Manny rolled his eyes. What the flaming hell is a cubit? He skimmed the next few verses, until he realized which story he’d stumbled upon. His religious schooling hadn’t been intense, but he had gone to church most Sundays for the better part of a decade. He’d listened to enough sermons and attended enough Sunday school classes to know the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, three stupid assholes who’d walked into a furnace and trusted in deus ex deus to save them.

“…If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and he will deliver us from Your Majesty’s hand. But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.”

It struck Manny that his current predicament had more than a little in common with these ancient men (if they’d ever existed in the first place). The chief difference was that, of course, Manny wasn’t praying for the help of a God. He was, however, strongly hoping for rescue from a god-like being. That felt close enough to give him a sense of kinship toward the men in the story.

“The king’s command was so urgent and the furnace so hot that the flames of the fire killed the soldiers who took up Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, and these three men, firmly tied, fell into the blazing furnace.”

He hadn’t remembered that bit from Sunday school, the part where the King’s soldiers were burnt alive by the heat of his fire. Manny wondered what kind of soldiers would so willing step into a pointless death at some mad king’s command. And then he remembered where he was. He looked up from the Bible at the twenty or so armed men stationed around the factory. I really, really hope someone comes along to burn them to death.

Manny heard footsteps behind him. He looked back this time and saw Dr. Arnst advancing with two guards and Isaac. The bald little man was visibly excited. An obscene smile played across his features. He held an almost comically large needle in his hands. Manny looked from him over to the doctor.

“Emmanuel,” Dr. Arnst said, “it’s time.”

Manny stood. His mind raced for some sort of delaying tactic.

“I need to, um, pray. More. I need more pray-time.”

Confusion passed over all the men’s faces. “Time is of the essence here,” Dr. Arnst insisted. “Don’t delay this important work because you’re scared. Trust in the Lord. Open your heart to his will.”

“See, I have, I totally have,” Manny stammered. “And I’m pretty sure he’s actually not down with this. Yeah, I think he wants me to be a soldier. A regular soldier. With a gun. Not a brain in a drone.”