Death is a Part of Life

Upon hearing Heather ask this, her smile slightly widened in anticipation of Cody’s answer. Cody stepped back and turned his back on her.

“We won’t see eye to eye on this. War is different for me. I—”

She was whispering in his ear before he could react, “How about a fight to the death? Two true warriors… here… and now.”

Cody leapt away as fast as he could, nearly tripping over himself. She shifted her foot forward to close the distance, her smile turning into open-mouthed laughter, her eyes as cold as ice.

“I don’t want to! Please—” Cody held his hands up in surrender, but Heather mistook it for a ready stance and charged.

“Mids are granted only to those who’ve killed a thousand. That’s the deal—none of the others know, only us mid-rangers. Do not lie! I saw you, bathed in blood on the battlefield, relishing in your kills. Your hands shake with excitement; your eyes search to anticipate my strike, even now. The kill… is all that matters.” She reached him, her fists clenched, a gleam of determination in her eyes.

“You have it all wrong, Heather! Please!” Cody swatted her hand away, practically running backward. His back slammed into the hallway wall, and he felt her kick lift him off the ground. Grabbing her hand, he tugged to the side, throwing her off balance.

Heather casually grappled, and despite her delicate-looking frame, her forearms flexed in his grip, revealing terrifying strength. Cody screamed in panic, “I’m a pacifist!”

Immediately, it was as if holy water had been cast on a demon. Heather leapt back so fast she crashed into the exposed piping on the opposite wall, denting it. Her eyes were wide, her smile gone.

“You lie!” she shouted.

Cody fell to his knees, looking down. “I fight to maim, but if I decide that won’t work, I fight to kill. Always have. Out of desperation, as a last resort. I’m sorry, but I—”

“No.” Heather leapt further back down the hall, looking at her hands as if they had touched something filthy. She wiped them on her sleeves, then ripped the sleeves off entirely and tossed them to the ground as if they burned her skin. She stared at Cody, who refused to look at her, shame written all over his face.

Closing her eyes, Heather muttered, “Nonsense…” She turned her back on him and asked again, this time timidly, almost afraid, “Please… we are mids… killers. The best. You can’t believe such nonsense…”

Cody nodded, gulping, and uttered his words with absolute conviction. “I do.”

Heather began walking away, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe it. She punched a pipe in frustration, steam hissing out as she quickened her pace—first to a jog, then to a sprint.

When Cody lifted his head to see her disappear around the corner, he noticed her sleeves on the ground. Around them, droplets of something clear shimmered faintly under the dim hallway lights. They weren’t blood. Cody imagined the warrior in tears, feeling sorry for him like he did for her—perhaps even worse.

Cody decided to go straight to the briefing room, hoping to avoid Heather before returning to his quarters. What would he say to her? How would he go about being comrades in battle after this? Would she tell the others? His heart raced before he shook his head. No. She had a forbidden religion too.

He continued to wrestle within himself over how he might patch things up with her. He understood how she felt; he used to be like her in his youth. Fight any chance he got. The rush—nothing could compare. Win or lose, he relished the chance to fight, to feel.

Then it all changed.

Two things were discussed in that room that took Cody completely by surprise, leaving him a shell-shocked walking corpse. The first was the amount of money he received for his performance and for retrieving a living Vatican warrior to be questioned, along with the return of his M.U. and five more. The second was the revelation that his mother had died of liver failure five days ago, starting the day he had left her.

The money more than covered the cost of his M.U. and its customizations. His mother—though she hated him, perhaps forever—could have lived a life of peace. Retirement. No longer needing to work. He’d imagined her moving east, perhaps to Jersey or even Maine with the kind of payout he was receiving. But she was gone now, her death caused not by disease or lack of care but by stress. Stress he had inflicted.

Cody remembered the suits telling him he could delay his next deployment for a month, but he had shaken his head, deciding he needed only a day to gather his bearings. He left the briefing room once they were done and headed back to his quarters.

He wasn’t allowed to tell the others about the mission, and being granted a mid meant he could now request any team that wanted him. To his unsurprised dismay, Heather was no longer among his roommates. Her bunk was empty, stripped of even a blanket or pillow. The others looked at him with concern in their eyes. Eyes that wouldn’t be there if Heather had told them—but would it even matter?

Cody walked straight to his bed, removed his boots, and lay in his bunk facing the wall.

“Hey… Cody. What did you and Heather discuss?” Tod asked hesitantly.

“If you don’t wish to discuss it, then that should be respected,” Ashley stated.

Cody sighed and said, “Good. Night.” Each word seemed forced.

“You heard him…” Stephanie said as she rolled over. “Tomorrow’s a big day. The return rewards, the bonus cuts, two new crewmates since Tod’s also leaving. Reminds me of that episode of Goodbye Dog. They had their fiftieth anniversary this year, FYI. Lots to await.” She sounded jittery, eager to sleep and avoid further discussion.