RONIN - File 03: Shrine of the Blacksmith
SHINRA TOWER, MIDGAR MILITARY POLICE BARRACKS, 40th FLOOR DISC 02 - JULY 2010
Captain Stellato Noctis-Debesa, Commanding Officer of the Shinra Military Police’s Charlie Company stood before the door to the conference room. With her tri-lens helmet in the crook of her left arm, she reached for the I.D. card on her duty belt. She looked at the photo on the I.D., an old habit she was barely aware of. Stellato’s photo from 3 years prior stared back--a short crop of unkempt, midnight-black hair framed a comely face. Her eyes were the blue of sapphires in sunlight. The grave expression she always seemed to wear wreathed those sapphires in shadow. She touched her I.D. to the card reader beside the door. As the tally light above the reader shifted from red to green, the heavy steel door to the conference room slid open. Already seated at the horseshoe-shaped conference table was Alpha Company Commander, Captain Chanceton Vega, although, given his gargantuan size, he sat as tall as most men stood. The fluorescent ceiling light of the conference room was an ovular halo that tinted everything in it a pale, sterile green. Stellato took her place beside Vega and sat down, nodding once to acknowledge Vega. If he had even taken notice of the acknowledgement was unknown--Vega sat as still as a statue. Moments later the door slid open again and Bravo Company Captain Argyle Thule and Paramilitary Commander, General Zedrick LaVend filed in. Upon seeing Zedrick, both Stellato and Vega stood to attention. “As you were,” Zedrick said, his voice noticeably more subdued than usual. Clad in a pitch black version of the Shinra High Command uniform, General Zedrick LaVend was a paragon of martial authority. His service record was classified, but all who served under him knew the veracity of his veteran status, which was most evident whenever he was addressing those in his command. Today, he spoke in the hint of a tone that Stellato had heard before in other warriors. In lesser warriors. As if what he had to say somehow diminished who he was. “SOLDIER is mobilizing for an immediate operation,” Zedrick began, “and the MP corps are to provide support in a vanguard assault.” Stellato exhaled a strained breath. Assist SOLDIER in a vanguard assault? she thought, more like use our MPs as a frontline diversion. Zedrick continued. “You are to mobilize every asset of your respective companies in the subsequent operation, but you are to do so quietly. You are to coordinate your deployments while maintaining complete vox silence.” The three captains exchanged puzzled looks. Argyle looked completely perplexed, both eyebrows raised and wide-eyed. Despite herself, Stellato let out an incredulous gasp. Before speaking what was on everyone’s mind, Vega made a rumbling noise that resonated bass through the conference room. “Begging your pardon, General sir,” Vega began, “we’re going after one of our own, aren’t we?” Zedrick straightened and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, there was not but forced resolve in them. “The following individuals are to be brought in under the charge of treason: Evan Oris, Riwin Koucha, Shizune Mai, and Valerick Goodliffe. We are to apprehend them in a blitzkrieg operation in approximately 30 minutes in their office compound on the 66th floor of this very building. You each have some familiarity with the capabilities of some of these individuals. I have only just been granted access to their actual files ten minutes ago, and I say to each of you in deadly earnest--however dangerous and capable you know these people to be--they are far more deadly than whatever you are imagining. That is why all of SOLDIER is being mobilized for this takedown.” After the shock of the moment washed over them, all three company captains began speaking at the same time. “That’s ridiculous!” spat Vega, “Shizune Mai is no traitor! Her crimson is the very blood of Shinra!” “That doesn’t make any sense,” Argyle said, “Floors 61 through 70 are the hangar bays and storage. There are no offices there…” “Is this a joke? Is that why Major Goodliffe isn’t here at this meeting?” Stellato said with venom misdirected at Zedrick. “You’re serious--we’re going after Major Goodliffe?” “HE IS NO MAJOR!” Zedrick shouted, slamming his fist into the conference room desk and silencing all of the captains assembled in the room. Flakes of plastic rattled to the floor from the fist-sized crater now in the conference desk. “He is no Major,” Zedrick repeated slowly, this time regaining his composure. “He is no longer worthy of his rank, appellations, or reputation.” Zedrick closed his eyes again, as if wounded. “None of them are.” The captains sat in silence. “We don’t have time for your shock. I require your skills. Mobilize your forces within the barracks. Maintaining radio silence over the vox channels is key for this operation. We are to be the forefront assault force, while SOLDIER flanks in for the deathblow. I cannot stress enough how dangerous these people are. They are T…” Zedrick stuttered for merely a split second, but all the captains noticed. “They are to be treated with the highest threat level,” Zedrick continued, “Capture if possible, shoot-to-kill is authorized. The longer we prolong this fight, the higher our casualty rate goes. I shit you not.” Zedrick gritted his teeth. “Major Oris of Special Forces will be coordinating the strike once your companies have been deployed. Now get on with it.” Zedrick turned sharply on his heel towards the door and left swiftly. The three company captains immediately stood to attention and followed suit, Argyle and Stellato exchanging uneasy glances as they left the conference room and made a bee-line sprint straight for the barracks. Vega, last to leave the room, strode behind the other two captains down the hallway, but he did not maintain pace. There was something heavier in his steps than simply his physical bulk. His every step was laden with a maelstrom of loyalty and conflict within. The trek back to the barracks seemed to take him much longer than usual, and he could see that there was already a flurry of MP activity at the barracks just ahead. Stellato and Argyle had apparently already ordered the muster of their companies. Amidst the beehive of teal- and yellow-scarf MPs, a particularly quick and clumsy movement down the hall toward him made him halt inexplicably. Charlie Company Lance Corporal Jika Thunderson was running at full sprint down the hallway, barking orders to himself as usual. “Gotta get ready for the attack,” he panted purposefully. “This is my chance to protect Midgar, the all and everyone!” Before Vega could roll his eye in fruitless disgust as he usually did when witnessing most of what the other MPs in other companies did, an idea struck him with all the suddenness of a freight train. Would it be a sufficient warning?