A blockade of jeeps, Guns fixed on all sides as soldiers parachute in above the city. My escort buddies stop and hop out. With the newfound and unnatural spring in my step, I jog in. A soldier raises his gun, “Get this man a uniform and gun!” “Old blood?!” My fist stops from raising, instead of a fist, the old salute, “Diesel Jaggentide, back in action!” I catch my uniform, put it on- I roll my shoulders, “Heavier than I remember.” A man slaps my back, “Better armor than your time!” He hands me a rifle, I load a mag in, chamber a round and smile, “I guess so.”

I march through the blockade and get into a big tent, people scatter amongst laptops, the flat little things. A man stands up, “Who’s this old man? Get him out.” I march up to him, “What’s going on?” He raises his brow, “Who are you to talk to me like that?” “Diesel Jaggentide, what is our situation?” He scoffs and turns, “Go home.” I follow after him, “No way. People are dying.” He turns to me, “You’re all wrinkled, old. There’s nothing you can do.” I grab him by his uniform, lift him in the air. Everyone turns to me in shock as he goes stiff, we both look down at my arms, then lock eyes, “I guess homestead life kept me strong.” He stares into my eyes as I lower him down. He takes a second, then growls, “Fine. There’s a unit outside, they’re cleared to move out. Now get out before I have you arrested.”

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How could I lift him? I barely could raise a hoe anymore, now- That energy flows in waves, towards my heart. I need to put all this power to use.