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Read "All You Need Is Kill" by Hiroshi Sakurazaka available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up today and get $5 off your first purchase. When the alien Mimics invade. Editorial Reviews. About the Author. Hiroshi Sakurazaka was born in Tokyo in After a Download it once and read it on your Kindle device, PC, phones or tablets. Use features like bookmarks, note taking and highlighting while reading. All You Need Is Kill - Sakurazaka, - Free ebook download as PDF File .pdf), Text File .txt) or read book online for free.

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The world is in a war against an alien race called "Mimics," who have taken over most of the world with a mission to eliminate the human race. DOWNLOAD EBOOK All You Need is Kill 2-in-1 Manga (All You Need is Kill ( manga)) (ebook online) For download this book click button below. All You Need Is Kill (Japanese: オール・ユー・ニード・イズ・キル? Hepburn: Ōru Yū Nīdo Izu Kiru) is a Japanese military science fiction light novel.

There you are, steel death whizzing past in the air. Distant shells thunder low and muddy, a hollow sound you feel more than hear. The close ones ring high and clear. They scream with a voice that rattles your teeth, and you know theyre the ones headed for you. They cut deep into the ground, throwing up a veil of dust that hangs there, waiting for the next round to come ripping through. Thousands of shells, burning through the skyslices of metal no bigger than your fingerand it only takes one to kill you. Only takes one to turn your best buddy into a steaming side of meat.

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All You Need Is Kill

The End of All Things 2: This Hollow Union. Deadly Shores. Taylor Anderson. Everything but the Squeal. The Crimson Campaign. The Paper Menagerie and Other Stories. Azula Carver. Thomas DePrima. The Churn: An Expanse Novella. The Remaining: Ernest Cline. Mur Lafferty. All You Need Is Kill. Hiroshi Sakurazaka. Slum Online. How to write a great review. The review must be at least 50 characters long. The title should be at least 4 characters long. Your display name should be at least 2 characters long.

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Remove FREE. Unavailable for purchase. Continue shopping Checkout Continue shopping. Chi ama i libri sceglie Kobo e inMondadori. Choose Store. Or, get it for Kobo Super Points! Now a major motion picture starring Tom Cruise! Skip this list. Ratings and Book Reviews 8 49 star ratings 8 reviews. Overall rating 4. Yes No Thanks for your feedback! Report as inappropriate. I really liked the movie and then I read this and I like it too.

Very visceral and well-thought out. If you like Japanese sci-fi, this book is guaranteed to tickle your fantasy. For those who've already seen the film As always, the book is better. It was the film that drove me to read this edge of tomorrow. I have to say that although it's quite different in places the theme of Live, Die, Repeat is captured quite brilliantly. The story has a nice pace, and the author's style is very catchy. If I had a complaint it would be that it was all over too quickly, perhaps that's just because I enjoyed it though and wanted it to keep repeating This book is what Edge Of Tomorrow is based of.

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OK, close. Write your review. July 21, Imprint: VIZ Media: Sir, reporting to the No. But, uh, one thing, Sarge. We been doin that liquor raid for years.

Why give us a hard time about it now? You really want to know? Ferrell rolled his eyes. I swallowed hard. Nah, I already know the answer. He always seemed to be grinning.

Its because the chain of command around here is fucked to hell. Youll find out for yourself. Wait, Sarge! Ferrell took three regulation-length paces and stopped. Cmon, not even a hint? Yonabaru called from where he was taking cover behind the metal bed frame and bundled confessions.

The generals the one with his panties in a bunch about the rotten excuse for security we have on this base, so dont look at me, and dont look at the captain, either. In fact, you might as well just shut up and do what youre told for a. I sighed.

Hes not gonna have us out there weaving baskets, is he? Yonabaru shook his head. Maybe we can all do a group hug. Fucking asshole. I knew where this ended. Id dreamed all this, too. After their defeat a year and a half ago at the Battle of Okinawa Beach, the Japanese Corps made it a matter of honor to recapture a little island perched off the coast of the Boso Peninsula, a place named Kotoiushi.

