism. But in rural areas, progress was slow.

America, on the verge of economic ruin during the Second Great Depression, was rescued by an unlikely savior: Japan. The introduction of manga revolutionized education and entertainment, fostering a generation of young minds capable of extraordinary thought. Ignorance had dwindled as intelligent dialogue became the norm, but the shadows of prejudice lingered for those unwilling to adapt.

Faith endured, but even religion faced scrutiny. Escobar’s infamous quote echoed in Cody’s mind: “If you think a billion people can’t be wrong, you’re only fooling yourself. After all, how many disbelieve while others believe? In the end, someone has to be.”

Cody groaned, rubbing his head. The bandaged knot stung as a friendly voice called out.

“Hey, you’re awake! Not many people take Ariana’s kicks to the head and stay standing. You’re tougher than you look.”

Cody turned toward the voice, spotting a pale, shirtless young man sitting on the bunk opposite him, cleaning a pair of combat boots. Above him, a tall girl with olive skin lay sprawled out, a manga resting on her face to block the light.

“With all due respect, could you not?” she mumbled. “I’m trying to dream about MLP over here.”

Cody recognized the manga on her face—it was a classic from his childhood. Who didn’t grow up reading My Little Pony?

A short, blonde girl peeked out from the bunk below Cody. Her large, circular glasses gleamed in the light as she scrutinized him with sharp brown eyes. Despite her small stature, her demeanor was all authority.

“Cody, right? You look kind of old. What are you, late twenties? How long were you stuck behind a desk before you finally got a shot at piloting? Let me guess—you were just another grease monkey before this.”

Her tone wasn’t hostile, but her words held an edge.

Cody didn’t reply, stepping back against the wall as the others slowly closed in, curiosity glinting in their eyes. Calmly, he shrugged off his shirt, leaving one wrist tangled in the sleeve. Twisting it into a coiled rope, he fixed them all with a cold, calculating stare, keeping everyone in his periphery.

Ariana chuckled. “Bullshit. That stance would mean—”

“Exactly,” Cody cut in, stepping forward.

For once, Ariana’s smirk faltered.