The Past Revealed

“Who. Are. Some. Of. The. Contenders. Sis?” Tasha asked.

“Funny you should ask. There’s actually a hall of fame for some of the greatest minds there. The current top contenders in AI and robotics who hope to make that hall are Yann Lecun, Geoffrey Hinton, and Fei-Fei Li. In the medical department, we have Akira Toriyama, myself, Sun Ming, and—”

“Okay! Sorry I asked. I get it,” Cody shouted, cutting her off.

“But you didn’t ask; Tasha did,” Kalifa replied, with Tasha nodding in agreement.

“Well, I’m overwhelmed now. Let’s just get more implants. I’m thinking a bullet to the head or maybe a blade in the ear. There’s a knife on that table; that should do nicely. I trust Kalifa is qualified to handle the implant manually.”

To his misery, the two girls stared at him, their expressions akin to someone forgiving an adorable puppy for knocking over a vase.

During his ear operation—which he was sure was their way of getting vengeance for his crude humor—Cody was finally returned to his room.

The room itself was a testament to his newfound helplessness. The bed was large and comfy but impossibly high for him to climb into. The window was too tall to see out of, the coffee table too low to reach from his wheelchair. Even the luxurious carpet bore streak marks from his wheels, leaving him feeling guilty for simply existing.

“So, Mr. War Dog, tell us a little about yourself,” Tasha said, resting her arms around his neck and nestling against him. She murmured something under her breath about “American muscle.” Meanwhile, Kalifa, the more brazen of the two, openly sat on his lap, clapping her hands.

“Story time!” she announced.

Cody sighed, helpless against their antics. “Not much to tell,” he began. “Born in a small, small-minded fishing village. Dad gave me religious lessons and tattoos; Mom taught me to fish. I went to school like any normal Western kid, but I was treated differently. Walked several miles year-round just to get there every day. We get Science Immunity Month off. Because of the Latin tattoo on my back, people thought I was a Vatican member. They tried to kill me constantly, but I lived.

“Dad abandoned me. A guy named Sturgeon, who loved my mom, took me under his wing and taught me some mechanics. The love of my life saw past the hatred in that town, and we ran away together. Her name was Rane Boe Samone…” He paused, taking a deep breath, hoping they thought his hesitation was due to the ear stinging from the surgery.

“They came for me. Killed them all. I went to prison. Dad was the only one who showed up on my court day. I lived a life as a nobody prisoner. Rane Sam got married. I got out, signed up, fought two battles, got captured, and escaped. And here I am—being tortured and mocked by a young lady and a girl less than half my age.

“Apparently, the Vatican is extremely polite, the Hindu nation is full of geniuses, and America is neither. Sorry there’s no great origin story—no awesome heroic deeds, no royalty, no rags-to-riches tale, no ‘love finds a way’ narrative. Just life in the West for anyone who doesn’t conform to the Mormon or Native American ways. And given the choice between a doomsday bunker, warmongering lifestyle or peaceful traveling, dancing, and singing musicians, I chose neither.”

He finished, more than a bit frustrated.

The two girls exchanged glances, clearly concerned. Neither spoke.

While Cody read the manga they brought him, Kalifa started visiting more often.

“Gonna read me another smut novel?” Cody asked, glaring at her.

Kalifa acted tired, ignoring his tone. She sprawled across his bed and kicked off her shoes. Wrapped in the silk blanket, she said, “Daddy says you’re going west. That’s foolish. You should stay here. Do you have any idea what the Vatican is like?”

Cody stared at her feet, which she’d rested on his arm like a footrest. He tried jerking them off, but she just put them back. Twice. Three times. The fourth time earned him a kick in the face, so he gave up and let her use him as a footrest.

“They seemed easy enough to take down,” he said. “Except for that one.”

“That one was a paladin,” Kalifa explained, her tone suddenly serious. “And not just any paladin. His name is Maximilian Artemis III—or Max the Madman. He’s part of the Thirteenth Chapel, the most elite warriors of the Vatican. When they’re sent, the mission is considered accomplished before they even arrive. And when they do arrive, it’s always memorable.”

Cody thought back to the caped man declaring in Latin that he was there, as if he were some big shot.

“So I just avoid them. I’m not fighting my way through all of Vatican Europe. I’ll hide among the populace.”

“And your story?” Kalifa asked.

“What story?”

“The greatest story of our time. You’re the War Dog—the War Dog. You rushed ahead of all your comrades, took on the entire Vatican army by yourself. You won’t shy from a battle. American pride won’t allow it.”

Cody groaned. He’d have to put an end to these rumors someday. The embellishments were becoming dangerous.

“If you’re so into my story, why not make one yourself? Become your version of the Thirteen Warriors of the Vatican.”

Kalifa sat up, stretching. “I wish. But Father won’t let me near the front lines. This isn’t some fantasy manga. We can’t just make our story. We’re chosen.”

A fatalistic view. Cody’s memories drifted to Stephanie and then to the others, one by one.