/Why are you trying to warn her at all? Vega thought simultaneously. At this point in the hallway, the both of them were out of earshot, as far as Vega could tell. He reacted before his thoughts negated the opportunity. Just as Jika was passing around him, Vega shot a murderously powerful arm out and picked Jika up off the floor by the carry handle of his combat harness. Jika let out a confused whimper as he hung suspended above the blue marbled floors, legs still dangling in a meaningless run. Vega brought him up to eye-level to address him. “Lance Corporal Thunderson,” Vega rumbled, “I have an important task that must be carried immediately. You will see to it.” “But Captain Vega, sir, I have been instructed by Captain Stellato to-” “BELAY THAT ORDER AND OBEY ME.” “OK-OK-OK!” Jika fumbled in rapid succession. Jika’s slipshod response gave Vega the urge to put Jika through the wall, which would have resulted in him falling out of Shinra Tower, but Vega reminded himself that time was of the essence. He tightened his grip on Jika. “Some of our combat elements are still out on patrol on the plate,” Vega began. “You WILL put out an APB over ALL of the main MP vox channels for the mission targets. Make sure it goes out as a priority broadcast, so do it from coms central. You will do it immediately.” “But Captain Stellato said-” “NOW, THUNDERSON!” Vega threw Jika overhand down the hall. Jika fumbled in midair like a haphazard cat and hit the ground running, rebounding off a wall before regaining his balance mid-stride. He threw out a terrified “yessir” before disappearing down the hallway on his way to coms central. Vega straightened to his full height once more, exhaling long and slow beneath his crimson face mask. Is this the right thing to do? Vega thought to himself before blinking away the doubt with his remaining right eye. It doesn’t matter. She is no traitor. Vega turned to resume his trek to the barracks, but the vision before him stopped him dead in his tracks. If there was ever such a thing as fear in Captain Chanceton Vega’s world, it would have shown upon his soul at that very moment. Standing ahead of him at the end of the hallway was Major Rhian Oris, commanding officer of the SSF--Shinra Special Forces--and former commanding officer of Alpha Company when he and Shizune had started as cadets years ago. Known informally as the Shadow Maiden amongst the Paramilitary forces at large for her stealth and efficient lethality, Rhian was a battlefield goddess of death in her full battle gear, the pinnacle of which was the powered exoskeleton which scaffolded her combat webbing and body armor with hydraulic pistons of varying size and design, a piece of signature equipment unique to the SSF. Like Vega, Rhian’s face was similarly hidden behind a military-grade aramid-weave facemask, though hers was the color of the SSF--the dark grey of tombstones in a winter that had only known moonlight. Her platinum blonde mane was tied up in the fearsome top-knot of a warrior queen, and although she was half the size of Vega, anyone watching the interaction now would have been able to tell immediately that it was Vega who was the lesser. She stared Vega directly in the eye, arms folded pugnaciously in front of her chest. Vega made a sound that was like an ogre coughing. “Major,” he began. “Vega, did you just do what I think you just did?” Rhian said incredulously. Vega meant to respond, but his body was now having a mutiny and refused to move or speak. He knew that to answer truthfully was to also be labelled traitor. He knew equally that to lie to Rhian would mean his immediate execution at her hands. Vega knew in that moment which of those two futures he preferred. “Yes, ma’am,” Vega confessed evenly, the undertones like the thunder of a storm in the distance. Rhian scoffed abruptly and began walking toward Vega. As the distance between them closed, Vega stood up straighter, almost standing at attention. He clenched his fists, steeling himself for any number of outcomes, and mustered the reserves of his will for a final valediction. “Major Mai,” Vega began, “she is no traitor, and she would not willingly associate with traitors. I will not abide that falsehood. I would rather burn then let them make me be a liar.” Rhian’s pace remained unwaveringly steady. Terminal. “That makes two of us,” she said, as she walked briskly past Vega and down the hall. “Carry on, Captain.” As soon as Rhian disappeared around the corner at the far end of the hall, Vega closed his eye and drew in the deep breath that he was certain a moment ago didn’t belong to him any longer. As he unclenched his fists and opened his eye again, a burst of static sounded over his com unit, followed by the voice of innocent confusion. “This is Jika Thunderson! I’m issuing an official arrest order for the following individuals…” OPENING (Ronin Theme): “YOUNG MEN DEAD” by THE BLACK ANGELS
NAGASE SHRINE, SOUTHERN WUTAI DISC 03 - JULY 2015 The climb up the steps to Nagase Shrine had been more demanding than Shizune had initially thought. She had arrived at the mountain town of Aoyama at around noon, and the Wutaian summer heat and humidity seemed to especially revel in its work that day. The train ride from Banshu on the coast had been serene (and air conditioned), but much longer than Riwin had made it sound when he tipped Shizune off to this place during his unexpected visit two days prior. “She was from here, in Banshu you know? And she was married to a famous blacksmith, Junichiro Nagase, who if I’m not mistaken has a shrine named after him not too far from this shop.” Riwin had said at the end of his surprise visit. In Banshu? Shizune thought angrily, wiping sweat from her brow with an inadequately-sized hand towel with an embroidered cat on it. Not too far from my shop, huh? The three hours on the train had translated to roughly 70km inland from the coastal proximity of Banshu. Traitor. Shizune thought as she saw Riwin’s smiling jackal-face in her mind’s eye. She continued trekking up the stone stairway, each ascending step providing less and less evenness than the last. She was here on a lead from Riwin, whose parting gift to Shizune before he left was an old photo of the poet Yae Nagase. This in and of itself would have been of mild curiosity to Shizune, who was already a fan of that poet, if not for the fact that Yae looked exactly like Shizune, the resemblance remarkably uncanny. Shizune, obviously Wutaian by birth, had been adopted by a couple from Midgar during her infancy. She never knew who her birth parents were, and that had always left an inexplicable hollowness within her that she could never truly ignore. The fact that Riwin had produced this strange photo, and that the shrine of Yae’s husband, the renowned Wutaian blacksmith Junichiro Nagase, was within trekking distance was impetus enough for Shizune to investigate. At worst, Shizune thought, this is an empty lead that turns into a daytrip of historical lessons, the points of which I can utilize to bolster my cover here in Wutai. At best… Shizune paused in her thoughts, reluctant to even ponder what pandora’s box of emotion might lie there. There are no ‘bests’ anymore. Shizune thought, ruefully, opting to default to her scientific analytical self. It’s nothing more than a coincidental, albeit uncanny, resemblance.