With a foothold there, the Mimics were only a stones throw away from Tokyo. The Imperial Palace and central government retreated and ruled from Nagano, but there wasnt. The Defense Ministry knew that Japans future was riding on the outcome of this operation, so in addition to mustering twentyfive thousand Jackets, an endless stream of overeager generals had been pooling in this little base on the Flower Line that led down Boso Peninsula.

Theyd even decided to allow Americans, Special Operators, into the game; the U. The Americans probably didnt give a damn whether or not Tokyo was reduced to a smoking wasteland, but letting the industrial area responsible for producing the lightest, toughest, composite armor.

Seventy percent of the parts that went into a state-of-the-art Jacket came from China, but the suits still couldnt be made without Japanese technology. So convincing the Americans to come hadnt been difficult. The catch was that with foreign troops came tighter security. Suddenly there were checks on things like missing alcohol that base security would have turned a blind eye to before.

When the brass found out what had been going on, they were royally pissed. Hows that for luck? I wonder who fucked up. It aint us. I knew the Americans would be watchin over their precious. We were careful as a virgin on prom night.

Yonabaru let out an exaggerated moan. Ungh, my stomach. My stomach just started hurtin real bad! I think its my appendix. Or maybe I got tetanus back when I hurt myself training. Yeah, thats gotta be it! I doubt it will clear up before tonight, so just make sure you stay hydrated.

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It wont last until tomorrow, hear me? Oh, man. It really hurts. See that he drinks some water. Ignoring Yonabarus continued performance, Ferrell walked out of the.

As soon as his audience was gone, Yonabaru sat up and made a rude gesture in the direction of the door. Hes really got a stick up his ass. Wouldnt understand a good joke if it came with a fucking manual.

Aint no way Im gonna be like that when I get old. Am I right? I guess. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Today is turnin to shit. It was all playing out how I remembered. The 17th Armored would spend the next three hours in PT. Exhausted, we would listen to some commissioned officer, his chest bristling with medals, lecture us for another half hour before.

I could still hear him threatening to pluck the hairs off our asses one by one with Jacket-augmented fingers. My dream was looking less like one by the minute.

You lift your body like you would in an ordinary push-up, then you hold that position. Its a lot harder than it sounds. You can feel your arms and abs trembling, and eventually you lose your sense of time. After youve counted something. Your arms arent designed to be pillars. Muscles and joints are there to flex and bend. Flex and bend. Sounds nice just thinking about it. But you cant think about it, or youll feel even worse. Youre pillars, hear me? Nice strong pillars. Muscle isnt really all that important for a Jacket jockey.

Whether a persons grip is thirty kilos or seventy, as soon as they put on that Jacket, theyll have kilos of force in the palm of their hands. What a Jacket jockey needs is endurance and controlthe ability to hold one position without twitching a muscle. Iso push-ups are just the thing for that. Wall sitting isnt half bad, either. Some claimed iso push-ups had become the favored form of discipline in the old Japan Self-Defense Force after they banned corporal punishment. But whoever thought of it, I hope he died a slow, painful death.

Staring into the ground, we barked desperately in time with the drill sergeant, sweat streaming into our eyes. Eight hundred! Fuck OFF! Our shadows were crisp and clear under the scorching sun. The companys flag snapped and fluttered high above the field.

The wind that buffeted the training grounds reeked of salt and left a briny layer of slime on our skin. There, motionless in the middle of that gargantuan training field, men from the 17th Company of the Armored. Infantry Division held their iso push-ups. Three platoon leaders stood, as motionless as their men, one in front of each platoon. Our captain watched over the scene with a grimace from the shade of the barracks tent.

Sitting beside him was a brigadier general from the General Staff Office. The general whod opened his mouth and started this farce was probably off sipping green tea in an air-conditioned office.

