The Vatican

Cody knew the longs and shorts among him were only a poorly made copy of the mids; they were a far cry from the Japanese war machines. After the 1984 M.U. massacre, when America failed to heed Japan’s warning, a hundred of their machines destroyed thousands of America’s, with unknown casualties on the Japanese side.

Now Japanese technology has only increased every year. As the world read more and more manga, Japan used the funds to make their country a Utopian haven. They even had TV shows showcasing how peaceful and carefree they were, with glimmers of technology for civilian use. Occasionally, they sold minor technology to other countries in exchange for massive amounts of steel and glass shipments.

Cody scanned the ocean for movement, hoping the Japanese would not show up. His hopes changed to dread when his radio squeaked with an ominous, distant call. Though it wasn’t Japanese he heard, it was in Latin. The words were displayed on the screen relay in English. He could tell they were at least five miles away.

“Mors omnibus infidelibus,” said the deep voice.

“Death to all nonbelievers,” was written on the screen.

“War is fun for those who have never fought in it.” Cody couldn’t remember what manga he had read that from. Butterflies flooded his stomach as the front liners fell back, allowing others like himself to catch up. He felt his nerves shake.

Dots began to litter the distant sky and sea level. The white M.U.s with giant red crosses on their chests were visible through Eagle Eye magnification, a system that allowed him to see with up to eight times normal clarity, as if they stood right in front of him. They wielded their signature shields with the giant red cross on them—thick, hulking steel tower shields that could withstand a laser blast. Their reflective coating allowed the shields to resist the lasers and partially reflect them back at the enemy, though in a weaker form.

The ones lagging behind began closing the gap, but still, many needed to catch up. With a single full burst, many could reach their target in less than ten seconds.

“Ready, ladies!” came Ariana’s voice.

Several female voices flooded the radio with shouts and hollers before Ariana continued, “2nd Legion, ready! Remember, ladies, if he sounds hot, try and bring him back… at least the parts that matter!”

She shot forward, and several others began shooting forward immediately after. Cody used his burst to close the gap before his nerves got the best of him, his grinder held forward, spinning menacingly. Its blades rotated into a solid blur. He was embarrassed when Tom called it a grinder. “Pizza slicer” was what he thought at that moment.

Pizza… why the hell was he thinking of that?

Looking at the mass of M.U.s closing in, he numbed himself to the fear, remembering a passage from ancient Japanese samurai ideals: “Those who are afraid to die, surely will. Those who are ready to die, will surely live.”

Cotard delusion is a rare mental disorder where people believe they are dead, do not exist, or have lost a body part.

Cody thought of himself as already dead. He raised his arm as if it no longer existed, hoping he could achieve nothingness—hoping to cheat death by picturing himself as a corpse falling into the water to sink for all eternity. It was the only way to override the fear. He felt his hand tear into the shield, jamming and leaving him stuck with only one arm. Light emerging from the Vatican member’s rod made Cody realize he was facing an opponent with one of those batons like Heather’s—a light sword. As it raised, he heard the man shout in Latin:

“Scutum meum tyrannidem negat.”

“My shield denies tyranny.”

“Gladius meus viam salutis mecat!”

“My sword cuts the way for salvation!”

Cody didn’t want to see if his grinder could be freed. Instead, he pulled the shield in the way of the arm wielding that menacing laser sword and rolled in the opposite direction. The laser sword was brushed aside but quickly rotated around the tower shield. It would soon sever his arm if he didn’t release his grinder. Pulling the lever of the eject button was like taking out a lens on fine machinery. First, he had to release the grip on the switch, then pull a crank that allowed the weapon to drop.

As his left hand wielded the hammer, more like a gauntlet, he picked up momentum and let his hook swing blindly around the shield. The impact sent the Vatican M.U. to the side, slightly off balance as sparks and metal flew. Because of that imbalance, Cody escaped the laser as it rotated around the shield where his wrist once was.

Cody wasted no time charging the off-balance man until a beam of light hit exactly where his grinder had been. It punched through the shield, now damaged and lacking its light-reflecting coating. The beam shot straight through the enemy, damaging it further and allowing Cody to strike at the head of the M.U., where he assumed the pilot was. When the radio screamed out a curdled cry, cut off by his hammer fist, he didn’t need to see the small squirt of yellow foam to understand he’d just killed the pilot.

Before the pilot dropped, he snatched at the shield, trying to retrieve his grinder. But looking at it, he knew it could never be used again for anything more than a bent blade.

His screen lit up, and he clicked on it as a face appeared beside him. “Watch your OS!” Ashley called out.

OS, OD… he never understood what they stood for, but he knew one meant left and one meant right. In optical lens crafting, when determining the left and right lens, if you’re ODing off drugs, you’re on the RIGHT path to a good time. If you’re a Sex Offender, your family LEFT you. Why couldn’t he ever think of anything better to represent OS than SO? Like Overly Stupid? Some things stuck better than others in the end. More importantly, why was he thinking in the heat of battle?