Shizune could finally see the top of the steps which culminated in a striking red tori, or shrine gate. Reinvigorated by the prospect of an end to this infernal stairway, Shizune increased her pace, trotting to a stop just as she reached the top. She stood under the tori gate and surveyed the shrine grounds. As Shizune had expected, Nagase Shrine was laid out in a similar fashion as other Wutaian shrines. The entire shrine was arranged according to the cardinal directions of North, South, East and West, and Shizune stood directly beneath the entrance tori gate on the South end of the shrine grounds. Before her was the perfectly-square expanse of the central courtyard. Arrayed in equally perfect symmetry around this courtyard were the various red-tile-roofed buildings which supported the shrine--a prayer house flanked the Eastern side, while the living quarters were situated on the opposite side to the Western flank. The Northern part of the Shrine was the primary ceremony area, which if Nagase Shrine was like other Wutaian shrines, likely also housed the reliquary, if there were any items of holy value to the people of this shrine. In the exact center of the courtyard was the granite statue of a the namesake of this shrine, the blacksmith Junichiro Nagase. The figure knelt on one knee atop a tall, rough-hewn granite plinth. With both of its massively muscled arms, it gripped a giant serrated buster sword, planted point-down. Its head was angled downward, eyes closed, and Shizune couldn’t tell if the overall composition was one of fatigue or deep thought. Perhaps both, who knew? The details of this statue were extremely well-crafted. As Shizune further admired the craftsmanship of the statue, she began to pick out the finely-wrought details--the contours of the skull, the brush-like fineness of the beard, the sharpness of the blade. It was a masterpiece, and truly deserved to be in the very center of this place. The midday summer sun beat down harshly everywhere, making all of the polished surfaces in the various buildings and statues shine sharply. Like many of the other shrines that dotted the Wutaian island continent, Nagase Shrine in the mountain village of Aoyama was staffed by several shrine maidens, all of whom wore the standard two-tone hakama of pure white on the upper wear and striking bright red on the lower wear. Shizune could see about a dozen of them busying themselves with various chores and tasks. A few were using straw brooms to sweep the stone walkways, a few others seemed to be washing and wiping down other areas and parts of the structures. Still others were attending to duties that Shizune had no knowledge about, but that looked like some traditional prayer-related duties. It was then, when she was observing the shrine maidens at work that Shizune noticed that something was out of joint.
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CHAT NOIR RESIDENTIAL COMPLEX, APT. 1701 UPPER PLATE, SECTOR 4, MIDGAR DISC 01 - APRIL 2005
“That ain’t right,” Valerick said. In his gloved, thick-fingered hands he held a framed photo of a young Wutaian high school girl of about 15-16 years of age, in a white sailor-type uniform with the green trim. The girl had her black hair styled in a slightly bushy bob-cut, the ends of which fanged sharply downward in a kind of stylish trident--one prong of hair on either side of her face, and one knifing straight down in front of her forehead. From beneath those bangs peered the eyes of a predator, set appropriately above a mouth that seemed as though it had never known a smile. He had never seen such an impressive resting bitch face on someone so young before. Despite the absurdity of it, Valerick thought that the young girl in the photo seemed to be getting more and more angry the longer he looked at her. “Wasn’t there ever a time when she was happy?” Valerick said aloud, mostly to himself.
Riwin popped his head around the right side of Valerick’s bulky shoulder to look at the photo and began immediately bawling with laughter. “There’s no way that’s her!” “Same eyes,” Valerick said. “Daggers of blue defiance. Those are the same eyes she aimed at me when I ordered her company to fall back during the block war last year.” Riwin had meant to respond verbally but instead continued to stare at the photo, pointing and laughing. “Enough,” Evan scolded. Riwin ended his outburst, capping off the laughter with a final inhale that inadvertently became a snort, which was enough to snap Valerick out of his odd perusal of the photo. He gently set the photo back down on the dresser, unconsciously replacing it to its original position and angle. Somehow, not even the dust around the photo had been disturbed. The three Turks of R0-414 had easily let themselves into Shizune’s modest apartment after both she and her informal sister of sorts, Ayumi Reina King, had left for their jobs for the day. To the average observer, they appeared to be casually going through the rooms at their leisure, each of them perusing and inspecting whatever seemed to pique their curiosity. In truth, they were each of them engaged in thoroughly scrutinizing the home environs of the potential candidate, as was R0-414’s unofficial custom when assessing new blood. After about a solid hour of inspection, the three Turks now found themselves reconvening in Shizune’s bedroom, with Valerick inspecting the various photos on her dresser and Riwin about to go through her closet. Evan had her arms folded across her chest and was staring at the bookshelf in Shizune’s room, her eyes scanning the titles of the books. “Report,” she said. “Well,” Valerick began, stepping away from the dresser and photos and turning to address Evan, “she appears to meet the prima facie loyalty qualifications. Nothing here disqualifies her for the position, anyhow. If she were working for the Nation of Wutai or AVALANCHE, I would have found something by now. She’s clean.” “There is one thing,” Riwin countered, as he was sifting through the dresser drawer, “her room is pretty messy and has lots of human-like things in it--like undergarments, bras, panties…” Valerick made a groaning, exasperated noise as he closed his eyes and shook his head in embarrassment. When he opened his eyes again Riwin was wearing Shizune’s bra and panties over his Turk suit and swaying with drunken, misplaced sexiness, admiring his own handiwork in the tall mirror in the corner of the bedroom. In the moment Valerick had broken visual contact with Riwin, he had somehow managed to don the underwear. It would have been impressive if it wasn’t so disturbing. “Anyone want sum fun?,” Riwin said in an opiated slur they had all heard before. “Let little ol’ Fat Sally cheer ya up and take ya away from youse troubles!” Valerick