Chapter Text
Kananto’s motto is engraved above its main street: Even this earth shall flow. Many who visit the city ponder its meaning while gazing up from the packed thoroughfare. Traffic reports in Kananto (for those who still use radio) use the phrase to sign off, assuring commuters that the gridlock shall move -- one of these days.
Even this earth shall flow: it’s a second scripture to some. Tourists admire its inscription above the historic cemetery, on their way to visit the shrine of Felgrand. They will often seize upon its meaning while relaxing on the bank of the Suijin River: Nothing in life is permanent, least of all its foundation. The moniker will then caption the social media post documenting the trip, beneath a blurry photo of an S-Forcer charging into battle. Historians at the Kozaky Institute have recently begun to push back on the popular interpretation, arguing that an allusion to death is a postmodernist revision. Kanan was a warrior with the superstitions of her time, and her words would have rung out as defiant or even prophetic. It is here that their students’ eyes glaze over as their brains, like earth, flow out their ears.
Even this earth shall flow: concrete poured into molding, the drone of jackhammers from two blocks away. Kananto’s historic facade gives way to construction scaffolds and tarpaulin advertising the Infinitrack Company, its own motto being “Keep It Rail!” which has aged past its awfulness into some cult fondness from locals. It’s not quite nostalgia, since the work will never cease.
Even this earth shall flow, but the roots run deep, and they will hold to it steadfastly. In Jowgen Memorial Park, meliae trees bristle softly, their needles a unique grass-like texture. A dip in the skyline, it reacts slowly to the land developments all around. There is talk in city council of repurposing the area: as one bold alderman proposed, perhaps this earth can flow elsewhere.
What keeps the park in place is not the looming statue of James Jowgen, whose heroic military service was overshadowed by his later career as a statesman which led to the “Big Stun” recession. It is rather the statue of his beloved dog Marron, a labradoodle whose curly fur is lovingly rendered in bronze. His modest pedestal puts him at petting level, and the top of his head shines from good-luck rubbing. Doubtless he will be visited by the students of the Kozaky Institute the night before their history exam, but today people will have to wait their turn, as a young woman has been petting Marron for fifteen minutes now.
“Excuse me, are you finished yet?” This comes from the man in line behind her, baffled that there is a line at all. He’s got fifteen minutes left in his lunch break, and the managers at Mokey’s disapprove of leaving for lunch to begin with, let alone asking for a raise afterwards.
The young woman seems to ignore him. Looking at her, she is dressed rather strangely, with a black off-shoulder jacket over a bright yellow leotard. She’s probably a tourist; maybe she doesn’t speak English. He taps her on the shoulder.
She whirls around, and he is stricken with fear at her smile. “Hello, citizen!” she stammers, extending a hand that vises open and shut. “Chiyo Rihan of the S-Force is here to help!”
The man nods hesitantly. He was debating pushing past her to grab Marron’s luck for himself, but if she’s S-Force, then she must have a good reason for petting so long. Is there an active threat related to the dog statue?
Chiyo Rihan, upon being left hanging, retracts her hand and brings her elbows into a stiff, hokey-pokey pose. “Not to worry, citizen,” she says. “While I’m here, your Safety is guaranteed! Or else we’re not the S-Force!”
Of course, the S stands for security, and “we” does not include her. Chiyo Rihan, of the Rihan shinobi clan, has not actually met the other members of S-Force yet. But her grandfather, an illustrious ninja by the name of Jioh, served many proud years in their ranks, and personally promised Commander Justify that his clan would one day send its best ninja to aid their cause. Chiyo is the first of these ninja, and upon her arrival in Kananto, she took one look above her and saw a samurai leap from a rooftop, slicing down in midair a giant salmon that had emerged from the Suijin. She immediately lost her nerve and latched onto one of the footnotes from her grandfather’s stories: the good-luck statue in old Jowgen Park.
So here she is, working up the courage to go to the S-Force headquarters and submit herself as their newest member. The entire weight of the proud Rihan Clan is on her shoulders: her father did not meet the standards during his generation, and humbly admitted this as he stepped aside for his daughter, who would represent their tradition to the new world. Chiyo is stressed, but she supposes that’s what having a job is like.
The man, the Mokey’s warehouse worker, considers Chiyo for another moment. Even the S-Force has a uniform. Without that uniform, she’s either equipped as a senior member, or lying through her teeth. Looking at things objectively, she’s most probably lying. But the kunai hanging at her belt look real, and, frankly, she’s creeping him out. Best not to mess with her even if she’s lying.
He smiles and walks away. Chiyo Rihan, defender of peace, returns to petting the dog statue.
The people in line begin to grumble and disperse. A jogger weaves past their sidewalk obstruction. Chiyo feels warmth spreading through her palm, the sun’s heat bringing Marron back to life.
Just now, she thinks, she was able to reassure that citizen by affirming her status as an S-Force member. Did it really matter that she doesn’t consider herself up to the task? The S-Force are more than just interdimensional police: they are symbols, and it is honorable to uphold the vision of peace they represent across the world. And she is Chiyo Rihan, the pride of Rihan clan. If she cannot uphold the strength of her grandfather, she will uphold the honor of her father.
Chiyo has surely been rubbing for a full twenty minutes when a scream rings out behind her.
“Help!”
She whirls around, cursing her worries for dulling her senses. The man is standing in the plaza area, in front of the tiered fountain. He has a screwdriver in his hand, pressed hard into the neck of the girl he’s holding with his other. There are people standing around, nervously circling him like a zookeeper appeasing an animal. They are slowly surrounding him, but this is a bad move. Once he is cornered, he will be provoked.
The girl is sobbing. Her neck throbs around the spear-tip of the screwdriver, near to puncture.