A general was a being from the heavens above. A being perched on a gilded throne, higher than me, higher than Yonabaru, higher than Ferrell, higher than the lieutenant in charge of our platoon, the captain in charge of our company, the lieutenant colonel in. The generals were the gods of Flower Line and all who trained, slept, and shat within its walls. So high, they seemed distant and unreal.

Generals didnt steal liquor. They were early to bed, early to rise, always brushing their teeth after every meal, never skipping a morning shave goddamned messiahs. Generals went into battle facing death with their chins held high, calm as you please.

Hell, all they had to do was sit back in Nagano drawing up their battle plans. One order from them and us mortals on the front lines would move like pawns across a. Id like to see just one of them here with us in the mud. We had our own rules down here. Which is probably why they stayed away.

Hell, if one of them showed, Id see to it a stray bullet put them on the KIA list. This was the least damning thought running through my head, any one of which would have been enough to send me to a firing squad. The brass in the tent werent the only spectators around to watch our torture. The guys in 4th Company were really laughing it up. A while back we beat them in an intramural rugby match by more than thirty points, so I guess they felt this was some sort of twisted payback.

The liquor wed swiped was. What a bunch of assholes. If they got into trouble on Kotoiushi, I sure as hell wasnt going to bail them out. The U. Spec Ops and some journalist imbedded in their squad had gathered around the field to watch us from a safe distance.

Maybe they didnt do iso push-ups where they came from, but whatever the reason, they were pointing their fat fingers at us and laughing. The breeze coming off the water picked up their voices and dumped them on us.

Even at this distance, the commentary was loud and grating. Fingernails on a chalkboard grating. Is that a camera? Is he. All right, thats it, motherfucker. Youre next on my KIA list. Pain and fatigue racked my body. My blood pumped slow as lead. This was getting old. Counting my dream, this was the second time Id endured this particular session of PT. Not just PT, iso push-ups.

In training they taught us that even when youre in excruciating painespecially when youre in painthe best thing to do was to find some sort of distraction, something else to focus on other than the burning in your muscles and the sweat streaking down your forehead.

Careful not to move my head, I looked around out of the corner of one eye. The American journalist was snapping pictures, a visitors pass dangling from his neck. Say cheese! He was a brawny fellow. You could line him up with any of those U. Special Forces guys and youd never know the difference. Hed look more at home on a battlefield than I would, thats for sure. Pain and suffering were old friends to men like them.

They walked up to the face of danger, smiled, and asked what took him so long to get there. They were in a whole nother league from a recruit like me.

In the middle of the testosterone display, the lone woman stuck out like a. She was a tiny little thing standing off by herself a short distance from the rest of the squad. Seeing her there beside the rest of her super-sized squad, something seemed out of whack.

Anne of Green Gables Goes to War. I figure the book would be a spin-off set around World War I. Mongolia makes a land grab, and theres Anne, machine gun tucked daintily under one arm. Her hair was the color of rusted steel, faded to a dull red. Some redheads conjured up images of blood, fire, deeds of valor. Not her. If it werent for the sand-colored shirt she was wearing, shed have looked like some kid whod come to the base on a field trip and gotten herself lost.

The others were fanned out around this girl who barely came up to their chests like awed, medieval peasants gawking at nobility. Suddenly it hit me. Thats Rita! It had to be. It was the only way to explain how this woman, who couldnt have looked less like a Jacket jockey if she had been wearing a ball gown, was in the company of the spec ops.

Most women who suited up looked like some sort of cross between a gorilla and an uglier gorilla. They were the only ones who could cut it on the front lines in the Armored Infantry.

Rita Vrataski was the most famous soldier in the world. Back when I signed up for the UDF, you couldnt go a day. Id even heard Hollywood was gonna make a movie about her, but I was already in the UDF by the time it came out, so I never saw it. About half of all the Mimic kills humanity had ever made could be attributed to battles her squad had fought in. In less than three years, theyd slaughtered as many Mimics as the whole UDF put together had in the twenty years before.