shot out his right hand in a brutal ridgehand strike aimed at the back of Riwin’s head, which Riwin immediately ducked under. “The hell was that for!?” Riwin shouted, re-adjusting the bra. “Get serious,” Valerick said flatly. “What? I am serious. I thought ‘The Crimson Lady’ was some kind of monster. Monsters don’t need underwear!” “Both of you, shut up,” Evan said, still staring at the bookshelf. “Neither of you noticed anything out of the ordinary?” Valerick and Riwin knew that Evan wasn’t simply asking, but trying to test them both. They immediately started scanning the room with their eyes for what she might be talking about. “ABOUT THIS BOOKSHELF,” Evan said. The three Turks walked closer to the bookshelf, Riwin and Valerick now flanking their commander as usual, with Evan leaning in much closer now to the books themselves. Her eyes narrowed briefly before she stood up straight again. “As Valerick said,” Evan began evenly, “she’s clean--free of the typical ‘dirt’, as it were...” Evan ran a slender finger across the surface of the shelf and raised it so that her two subordinates could see the wad of dust on it. “However,” she continued as she dusted her finger off, “she’s not a cleanly person.” Evan reached for the book on the shelf with the least amount of dust. As soon as she removed the book, an out-of-print edition of Hierarchical Power Structures in Materia-gathering Societies, the entire shelf slid neatly to the side, revealing a darkened room beyond. A halogen light flickered to life in the hidden room, casting sharp illumination on a small chamber with unpainted steel-reinforced concrete walls. Lining both the Eastern and Western walls were gun racks, each spot of which was occupied by what appeared to be highly-modified versions of standard-issue firearms. Entering the room from the newly-revealed entrance to the South, the three Turks saw that the Northern end of this chamber ended in an obsidian workstation, upon which sat a square cluster of 9 high-definition monitors. Riwin whistled his surprise, while Valerick frowned further. Evan simply grinned. “Alright, Koucha,” Evan said, “you’re on to something with this one.” “So...” Riwin said expectantly, “...she can join?” Valerick rubbed the back of his head, eyes closed in thought. “I don’t know about this one, Boss. She’s already got a reputation in both the Paramilitary and on both sides of the plate. Too much recognition. Plus, I think Major Oris pegged her for SSF. The internal review paperwork passed through my office last month. She’s a line officer. All punch, no subtlety--perfect for the SSF, in my opinion. Too loud and proud for us.” Though Evan was still listening intently to her subordinates, her eyes were locked onto the workstation humming and clicking discretely in the background. She remained silent for few moments longer before turning on her heel to leave. “Koucha,” she said, “where is she currently?” “Today’s Alpha’s turn in VR on the 60th floor. Shall I call a meeting, ma’am?” Riwin said, barely able to contain his excitement. “Please do,” Evan said, “and take off that underwear.” Just before she left the hidden chamber, she turned to Valerick. “Line officers don’t hack hardened networks or invent new weapons. If she is what I think she is, then I won’t let Rhian have her. Our organization lacks a certain kind of innovation. Our agents are all beyond creative in their plannings and operations, but we lack the technical expertise as a whole to pull off everything we plan. Technical innovation and mechanical inventiveness,” she said, gesturing to the workstation and the gun racks, each in turn. Evan turned to regard the other Turks. “And this one might actually be useful…” Evan said, her brow furrowed in thought.
“Nay, unique in that regard.”
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NAGASE SHRINE, SOUTHERN WUTAI DISC 03 - JULY 2015
Shizune froze for several moments as she noticed that all of the shrine maidens at Nagase Shrine sported bob-cuts and square-framed glasses. The fact that all of them were dressed and styled nearly identically was bizarre in and of itself, but the fact that all of them looked eerily similar to the way that Shizune had looked when she was still a Turk in Midgar was unnervingly surreal. Granted, Shizune Mai, now five years exiled from Midgar and in hiding as the long-haired, non-glasses-wearing cafe owner Rei Kashiwabara, did not presently resemble any of the shrine maidens. Still, the overall effect was that Shizune continued to stare at them in disbelief for several long seconds. And now, all of the shrine maidens began to stop their various chores to look back at the woman directly beneath tori gate with the long, raven-black hair. There was a palpable silence interrupted only by the sound of a crow echoing off the distant mountains as the former Turk and her shrine maiden doppelgangers regarded each other. “Good afternoon,” a refined female voice said from behind Shizune. “Welcome to Nagase Shrine.” Despite herself, Shizune let out a gasp and spun around, admittedly surprised that she had been snuck up on from behind, though she attributed that to her years out of practice and the scene she was just caught up in. A tall, young Wutaian woman was standing before Shizune. Although this woman was a few steps behind and below Shizune on the stairway, the fact that she was at eye level with Shizune meant that she was taller than Shizune by several inches. The woman was dressed in a similar fashion to the other shrine maidens, and despite the punishing heat of the summertime, wore an elaborately embroidered red robe over her garments. Even though the outfit made the her look wide with angular bulk, Shizune could tell that she was a very slender woman. Her long, sun-lightened hair was center-parted, tightly braided, and trailed down just beyond her waist, and her hands were folded neatly in front of her. She had a face that was the hint of softly smiling sadness, and despite her youthful appearance, she spoke with the grace and maturity of veteran royalty. “Forgive me for startling you,” she began in overly-formal Wutaian, “my name is Kiyoku Adachi, and I am the head priestess of Nagase Shrine.” Kiyoku gave a low and proper 90-degree Wutaian bow, which Shizune returned out of reaction. “Is this your first time to our shrine?” Kiyoku asked. “Yes, I’m afraid it is,” Shizune said with the awkward and embarrassed laugh-smile that was Rei Kashiwabara’s trademark. Kiyoku gestured gently with her hand towards the statue in the center of the courtyard. “I would be most pleased to show you around, miss...?” “Rei Kashiwabara,” Shizune said, beaming a smile. