Gaji hurled through the air her limbs twisting and gyring in odd directions like the spokes of a God’s Eye with it’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 it’s mass in the right places, but certain of her aesthetic tastes tended in different directions than the “brute force prevails” mentality. Basically she hated to mar the bone-white epidermal finish she’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 enemies’ field of fire so that their rounds played a rapid chime against it’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 it’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 “sub” (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 sword’s true inertial mass was the way it’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 sword’s coppery coloration and verdigris patina somewhat contrasted with the black-on-white visual theme she sought to attain with this body and it’s accouterments but she liked it anyway and had decided long ago to keep it.

The slugs of her attacker’s weapons skidded harmlessly across the ancient blade’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 it’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 body’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:

“Sorry boys,” intoned her sultry voice with a tauntingly ironic lilt, “I seem to have left my katana at home tonight. I hope this old thing will do.”

The ceaseless explosion of automatic gunfire again filled the room.