Rita was a savior descended from on high to help turn the odds in this endless, losing battle. Thats what they said, anyway. We all figured she was part of some. A front for some secret weapon or new strategy that really deserved the credit. Sixty percent of soldiers were men. That figure shot up to 85 percent when you started talking about the Jacket jockeys who were out bleeding on the front lines.

After twenty years fighting an enemy whose identity we didnt even know, losing ground day by day, we grunts didnt need another muscle-bound savior who grunted and sweat and had hamburger for brains just like we did. Yeah, if it were me calling the shots in the General Staff Office, Id have picked a woman too. Wherever the U. Spec Ops were. The UDF had been beaten to the cliffs edge, but they were finally able to start moving back from the brink.

Now theyd come to Japan, where the enemy was knocking on the door of the main island of Honshu. When no one was listening, we. Ritas Jacket was as red as the rising sun. She thumbed her nose at the lab coats whod spent sleepless months refining the Jackets polymer paint to absorb every last radar wave possible.

Her suit was gunmetal redno, more than that, it glowed. In the dark it would catch the faintest light, smoldering crimson. Was she crazy? Behind her back they said she painted her suit with the blood of her squad. When you stand out like that on the battlefield, you tend to draw more than your share of enemy fire.

Others said shed stop at nothing to make her squad look good, that she even took cover behind a fellow soldier once. If she had. And yet not a single enemy round had ever so much as grazed her Jacket. She could walk into any hell and come back unscathed. They had a million stories. Your rank and file soldier ended up with a lot of time on his hands, and listening to that sort of talk, passing it on, embellishing itthat was just the sort of thing he needed to kill time and to keep the subject off dead comrades.

Rita had been a Jacket jockey eating and sleeping on the same base as me, but Id never seen her face until that moment.

We might have resented the special treatment she got, if wed had the chance to think about it. I couldnt take my eyes off the line of her hairshe wore it shortas it bobbed in the wind. There was a graceful balance to her features.

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You might even have called her beautiful. She had a thin nose, a sharp chin. Her neck was long and white where most Jacket jockeys didnt even have necks. Her chest, however, was completely flat, at odds with the images of Caucasian women you saw plastered on the walls of every barracks cell. Not that it bothered me. Whoever had looked at her and thought up the name Full Metal Bitch needed to have his head checked. She was closer to a puppy than a bitch. I suppose even in a litter of pit bulls.

If, in my dream, the shell of that red Jacket had popped open and shed climbed out, I would have shit my bunk. Id seen her face and Jacket plenty on the news feeds, but they never gave you a good idea of what she really looked like in person.

I had always pictured Rita Vrataski as tall and ruthless, with a knockout body and an air of total selfconfidence. Then our eyes met. I looked away immediately, but it was already too late. She started walking toward me. She moved with purpose, one foot planted firmly on the ground before the other moveda relentless,.

But her steps were small, the net result being a harried, flustered gait. Im not sure Id ever seen anyone walk quite like that before. Cmon, dont do this to me. I cant even move. Give a guy a break and get lost, would ya? Go on. Rita stopped. The muscles in my arms started to tremble. Then, purposefully, she walked away. Somehow shed heard my prayer, making a ninety-degree turn right in front of me and heading toward the brigadier general where he sat under the tent.

She snapped a perfunctory salute. Not so sloppy as to be insulting, but not so stiff you could hear anything cracking, either. A fitting salute for the Full Metal Bitch. The brigadier general cast a doubtful glance at Rita.

Rita was a sergeant major. In the military hierarchy, the difference between a brigadier general and a sergeant major was about the same as the difference between a four-course meal at a snooty restaurant and an allyou-can-eat buffet.

Recruits like me were strictly fast food, complete with an oversized side of fries. But it wasnt that simple. It never was. Rita was U. Rank aside, it was hard to say which one of them really held more power. Rita stood in silence. The brigadier general was the first to speak. Yes, Sergeant? Sir, would it be possible for me to join the PT, sir. The same high voice from my dream, speaking in perfectly intoned Burst. You have a major operation coming up tomorrow.