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Adachi.” “By all means, please call me Kiyoku,” she said, now ascending the rest of the steps to lead Shizune into the shrine. “Please follow me, and feel free to interrupt me at any time if you have any questions at all.” “Actually, yes,” Shizune said, “I was wondering why all of the shrine maidens here look like….well, the same as each other.” Kiyoku’s smile widened, and she raised a hand to cover her mouth. “That all of the shrine maidens here adopt the same look--it is perhaps one of the more stranger customs of the maidens of this shrine, but one that we all take quite seriously. It is considered the highest honor to adopt the look of Yae Nagase, the late wife of the Son of Iron.” “The Son of Iron?” Shizune asked. “Junichiro Nagase, the last blacksmith of the Daimyo of Banshu, is known throughout these provinces by his title, ‘The Son of Iron’,” Kiyoku explained, raising an upturned open palm toward the statue in the courtyard and beckoning Shizune to follow. Kiyoku lead Shizune through the courtyard towards the statue, taking small steps as she went. The confines of her clothing apparently limited a normal gait. As the two women approached the statue, Shizune noticed that all of the shrine maidens had resumed their duties, but her senses told her that all eyes were now on her. The clopping sound of Kiyoku’s wooden geta sandals echoed in the courtyard as they came to the foot of the statue. “This is the late Junichiro Nagase,” Kiyoku said with utter reverence. “The Son of Iron.” “You mentioned a moment ago that he was the last blacksmith of Banshu,” Shizune said, “but I thought that Banshu was on the Eastern coast. Isn’t this Aoyama?” Kiyoku nodded softly. “It is as you say--this is indeed presently Aoyama. But before the wars with Shinra, in the time when the Shogunate were still in power, when Wutai was still an unbroken blade, this entire region was known as Banshu, the home of the Son of Iron, and now, his final resting place.” Kiyoku inclined her head as the finished the phrase, apparently out of respect to the dead blacksmith. “I’m impressed with the detail on this statue,” Shizune said. “The Son if Iron must have been a very important person to demand such a tribute.” “He was indeed a very important person,” Kiyoku began, “but in truth, this is no statue.” Shizune blinked once, perplexed. “Pardon?” “In order to craft the finest weapons for the Shogunate,” Kiyoku explained, “a blacksmith must acquire and appraise his own materials. Unfortunately, the best materials for weapons and armor are in the same places as some of Banshu’s most dangerous fauna. While out gathering supplies, the Son of Iron was attacked by a particularly powerful beast which afflicted him with a strong petrify poison. While the blacksmith was able to escape back to his home, he finally succumbed to the effects of the spell and what you see before you is in fact the noble remains of the Son of Iron, himself.” Shizune was looking at the “statue” throughout the entirety of Kiyoku’s explanation. She felt an unsettling wave goosebumps ripple over the skin of her arms and neck upon hearing this that this was indeed a petrified person. In the distance by the reliquary to the north, Shizune noticed that several shrine maidens had gathered and, despite their efforts to look unassuming, were obviously gossipping about her. Kiyoku seemed to notice where Shizune’s gaze was drawn and slowly turned to face the northern reliquary. As soon as Kiyoku turned her attention to the reliquary, the shrine maidens gathered there dispersed like frightened squirrels. Kiyoku once again put a hand to her mouth to hide her laughing-smile. The gesture reminded Shizune of the benignly mischievous fox goddess of Wutaian myth, raising a paw to scratch at its nose. “You are of course welcome to enter the reliquary as an observer,” Kiyoku said, “if you wish.” Kiyoku led Shizune to the entrance of the reliquary, but before ascending the few steps to the reliquary entrance, Kiyoku removed her wooden geta slippers. She stopped before the sliding double doors and inclined her head forward for a moment, eyes closed, and seeming to utter a prayer under her breath, before sliding each of the doors open and entering. Shizune followed behind and entered. There were no windows in the reliquary, and the interior was considerably darker than the outside. The warm smell of ancient, fragrant woods and incense was pervasive here. It took Shizune a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the darkened interior. Eventually, Shizune began to make out more and more of her surroundings. Bladed weapons of various classification, size, and design were arrayed on display stands, their visage coming into focus like slivers of vengeful silver lightning. The maidens of this shrine had apparently tended to their duties to the utmost--none of the weapons in this reliquary were a shred below perfect quality and condition. In the very center of the room was a roughly 1.5 meter tall weathered mithril statue of a Wutaian long-whiskered dragon, coiled in an elongated S-pattern and standing upon a large black lava rock. It’s relatively small arms and legs were all sinewy muscle culminating in taloned claws. The eyes of the dragon were angry red rubies, and the dragon appeared to be biting down upon a large, polished purple-black spherical jewelstone that was about the size of a grapefruit. The jewel had an ugly hairline fracture running roughly down the center of it. As Shizune approached the dragon statue, eyes still locked on the sphere, she realized that it wasn’t a jewelstone at all. The dragon’s treasure was a cracked gravity materia. This gravity materia appeared to be somewhat larger and more imperfectly-shaped than common materia. Upon closer inspection, this materia appeared to have some kind of strange crystalline marbling visible in its inner translucent structure. Shizune’s eyes widened upon realizing what she was looking at. Natural Materia. Regular materia, the kind that was sold in stores throughout Gaia, was synthetically manufactured, and this was typically evident in the perfect spherical shape and in their general range of effectiveness, even at the more evolved levels. Natural materia, on the other hand, was exceedingly rare, only coming into being at naturally-occurring mako springs, and crystalizing only after several hundreds of years. Natural materia was also vastly more powerful than any normal synthetic materia. Shizune surmised that this particular natural gravity materia must be a very highly-evolved form of the gravity crystallization, likely on par with the 3rd tier gravity spell of the synthetically-manufactured, “normal” materia even at its base output. Shizune had never seen natural materia before, although the topic had come up fairly often enough when she