“Get back!” screams the attacker, twisting his implement like it will undo the screws holding the girl’s head on. “I want the S-Force!”
Many people stumble back, but one middle-aged woman holds up her phone. “I just called them,” she says defiantly. “They’re gonna come for you.”
The attacker laughs. “Good, good. As for the rest of you, I want you to gather up by that bench, okay? Give me and the S-Forcer a nice open space to fight.”
“He’s insane,” someone mumbles, but they do as he says. They’re emboldened by the announcement of imminent arrival, perhaps even a little hopeful that it’s a senior member that shows up to confront him.
What they see is Chiyo Rihan arriving on the scene, a kunai raised in her hand.
“So, you’re the villain who’s been terrorizing this city!” she says, tossing the kunai to herself end-over-end. “Well, your reign stops here and now at the hands of S-Force Chiyo!”
“Chiyo?” The attacker looks her up and down. “Never heard of you. What’s this getup supposed to be?”
Chiyo laughs off his insult, but her clothing insecurity will get the better of her later this afternoon. For now, she replies: “I’ve never heard of you, either. And these clothes are the battle uniform of a Rihan shinobi!”
“What kind of ninja tells you they’re a ninja?” the attacker retorts. He points with his screwdriver towards the street. “Get lost, kid. I don’t wanna have to-”
As he brings his screwdriver back in, his eyes catch a flicker of movement from Chiyo’s sleeve. The kunai spirals as it is thrown, and its tail corkscrews through the air, and all this goes unseen in the split-second it takes to reach its target. Suddenly the man finds his arm yanked backwards, his hand empty. The kunai is buried in the granite of the fountain, the screwdriver hanging from its tail ring.
The attacker eventually reacts, putting both arms around his captive’s neck as though to choke her out. But this movement wastes all the time he had left. A shadow crosses his face: Chiyo suspended in midair, both knees to her chest.
Her dropkick sends the man hurtling back, releasing his grip and tumbling end over end into the fountain, momentarily splitting the sea with his wake. The girl, losing her balance, falls back over the lip, her bottom splashing in three inches of water.
Chiyo doesn’t hear the cheers around her at first, still lost in the exhilaration of the fight. It was her first real battle on her own, and the jitters come rushing back through her arms, making her drop the other kunai as her blood starts vibrating. She doesn’t react until the girl calls out to her.
“Can you give me a hand?”
She’s pretty, and soaking wet. Her black hair, tied in a ponytail, has highlights that make it a burnished grey. Once she’s on her feet, she looks back at the man in the fountain with a mixture of anger and annoyance. Chiyo looks away as she unsticks the wet seat of her yoga pants.
“So, you’re an S-Forcer?” she says, which Chiyo takes as permission to look at her again. “Didn’t know they hired cuties.” She smiles, her hand reaching for Chiyo’s face.
Chiyo grabs it, this time with both hands. “Ma’am, I think you might still be in shock. I mean, that was seriously scary! He was -- he had you --”
To Chiyo’s shock and utter mortification, she realizes that she is crying. The adrenaline of combat has all dried up, and now the stress is snapping every brittle thing inside her, and she’s crying in front of Kananto and all her ancestors. Even these tears shall flow, especially these tears.
A hand brushes her cheek. She’s looking into eyes now -- no, they’re looking into her.
“Thank you for saving me,” the girl says. She is earth, flowing and full.
Chiyo smiles and wipes her tears. Now she can hear the applause from the others, and she waves to them before turning back to face her foe, as a hero must.
The man is slumped against the fountainhead, unconscious. He’s stubbly and tall, wearing a jumpsuit with “Gustaph’s Auto” sewn onto the front. He’s also wearing a red bow tie; Chiyo sees it and hopes to one day understand Kananto clothing trends.
The crowd’s cheering gets louder again. Chiyo turns as a floating node appears in the trees, distorting as it extends three arms and inscribes a circle of light. Each third fills with iridescence, and they hum as a man dives through the portal into the plaza. He rolls as he lands, draws a gun from his holster and levels it, the chamber glowing red between the barrel’s distinct rails. Fringe swishes at his shoulders, his coat collar and neckerchief sharp at attention. His silver badge gleams, an hourglass encircled by a gear, as does the logo on his belt buckle, an S intersecting an F. He glances around furtively, then allows a smile and tips his hat up.
“Something you folks need from little old me?”
Someone screams; this time it’s the middle-aged woman. “Orrafist! It’s really you! I mean, we’re fine, just now, there was a man but Chiyo took care of it. Could I have your autograph?”
Orrafist raises his hand, politely declining this request and all others. “Sorry, but I need to check out the scene. I’ve got a job to do, and that’s keeping y’all safe.”
“Of course we’re safe with Orrafist around!” a man cheers.
The man in the fountain has not moved; Orrafist stands over him curiously. With his off-hand, he removes a device from his belt and waves it over the man, doing another pass after he’s sure he’s got it. Then he speaks into his wrist.
“Anything?”
The line crackles. “Nothing yet. You should bring him in, though, along with any witnesses.”
Orrafit turns to look at the witnesses, who have devolved into a caterwauling fan club. “The call mentioned a girl taken hostage, but I don’t think she’s here anymore. I’m still looking for the weapon, too. Think that’s got something to do with it?”
“I doubt it.”
“Well,” Orrafist said, hauling the unconscious man upright, “keep doubting it while I bring this guy in. I’ll book him myself, but that’s it for the day, got that? No more calls.”
“Sure, Orrafist. Get home safe.”
Orrafist scoffs and taps the wrist communicator with his gun hand. “That purple princess,” he mutters, before slinging the man over his shoulder and turning to go. Though, something catches his eye, and he squats down in the fountain, realizing too late that his coat touches the water. Still he is fascinated by the sight of the screwdriver hanging in the kunai, itself buried four inches into the granite.