So do they, sir. My squad has never participated in this form of PT, sir. I believe my participation could be vital in ensuring the successful coordination and execution of tomorrows joint operation. The general was at a loss for words.

Special Forces around the field started to whoop and cheer. Request permission to participate in the PT, sir, she said. Sir, thank you, sir! She flashed a quick salute. Doing an about-face, she slipped among the rows of men staring intently into the ground. She chose a spot beside me and started her iso push-up. I could feel the heat coming off her body through the chilly air between us. I didnt move. Rita didnt move. The sun hung high in the sky, showering its rays over us, slowly roasting our skin.

A drop of sweat formed in my armpit, then traced its way slowly to the ground. Sweat had started to bead on Ritas skin too. I felt like a chicken crammed into the same oven as the Christmas turkey.

I have to kill them all. Stop them from moving.

Ritas lips made the subtlest of movements. A low voice only I could hear. Do I have something on my face? Youve been staring at me for a while now.

I thought maybe there was a laser bead on my forehead. There wasntits nothing. All right.

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Shit-for-brains Kiriya! Youre slipping! I quickly extended my arm back into position. Beside me, Rita Vrataski, with the disinterested expression of someone whod never had a need for human. PT ended less than an hour later. The general, the taste of bile in his mouth forgotten, returned to the barracks without further instructions.

The 17th Company had spent a productive prebattle afternoon. It hadnt played out the way I remembered it. In my dream, I never made eye contact with Rita, and she hadnt joined in the PT.

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Maybe I was reading too much into things, but Id say she did it just to piss the general off. It took a Valkyrie reborn to throw a monkey wrench into a disciplinary training session planned with military precision and get away with it. Maybe she had just been curious. One thing was for sure, though. Rita Vrataski wasnt the bitch everyone made her out to be.

That shit was tight. You said it. With reflexes like that, that girl must be hiding springs in that little body of hers. I could feel it all the way into my. She hears you talkin like that, best watch out.

Who doesnt like a compliment? Im just sayin she was good. As he spoke, Yonabaru thrust his hips. Seeing someone move like that in a Jacket was pretty damn funny. An everyday gesture with enough power behind it to level a house. Our platoon was on the northern tip of Kotoiushi Island, waiting to spring the ambush, Jackets in sleep mode. A screen about half a meter tall stood in front of us, projecting an image of the terrain behind. Its what they called active camouflage.

It was supposed to render us undetectable from an enemy looking. Of course, we could have just used a painting. The terrain had been bombed into oblivion, so any direction you looked, all you saw was the same charred wasteland.

Most of the time, the Mimics lurked in caves that twisted deep under the seabed. Before a ground assault, we fired bunker buster bombs that penetrated into the ground before detonating. Eat that. Each one of those babies cost more than Id make in my entire lifetime. But the Mimics had an uncanny way of avoiding the bombs. It was enough to make you wonder if they were getting a copy of our attack plans in advance.

On paper we may have had air superiority, but we ended up in a. Since our platoon was part of an ambush, we werent packing the largebore cannonsmassive weapons that were each the size of a small car fully assembled. What we did have were 20mm rifles, fuel-air grenades, pile drivers, and rocket launchers loaded with three rounds apiece.

Since it was Ferrells platoon, we were all linked to him via comm. I glanced at my Jackets HUD. It was twenty-eight degrees Celsius. Pressure was millibars. The primary strike force would be on the move any minute. Last night, after that endless hour of PT, Id decided to go to the party.

It wasnt what I remembered doing from. The part about helping Yonabaru up to his bunk after he stumbled back to the barracks stayed the same. Word around the platoon was that Yonabarus girlfriend was a Jacket jockey too. With the exception of Special Forces, men and women fought in separate platoons, so we wouldnt have run into her on the battlefield anyway.

Ifand Im just talkinbut if one of you got killed. I ventured. Id feel like shit. But you still see each other anyway.

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Heaven aint some Swiss bank. You cant squirrel away money in some. You gotta do what you can before goin into battle. Thats the first rule of soldierin.