was still the head of the Research and Logistics Division of the Turks. Turk mission parameters typically demanded the extreme, the unorthodox, or some combination thereof, so there were always requests from agents to increase materia slotting, amplify magic output, or to simply find ways to slot materia into items that typically had no such function, such as cigarette lighters or paper weights. Since materia always seemed to be a priority for agents, Shizune had done independent research into the topic, and natural materia seemed an easy solution to many of these scalability problems, but the acquisition of such rare materia was always a problem in and of itself. And now, here she was, staring an inert dragon statue in the face while it held a mythical bauble in its jaws. It took Shizune a force of effort to continue feigning ignorance. “Is that a…” Shizune began, pointing at the materia. “A…. What is that?” “This is known as the ‘Eye of Oblivion’,” Kiyoku responded. “It is the oldest and most treasured relic of the this shrine, passed down through the generations from the progenitor of the Nagase clan, Mugen Nagase. It is said that Mugen’s wife, the shogun Naotora Nagase, carried this unusual jewelstone into battle as a totem of favor and luck from the gods.” Jewelstone? Shizune thought, the misnomer sounding alerts in her mind. “It kinda looks like a big materia,” Shizune said to probe the point. Kiyoku donned her sad smile once again, regarding the Eye for a moment before answering. “That it does,” she said softly, “and many visitors have have seen the Eye have commented similarly. We do believe that this jewelstone has much spiritual power, but in terms of granting magic in the same way that materia does, it simply is not so.” She either doesn’t know what it truly is... Shizune thought, continuing to nod intently and still wearing the curious, wide-eyed expression of Rei. ...or she is lying.
\ \ \
SHINRA TOWER, 66TH FLOOR MIDGAR DISC 02 - NOVEMBER 2005
The four members of R0-414 were seated at the darkly lacquered conference table for their regularly-scheduled meeting. Evan, Valerick, Riwin, and Shizune were all dressed in fully besuited Turk attire, but unlike the rest of them, Valerick Goodliffe was also noticeably beaten and battered--the entire right side of his face was fully bandaged in gauze, which wound down around his neck to disappear abruptly where his collared shirt and necktie began. More injury evidenced itself in both the medical sling which now cradled his left arm, as well as the various cuts and bruises which could be seen on whatever skin was actually visible while he was wearing his Turk suit. However, despite his numerous injuries, Valerick’s posture and his way of speaking made it seem as though he were simply wearing extra clothing, nothing more. He stood at his place at the table, concluding his official report. “In summary,” Valerick said, “Nicodemus’ efforts to establish a foothold in Fort Condor are ongoing, but appear promising. My official recommendation is that we continue pursuing these actions. High Marshall Griggs is not averse to further communication.” The silence that followed lasted for a beat before Evan nodded and Valerick sat down. “This ‘High Marshall Griggs’ is not averse to communicating?” Evan said dubiously. “That was a cautiously ambiguous way to put that. Care to elaborate?” Valerick’s face, or what was visible of it, was an unreadable granite facade for the moment before he answered Evan. “I was able to move the slider from ‘Pure Hatred’ to something like, ‘OK, I’ll hear what you have to say, then get out.’ Basically.” Evan leaned back in her chair and slid her hands into her pockets, eyes searching the ceiling for nothing in particular. “Fine,” she said, still staring at the ceiling. “Nicodemus can go back to Fort Condor to continue that operation, but only after you have healed up.” “Understood,” Valerick said with a slight bow of the head. “My next report will be more positively forthcoming.” “I know,” Evan said, cooly. “That’s why you’re going back. Now, let’s hear from R&D. Shizune, what’s new on the menu?” Shizune shot up out of her seat sharply, making the chair she was sitting in slide half a meter behind her, and in turn making everyone roll their eyes. She was still fairly new to R0-414 and it would take longer than she had anticipated to phase out her years of conditioning with the Military Police. She dove right into her report in order to move past this embarrassing slip up. “As of the last meeting, progress continues on schedule for all the currently submitted custom equipment requests from field agents. Presently, the average turnaround rate for submitted personal requests resides in the upper bound of approximately 2.0~2.5 weeks, with a variance of +/- 0.55.” “In plainer words, my dear,” Riwin said. “We don’t need the math, just the meat.” Shizune flared her nostrils in frustration at her Turk handler, but complied immediately. Albeit through gritted teeth. “I can complete most of the department requests for special equipment in just over a couple of weeks. May I continue?” Riwin wore the smile of a man ready to receive a prestigious award, and nodded to Shizune. “I’ve prepared a slide presentation with videos where necessary which details all of the projects which have been successfully completed since the last meeting. Firstly, there are several new ammunition types for the Turk Multi-purpose Pistol--or TMP--the first of which is the tracker dart rounds designated ‘Omicron.’” Behind Shizune a holo-projection showed a plain text slide which had all of the tracker dart round’s technical specifications laid out in default bullet-point format. “Obviously,” Shizune continued, “these rounds transmit GPS data accurate to within a couple of meters, and the data is fed directly to the appropriately paired coms device. The current iteration of this round is unfortunately overwhelmed by mako interference, so be advised that should your intended target stray closer to the reactors, you may lose them.” Shizune tapped the screen of her tablet device to advance the slide. “Next, we have two rounds which are similar in that they fulfill a tactical support function. The Goop Round spreads a sticky adhesive substance on any targeted contact surface. You can use these to arrest the movement of anyone you are pursuing. The next type are the Hyper-Foam Rounds. Upon contact with a targeted surface, these create an instantly erectable barrier made from quick-expanding, hardening foam. The barrier will chemically last for approximately 5 minutes. During that time, the lipid molecule structure will expand exponentially into a kind of spongiform configuration which exhibits the ability to absorb the kinetic energy of