Corporal Francis Francis Francis the 3rd was having a great time in the afterlife. One second he was getting ready to watch the fireworks, the next he was in a warm fluffy white space with all kinds of chow for him to eat.
They even had this stuff called ambrosia he could mix with his Rip-Its to make a pretty potent jungle juice. His buddies would have loved it here. Francis wondered what his fellow grunts were up to. They were probably killing something or making holes in someone else's country, the lucky bastards.
A weird thing was happening to him though. Whenever he picked something up he instantly knew what it was. It was like reading labels, but without all the headaches. There wasn’t any chaw though, which was disappointing. He would have given someone’s left nut for a can of wintergreen dip.
At least he had his shorts, dog tags, and flip flops. The pink Calvin Klein booty shorts were his good luck charm and the matching flip flops had a bottle opener built into the bottom. He had picked them up on a day trip to Tijuana along with a case of crabs (the red shelled ones were the base commander’s favorite).
The assembled deities discussed this frustrating new champion. So far their attempts to gain the man’s attention had failed. Usually it was simple. One of the gods walked up, introduced themselves, explained they were looking for a champion to fight in their name, and the system handled the rest. But this one was being difficult.
Aphrodite decided to give it a try. “Hey big boy!” She called out, letting her purple robe fall down to the ground. “Want to come be my champion and fight monsters?”
The Marine looked at the naked goddess for a moment then went back to drinking his jungle juice. He had seen better looking women down in Oceanside. Francis didn’t know what these strange people in sandals pretending to be gods wanted. They weren’t Jesus Christ, Johnny Cash, Betty White, General Mattis, or John Moses Browning, so he decided to ignore them until someone important showed up.
“Do you think he understands us?” Zeus asked, scratching at his golden beard.
“I have no idea.” Shiva replied. “But he has to pick soon before the other ones show up. Do you want someone like him falling into your brother’s hands?”
“No, I definitely do not.” Zeus formed a plan. The mortal seemed food oriented. If they each grabbed a plate or bowl from the table he would get hungry and come to them. Technically that would be close enough to choosing for the system to work its magic. But they had to hurry, the other gods were already showing up. He could see Hades and his ilk creeping towards the hero’s feast.
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A few minutes later they stood in a circle around the now empty table. Zeus saw that some of the new arrivals had managed to grab a plate too. But that couldn’t be helped. Cautiously the Marine looked around. Then, for the first time since Francis arrived, something got his attention. He walked towards Zeus.
Yes, this was as things should be. Zeus thought. He had been clever enough to grab the food the mortal liked best, something the system identified as “Taco Rice”.
Zeus was the strongest of the gods. He deserved the strongest champions. This Marine would be a fine addition to his stable of warriors. Zeus’ expression soured when Francis grabbed the bowl of Taco Rice from his hands and continued walking.
Zeus turned around to see Hades standing a few paces behind him waving a short fat green can the system identified as “Wintergreen Smokeless Tobacco”. The god of thunder tried to control his rage. He had been outsmarted by the lord of the underworld, yet again.
“It’s amazing what mortals will do for this stuff, even if it kills them.” Hades said pleasantly as he tapped his finger against the can of dip. He made no attempt to hide the dark delight in his eyes. Delight, which turned to disappointment. Francis plucked the can of dip from his cold dead fingers and continued walking.
“I think we are both going to miss out.” Zeus said, pointing at the newest arrival. “Murder Cube is here.”
The Marine came to a stop in front of a black cube covered in bent and broken weapons. It was seven meters tall and seemed to drink the light. The other gods shied away. They didn’t know how to act around Murder Cube. It was one of the new gods from the memetic pantheon and it didn’t talk much. Though sometimes it would spout random numbers and gibberish.
Francis reached out a rough hand and stroked the cube. It shivered at his touch. There was a sound of metal on metal as the restless weapons woke up. He had never seen anything so beautiful. (Besides maybe his ex wife.)
Somehow he knew what to do. It was like he had been looking for something his whole life and finally found it. “Seven. Six. Two.” He called out, drawing on the ancient knowledge of the grunts that came before him.
"FULL METAL JACKET!” Shrieked the Murder Cube in a voice like a vibrating bone saw. The ancient call and response had stirred something within it. “SEVEN! SIX! TWO! FULL METAL JACKET!”
The Murder Cube began to spin violently. A second later both the cube and its new champion disappeared in a puff of mustard gas.
“Well, that’s pretty fucking ominous.” Zeus said.
***
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