Yeah, I guess. But Im tellin ya, you gotta hook yourself up with some pussy. Carpe diem, brother. Carpe something. What about Mad Wargarita? Yall were talkin during PT, right? Youd tap that, I know you would. Dont even go there. Tiny girl like herI bet shes a wolverine in the sack. The smaller they are, the better they fuck, you know. Show some respect. Sex aint got nothin to do with. From the lowest peon to His Majesty the general, everybody wants to do a little poundin between the legs.

All Im sayin is thats how we evolved Just shut the fuck up, I said. That any way to talk to me in front of the sergeant?

Im hurt. Ive got a very sensitive disposition. Im just talkin trash to keep my mind off things. Same as everybody else. Hes right, someone else chipped in over the comm link. Hey, dont I get a vote? It was like this was the excuse everyone in the platoon had been waiting for.

Everyone started talking at once. Im gonna have to cast my ballot for Yonabaru. Ive set this thing to filter out your jokes, so stop wastin your breath. Sounds like Kiriyas gonna have to step up his training if he doesnt want Yonabaru to take the piss out of him so easy. I think I need to reboot my Jacket, sir! I dont want it crashing during the battle!

Aw man, Id kill for a cigarette. Musta left em in my other Jacket. I thought you quit smokin? Hey, keep it down! Im tryin to get some sleep! And so it went. Back and forth through the comm link, like it was an Internet chat room.

All Ferrell could do was sigh and shake his Jacketed head. When youre so nervous youve run out of nails to bite, thinking about something you enjoy helps take the pressure off. They taught us that in training too. Of course, you get a bunch of animals like these together, pretty much the only thing they think about is sex. There was only one girl I could think about, my sweet little librarian whose face I could hardly picture anymore.

Who knew what she was doing. Itd been half a year since she got married. She was probably knocked up by now. I enlisted right after I graduated from high school, and she broke my heart. I dont think the two things were related. Who can say? I had signed up thinking I could make. Boy was I ever green. If I was tea-green now, I mustve been limegreen back then. Turns out my life isnt even worth enough to buy one of those pricey bombs, and what cards fate has dealt me dont have any rhyme or reason.

Nuts to this. If were not gonna dig trenches, cant we at least sit? Cant hide if were diggin trenches. This active camouflage aint good for shit. Whos to say they dont see bettern we do, anyhow?

They arent supposed to be able to see the attack choppers either, but they knock em out. Made for a helluva time at Okinawa. If we run into the enemy, Ill be sure to give em an eye test. I still say the trench is mans greatest invention. My kingdom for a trench. You can dig all the trenches you want once we get back.

My orders. Isnt that how they torture prisoners? My pension to the man who invents a way to fasten yourshit, its started! Dont get your balls blown off, gents! Ferrell shouted. The din of battle filled the air. I could feel the shudder of distant shells exploding. I turned my attention to Yonabaru. After what happened in PT, maybe my dream was just a dream, but if Yonabaru died by my side at the beginning of the battle, Id never forgive myself.

I replayed the events of the dream in my head. The javelin had come from two oclock. It had flown right through the camouflage screen, leaving it in tatters, all about a minute after the battle started, give or take. I tensed my body, ready to be knocked down at any moment.

My arms were shaking. An itch developed in the small of my back. A wrinkle in my inner suit pressed against my side. What are they waiting for? The first round didnt hit Yonabaru. The shot that was supposed to have killed him was headed for me instead. I didnt have time to move a millimeter.

Ill never forget the sight of that enemy javelin flying straight at me. It was a mystery novel about an American detective who was supposed to be some sort of expert on the Orient. I had my index finger wedged into a scene where all the key players meet for dinner at a Japanese restaurant in New York.

Without rising, I looked carefully around the barracks. Nothing had changed. The swimsuit pinup still had the prime ministers head. The radio with the busted bass grated out music from the top bunk; from beyond the grave a singer admonished us against crying over a lost love. After waiting to be sure the DJ would read the weather report in her bubblegum voice, I sat up.