conventional small arms fire at up to point-blank range.” As Shizune explained, the slide behind her played a video in which Riwin was sprinting away from Shizune, with Shizune firing goop rounds from her TMP at the area just ahead of him. Riwin was summarily stuck in place by the dark green puddle that formed, and Shizune began trying to knock him out with a collapsible night stick she produced from somewhere in her suit. Riwin continued to expertly avoid each of those genuine swings. In the next clip, Shizune and Valerick were standing opposite each other, about 10 meters apart. They fired their TMP hyper-foamer rounds at the ground space between them, and what looked like a giant, 2-meter-tall pillow of laundry soap bubbles grew rapidly into existence where they had shot. In the next moment, both Turks had drawn lethal weapons--Shizune producing her custom high-caliber revolver, and Valerick opting this time for his .45 Kriss Vector--and began firing at each other through the foam wall, but none of the rounds were getting through the foam barrier. The video switched to time-lapse fast forward, and the foam barrier slowly dissolved, leaving only the spent rounds behind. Valerick and Shizune high-fived before he video clip ended. “Hey!” Riwin shouted, “the fuck was that?” Valerick chuckled. “What?” Shizune coughed conspicuously and continued her report. “I can demonstrate the next of these new rounds.” With lightning reflexes, Shizune drew her TMP and fired on both Riwin and Valerick. Despite their own preternatural speed and skills, both Valerick and Riwin managed to get hit squarely in the chest. Though neither of the Ace Turks wanted to openly admit it, Shizune’s rabid approach to firing drills had apparently made her the quickest draw in R0-414. And despite the body armor they wore underneath their suits, they were both now profusely bleeding. Before either of them could react to the wounds, Shizune fired another round, this time at the conference table. The place where she fired was now also bleeding just as freely as where Shizune had shot Riwin and Valerick. “I proudly present the Type-73 False Execution Rounds, codenamed ‘Dasvidaniya’. I think you get the point, right?” Shizune said while spinning the TMP on her finger like the Corellian gunfighters of old. She re-safetied and re-holstered her sidearm in the next fraction of a second. Riwin and Valerick both looked at Evan, their hands covered in copious amounts of fake blood, and Evan laughed. “Keep going,” Evan said, “I know you’ve been making more than just bullets.” Shizune nodded proudly. “Yes ma’am, that is correct. Earlier this month, Riwin put in an official request for ‘range-finding shades’.” The slide advanced again, just time showing several photographs of a pair of sunglasses alongside a small text box with specifications. “Designated ‘Cassandra’, these sunglasses currently contain Heads Up Display functionality for both laser-range finding, measured in meters, and a cardinal direction compass. Riwin claims that he can punch and cast better if he knows how many numerical meters away his intended target happens to be, so he wanted these things,” Shizune said dismissively. “Why do you need to know how far away something is to punch it?” Valerick asked. Riwin threw his hands up in exasperation. “It’s not so much the punching as much as it is for me to, you know, cast Earth spikes ahead of someone so they run into them. Asshole.” Valerick shrugged. “Hmph. Fair enough.” “Regardless,” Shizune continued, “I do believe that Cassandra has room to grow. With a bit more work, these could be made to have a target-marking functionality. I surmise that these could also be a rudimentary form of a real-time combat analysis device, so I’ll continue tinkering to see if I can route it to the Shinra Cloud Computers. If I can do that, the device can utilize the computational power of the motherbase in its analysis of the multivariate aspects of dynamic battle.” Riwin raised an eyebrow. “You mean, it could scout power levels?” “Not quite,” Shizune said, “but it may help in certain tactical assessments. Moving on, I would like to report that Operation: Witching Hour was a considerable success. As some of you may recall, we rigged all of the festival games present at last month’s city-wide Halloween Celebration with various kinds of sensors and biometric scanners. Data collation has finally been completed and I can now proudly say that the Shinra InfoNet has enough biometric info to positively identify anyone who played with any of those festival prize games based on any two combinatorial vectors of surveillance data.” At this, all the Turks in the room exchanged impressed nods. “Seriously?” Riwin said in disbelief, still wiping the fake blood off his shirt and suit. “We got the identification data of everyone in the city?” “Not everyone,” Valerick countered, apparently content to have leave the blood as it was. “But I would say that the majority of the upper plate and even some of the slummies attended the Halloween Festival. Not bad, Shizune.” “Indeed,” Evan said, “in fact, Op: Witching Hour was so successful that we are already planning a Christmas version of this Op.” “There is actually only one bit of bad news about Op: Witching Hour,” Shizune said. “The puzzle box I designed and deployed in order to test citizen I.Q. for potential Turk recruits or threats--apparently it’s still sitting in the fountain square. No one has yet solved it.” “Leave it as it is for now,” Evan said. “Individuals who are good enough to warrant our positive or negative attention are currently few and far between, so statistically speaking, this may end up being a long game.” Shizune nodded her assent and went to advance the slide, but Riwin shot his hand up like a schoolboy needing permission to go the restroom. “What if Thunderson or Lycanthyr open it?” Riwin said in mock speculation. “Does that mean we have to start vetting them for the Turks?” “If you must know,” Shizune said as-a-matter-of-factly, “the puzzle box--designated Pandora-- was designed specifically so that Jika Thunderson would be the very last person who could crack it.” “Aw, but he loves you so much…” Riwin said. Shizune ignored the comment and advanced the presentation to a title slide that simply read “WEAPON PROJECTS” in bold. “I’ll shut up now,” Riwin said, eyes alight with anticipation. “Moving on,” Shizune began, “I think this is the part that everyone has been waiting for, and quite frankly, this is the part of R&D that I enjoy the most. I’ve been working on several new weapons, each tailored to each of your specific combat preferences, and according to each of your official and particular requests. I’ll introduce each of them in detail in the subsequent slides.”
