Gaji hurled through the air her limbs twisting and gyring in odd directions like the spokes of a Godâ€™s Eye with itâ€™s yarn being unwound, each movement carefully calculated to avoid the tripple-pointed, osmium filled, titanium jacketed slugs which would otherwise have torn through her soft humanish tissues. This body was a good one and she could keep it functional even after losing up to a third of itâ€™s mass in the right places, but certain of her aesthetic tastes tended in different directions than the â€œbrute force prevailsâ€ mentality. Basically she hated to mar the bone-white epidermal finish sheâ€™d so carefully cultivated lo’ these twenty some odd years of it’s existence.
She allowed the body’s spin to rotate the massive sword in her right hand across the her faceless enemiesâ€™ field of fire so that their rounds played a rapid chime against itâ€™s surface. It was a massive blade. A nodachi about 6 feet from tip to butt (about half of that tang) with a blade as wide as a couple meat cleavers stuck together and just the faintest, most elegant bit of curve to itâ€™s perfectly honed edge. The thing had been crafted of solid bronze using an ancient technique which compressed the metal rendering it harder than titanium.
From the size and ultra-density of it the sword must have weighted a good 60 lbs. but Gaji wielded it in one hand as if it were a machete, using individual rounds from the â€œsubâ€ (the fully automatic sub-machine gun that fired caseless ceramic bullets) held in her left hand to pick off stray fragments of shrapnel which might otherwise have torn the long matte-and-satin black kimono which rippled elegantly about this body. The only visual hint as to the swordâ€™s true inertial mass was the way itâ€™s center of gravity shifted in relation to the relatively small body she occupied, and even then only when in freefall, as was now the case. The swordâ€™s coppery coloration and verdigris patina somewhat contrasted with the black-on-white visual theme she sought to attain with this body and itâ€™s accouterments but she liked it anyway and had decided long ago to keep it.
The slugs of her attackerâ€™s weapons skidded harmlessly across the ancient bladeâ€™s surface by the hundreds, their progress irrevokably altered by the indestructible metal. The thing remained unharmed but ideograms, older than the universe it’s self, once etched invisibly into itâ€™s surface now sprang to life with a hungry glow like light being shone through the flowing stream of a viscous red liquid. It drank in their violence and obsequiously begged that it might return the favor.
As she drifted across the room there was a split second pause in the gunfire as one of the bodyâ€™s feet touched the ground and began to push off sending her on another fast, low, wuxia-choreographed arc through the air toward the attackers. Ever having the right word for the moment Gaji took advantage of this brief respite from the guns cacophonous cough to toss a careless bit of repartee in the direction she was headed:
â€œSorry boys,â€ intoned her sultry voice with a tauntingly ironic lilt, â€œI seem to have left my katana at home tonight. I hope this old thing will do.â€
The ceaseless explosion of automatic gunfire again filled the room.