I shifted my weight as I sat on the edge of the bed. I pinched my arm as hard as I could. The spot I pinched started to turn red. It hurt like a bitch. Tears blurred my vision. Yonabaru craned his neck over the. Whats the matter? Still asleep?

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You need my signature? Yonabaru disappeared from view. Mind if I ask something a little weird? I just need you to sign on the dotted line. His voice came from over the bed frame. Dont need you to write anything else. No funny drawings of the lieutenant on the back or nothin. Why would I do that? I dunno.

Its what I did the first time I signed. Dont start comparingah, forget it. What I wanted to ask was, the attacks tomorrow, right? Thats not the kinda thing they go changin up. Youve never heard of anyone reliving the same day over and over, have you?

There was a pause before he replied. You sure youre awake? The day after yesterdays today. The day after today is tomorrow. If it didnt work like that, wed never get to Christmas or Valentines Day. Then wed be fucked. Or not. Sweat it too much, youll turn into a feedheadend up losing your mind.

I stared blankly at the aluminum piping of the bed frame. When I was a kid, the war against the Mimics had already started. Instead of cowboys and Indians or cops and robbers, we fought aliens using toy guns that fired spring-loaded plastic bullets.

They stung a little when they hit, but that was all. Even up close they barely hurt. I always played the hero, taking the hit for the team. Id spring out courageously into the line of fire, absorbing one bullet after another. I did a little jump with each successive hit, performing an impromptu interpretive dance. I was really good at it. Inspired by the heros. With his noble sacrifice, hed ensured humanitys salvation. Victory would be declared, and the kids whod been the bad guys would come back to the human side and everyone would celebrate.

There was no game like it. Pretending to be a hero slain in battle was one thing. Dying a hero in a real war was another. As I got older, I understood the difference, and I knew I didnt wanna die. Not even in a dream. Some nightmares you cant wake up from, no matter how many times you try. Me, I was trapped in a nightmare, and no matter how many times I woke up, I was still trapped.

That I knew I was caught in. I fought back panic. But was it really happening to me again? The same day Id already lived through twice was unfolding again around me. Or maybe it was all a nightmare, after all. Of course things would be happening the way I remembered them. It was all in my head, so why not? This was ridiculous. I punched the mattress. Had I dreamed that black point flying at me?

Was the javelin that shattered my breastplate and pierced my chest all in my head? Had I imagined the blood, the coughing up bits of lung? Let me tell you what happens when your lungs are crushed. You drown, not in water, but in air. Gasp as hard as you like, crushed lungs cant pass the oxygen your body needs to your bloodstream. All around you, your friends are breathing in and out without a second thought while you drown alone in a sea of air.

I never knew this until it happened to me. Id never even heard about it. I definitely hadnt made that up. It really happened. It didnt matter if I never told anyone, if no one ever believed me. It would still. The sensation it had imprinted on my mind was proof enough of that. Pain that shoots through your body like a bolt of lightning, legs so damn heavy it feels like theyve been stuffed with sandbags, terror so strong it crushes your heartthats not the stuff of imagination and dreams.

I wasnt sure how, but Id been killed. No doubt about it. I didnt mind listening to Yonabaru tell some story Id already heard before. Hell, Id do that ten times, a hundred, the more the better. Our daily routines were all filled with that same repetitive shit. But going back into battle? No thanks. If I stayed here, Id be killed. Whether I died before or after Yonabaru didnt really matter. There was no way I could. I had to get away. I had to be anywhere but here.

Even saints have limits to their patience, and I was no saint. Id never been one to blindly believe in God, Buddha, any of that shit, but if somebody up there was going to give me a third chance, I wasnt about to let it go to waste. If I sat here staring up at the top bunk, the only future I had ended in a body bag.

If I didnt want to die, I had to move. Move first, think later. Just like they taught us in training. If today was a repetition of yesterday, Ferrell would be around any minute. The first time he showed up Id been taking a dump, the second Id been chatting it up with Yonabaru.

After that wed be off to. That got me thinking.