\ \ \
NAGASE SHRINE, SOUTHERN WUTAI DISC 03 - JULY 2015
As Shizune continued to listen to Kiyoku drone on serenely about the history of the Nagase clan, the shrine, and how the Nagase blacksmiths had always served the Shogunate, she continued to stare at the Eye of Oblivion “jewelstone” held between the jaws of the mithril dragon statue. Through her former Turk training in espionage and infiltration, Shizune had refined and perfected her already-formidable skills in the arts of disguise and covert surveillance, but despite that, she found that she could not stop blatantly staring at this heirloom, which was--as far as her scientific expertise was telling her--an extremely rare naturally-occurring materia. Perhaps it was because of her training that she was acutely aware that she was staring at it in a way that threatened to break her cover as Rei Kashiwabara. Shizune blinked hard in an effort to break gaze with the Eye of Oblivion, now cursing the materia for whatever it was about it that made it so infuriatingly curious to her. As a means of explaining her unsually long eye-blink, Shizune feigned a pained expression and brought a hand up to her eye, rubbing it as though it were irritated by dust. When she opened her eyes again, the entire reliquary interior was awash in a bruise-purple glow. Kiyoku, now flanked by several of the doppelganger shrine maidens, were all staring in awe at the Eye of Oblivion as it glowed luminously in the jaws of the dragon. Many of them were staring at what was happening with mouths ajar, and some had both hands cupped over their mouths. Kiyoku herself wore a look of genuine shock, eyes bewilderingly wide, though her thin lips were tightly pursed closed as if she were bracing herself for something. As the light grew more intense, several small bolts of purple lightning shot out from the crack in the materia and snaked over the mithril dragon statue. The corposant then seemed to suddenly take on a very peculiar shape. Where typical lightning snakes out in acutely angled branches, this lightning was now branching out at perpendicular, 90-degree angles to the the main branches which wrapped tightly around the dragon statue with a scorching hiss and the severe smell of ozone. The strange, almost synthetically-shaped lightning pattern grew in light intensity for half a second before seeming to explode away into a momentary cloud of glowing purple sparks. A sharp firecracker pop deafened everyone in the room and the shockwave of the explosive dissipation staggered everyone. A narrow pillar of smoke was rising off of the dragon statue now. The smoke was a sickly opaque ochre and the acrid odor reminded Shizune of burnt solder. In the places that the lightning had wrapped the statue, silvery liquid metal was flowing off in runnels, making pools of quicksilver that snaked down the lava rock base and crept onto the tatami floor in all directions. A shimmering haze of heat cloaked the statue for a few moments, helping to clear the smoke straight up to the ceiling. The effect was like seeing smoky liquid sludge falling straight upwards. In the next moment, the smoke and liquid metal had cleared, and all could see a strange brickwork pattern in the places on the statue where metal was no longer present. With a clockwork mechanical springing noise, the body of the dragon split open at the new seems to reveal a curved, lacquered wooden box inside, the family crest of the Nagase clan--長瀬--emblazoned in red-gold leaf on the front of the box. The box was roughly a little over a meter in length and was shaped so that it would fit neatly in the center of the body of the curving dragon. Shizune, still perplexed in the minute or so in which this had all occurred, now noticed that Kiyoku and all of the shrine maidens were completely face down and flat against the floor in the traditional Wutaian seiza bow of respect--all of them bowed as low and flat as they could, legs tucked neatly beneath them, foreheads resting on overlapping hands set palm-down upon the floor, and all heads aimed unmistakably at Shizune, who was still standing. Unsure of how to react as either Rei or herself, Shizune stood there in silence for several long moments. It was finally Kiyoku who spoke. “Only those of the true, central bloodline of the Nagase clan can awaken the Eye of Oblivion,” Kiyoku said, words trembling, her face still aimed squarely at the floor. Shizune could now hear the sounds of some of the shrine maidens sniffling back tears. “And now,” Kiyoku said, “after all this time, the lost Daughter of Iron has returned to claim the Akatsuki.”
つづく To be continued in File 04: Naming of the Parts
ENDING (Shizune Mai Nemesis Theme): 「紅月」by BABYMETAL
TOWN OF BANSHU, SOUTHERN WUTAI WAKEISEIJAKU TEA HOUSE & CAFE
DISC 03 - AUGUST 2015
Riwin fidgeted with his work cap as he neared the entrance of Wakeiseijaku. The afternoon was overcast and humid, the shadows of rain clouds in the coastal distance. He paused for a moment to regard the quaint cafe with the rounded roof and well-tended garden yard. If it weren’t for the sign, Riwin thought, this place might just be some old lady’s house. He approached the door and reached out to open it, but a couple of tentative door pulls and pushes told him that it was locked. He raised a hand to knock, but just before he did, the door opened. Shizune stepped out and locked the door behind her. Riwin cracked a knowing smile as he saw Shizune raising two fingers to her face in order adjust her old square-framed glasses--glasses that Rei Kashiwabara never wore. She had a large brown duffel bag slung across her shoulder. She spun on her heel and walked past Riwin. “We have work to do,” she said firmly as she continued walking down to the road, the sound of the impending storm echoing in the valley on the horizon.
