Good Faith

The playlist of the Body-n-Soul Fitness and Faith Center was definitely not one you'd hear at the club.

Nor was it one that you'd expect to hear in a place of worship or even a gym. But Body-n-Soul was both, a place where one could praise the good word with one hand and knock back a protein shake with the other. Where closeness to God was measured in push-ups and donations taken in where written down next to how many reps you’d done that week. A strange place, but in a place as strange as Olympia, the strange was home.

"Fifty-four... fifty-five... fifty-six..."

Jenny's feet pounded rapidly on the treadmill, her shoes almost blurs. Her breath came in minute gasps and pants from between her parted lips. Her face was flushed and her olive skin was shining with persperation that also matted her messy fringe. The silver ichthys bounced around her neck with every step, which came at a pace that would have made a casual jogger balk. In front of her, the eyes of Jesus Christ stared back at her from the glossy plane of a poster.

A poster captioned "Lord, show me the whey" as Jesus smirkingly held up a pot of protein powder.

She hated that poster so much.

Beep-beep!

Ah, her stopwatch. She hit the button and let herself slow down as she took in the details on the treadmill's monitor. It was an old, second-hand one, and prone to glitches - but the number itself was clear. 3.35 ms - three more than her previous best. Of course, it probably wouldn't go any higher... by which she meant the treadmill. She wasn't sure that it wouldn't break one of these days.

She didn't even really have a routine in mind as she hopped off the treadmill and snatched her water bottle. She just wanted to get away from that awful poster. The sound of her gulping down the cold liquid was drowned by the squeaks, thumps and grunts of everyone else around her - Johnny on his speedbag, Mika on the weights, an enthusiastic game of squash between Becky and Bob. But it didn't quite drown out the music.

Nor the sound from the TV, which had an interview with a long-haired boy on it.

"-a not-ill-deserved reputation for secret-keeping. For keeping our cards close to our chest and leaving people who ought to know out of the loop. While that has often worked out for the better, I am fully aware of how untrustworthy this has made us in the eyes of many, and I have never once believed that the end justifies the means. With Project Zero-One, I fully intend on complete transparency, not only as to the purpose of-"

"Gah, shut that off," said somebody. "Makes me wanna fall asleep."

"It's that," said someone else (Mika, probably), "or we turn on that Kamen Rider Quiz rubbish again. You really want that gaudy piece of crap on?"

"Now, calm down, guys." Jenny didn't even look around as she found herself at the bench, parking herself on it and hooking her feet under the curling weights. "Love and tolerance, remember? And at least the kid's being honest about why he's building the thing."

"Yeah, with funding from the government." That was Bob, who had put down his racquet and was showing more interest in the conversation. "So that they can listen in on our phones twenty-four-seven- OW!"

Becky had hit him in the back of the head with the racuqet. "Not everything's a government plot to turn us into sheep robots, Bob."

"Show me proof that they aren't," Bob muttered. But he still rubbed his head ruefully as he said it.

"Weird, though, isn't it?" said Johnny, nursing a sore wrist. "Ain't that kid one of the Cosine's? You know, the ones who make all the superweapons and have the big secrets?"

"You mean those obviously sheep-dipped Illuminati fronts for-" Another glare from Becky shut Bob up in short order.

"So think about it," continued Johnny. "I mean, he can't be ignorant of what people think of his family, right? And he can't pretend that this is gonna wipe all that away. So what's he getting out of having this giant thing floating above our city?"

"Probably another Rider gimmick," shrugged Becky. "Those guys grow like fungus around the Kobbers."

"But why now?" Johnny persisted. "I mean, of all the times for a Cosine to buck the trend with all this... why did he pick now, just before Kobber Season?"

Jenny didn't have an answer for that one.

-------

At the end of the day, when work was done and the donations had been totted up, Jenny jogged home.

If you had met Jenny in real life, you would have had no idea she was a Christian. Aside from the Ichthys necklace, there wasn't much indication of it. She never openly talked about her faith or tried to get you in on it as well. And she certainly didn't judge you for not following the same beliefs she had. You might have thought that her only drinking alcohol on Sundays was odd, but perhaps you would have put it down to a quirk of her fitness-focused lifestyle.

Her home didn't have many clues, either. Prize money from the local boxing circuits wasn't exactly a reliable way of paying the bills. The best Jenny could manage was a two-room bedsit, featuring a combined living/sleeping/dining area and a seperate bathroom. It was here where she showered after her jog, changed into her casual clothes and ate her dinner whilst watching the TV - a Friday the 13th film. Jenny had seen them so many times by now that she couldn't remember them all. But she always cringed a little at the fake blood.

The only sign was the little framed cross-stich, mounted on the wall just above the bedside table. It could not have been any plainer than the rest of the room if it tried. And it read, simply, in red thread:

I call to the Lord for help,

 and from his sacred hill he answers me.

- Psalm 3:4, GNT

As she always did, Jenny took one last look at it as she lay beneath her covers that evening. Usually, that passage was enough. It settled her mind and her heart, and gave her the strength to get up in the mornings and carry on, though she may have not had much money.

But sometimes, as in this time, it didn't.

She'd never had much reason to question her faith. More frequently she questioned those who used faith as a security blanket, or as a stick to pummel others. The memory of what she'd yelled at a street preacher who threatened a small girl with damnation was neighbourhood legend. Her faith was like her running shoes, lifting her up and carrying her through the worst of times. When her family could barely afford to send her to school, or when the alcoholism had gripped her, she could close her eyes and picture that warm presence she'd imagine since she was a child. And that had often been enough.

But now... there was chaos everywhere. Monsters and warriors that blurred the line between heroes, villains, gods and demons. And suddenly that trick didn't seem to work. When the Golden Dragon had descended, she hadn’t stood tall and brave, but cowered in a shop and hyperventilated. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t grasp that presence, that lifeline which had stopped her from going insane so long ago.

And now, even in the calm before the storm, when the rumbling was distant but growing ever closer...

Faith only seemed to carry her so far nowadays.

She blinked, and realised her eyes were damp.

Then she rolled over and went to sleep.

-------

"And that's all we got time for on OTV! Got anything to say to our listeners, Stew?"

"You betcha, Chick! Never try cookin' an egg on your engine! I tried it once, and I had to walk to work for three days!"

"Truly a first-world problem. Well, that's it from us tonight, folks! Remember to tune in tomorrow for more Olympia TV - the only station that keeps the news...

"Free range!"

Introducing

CHICK GIZZARD LIPS and STEW