Disclaimer: There are no apologies sufficient for the crime against humanity you are about to read.
Just Another Day in Tokyo-3
Chapter 1: Confluences
"All the missiles have hit the target!" Aoba screamed in a high pitched, girly voice. Or maybe it was Hyuga. They all look the same to me. I only knew one thing. The Third Angel had come, and none of these morons had the brains or the cojones to ask why we called the first one to attack the "Third" I mean come on, doesn't that scream "ancient conspiracy" to you? It does to me, but then, I'm biased.
I rose to my feet. In front of me, the generals turned around and growled something inane in their military drawls, I can't be expected to remember anything they say. That would imply they are important, and I've already made the arrangement to remove their desks from my awesome lair. Make no mistake: I run this shit. You see this big inexplicable spaceship bridge thing over a black void? That's all me, baby. I surround myself with the finest bitches, I wear the finest tailored uniform, and I have precisely tinted orange sunglasses that I wear all the time. The lenses were made from the taillights of a classic Ferrari and polished with the tears of six year olds who just learned there's no Santa Claus.
Because I shot him.
My name is Gendo Ikari, and I support this message.
Anyway, tall big and ugly turns around in his uniform which is a cross between an organ grinder's monkey, a janitor, and an admiral in the Turkish Navy. Me? I need no ribbons and phallic symbols to assure my masculine presence. I am Gendo Ikari, and Gendo Ikari is, the way a hurricane or a mountain is. I am a hurricane made of mountains. A mountaincane.
And it's on fire.
"You'd better not fail us, Ikari," the general growled.
I nodded and made sure my hips were cocked at the correct angle to achieve maximum disdain. Back off, man. I'm a scientist.
"Very well. Gentlemen! Let's broaden our minds. Lawrence!"
"My name is Fuyutsuki," the old man said. I tolerate his attitude because it amuses me, and the knowledge that he longs for but one of the asses I have tapped empowers my martial arts.
"Whatever. We shall defeat the Angel… as soon as my daughter shows up."
"I'm a boy," I said aloud, without quite knowing why.
I looked to my left, and I saw a girl. Sure, she was floating, and she had blue hair and chalk white skin, but hey, man, any port in a storm. I was still staring at her when the car pulled up. I kind of expected what was coming, since she'd sent me a beer-scented polaroid picture of herself in a lewd pose with a hastily scrawled message, an arrow pointing at her tits and a lipstick kiss.
Somewhere, my dad is laughing at me.
So she pulls up and the bounce of her tremendous assets as physics catches up with them makes the car rock on its springs. If I were a normal boy I'd probably be drooling, but I must have low testosterone or something, because the first thing I noticed is that she's just taken a long pull off a whiskey bottle. She looked at me, screamed Yahooooooooooo! and smashed the bottle over her head, spraying foul smelling liquor and glass all over the inside of the car, like some sort of Lovecraftian succubus.
I was seriously contemplating running away but wasn't fast enough. She grabbed me, shoved my face into her chest and screamed "Into the car, bitch!"
I am Shinji Ikari. I just want to go home.
"FOOLISH LILIM!" I boomed as I ascended from the sea.
Strange creatures buzzed in my face, pelting my mighty form with tiny stingers. I batted them away as a lion bats at a mosquito. I think. I've never actually been to Africa. I should visit there after I annihilate all terrestrial life and remold it in my image. Then again, if I do that, there won't be any lions to observe. Oh well. Maybe this place has a zoo.
They were still shooting me. I'll show their asses, I thought, as I activated my halo. Didn't know I could fly, did you, bitches? That's right, who's the Sachiel? That's me, I'm the Sachiel. After annihilating the puny creatures futilely struggling against my might, I spotted a blue car drifting while somehow going in a straight line. Yeah.
That little shit. Again. I need to renegotiate my contract. Why can't I go last? I mean, there's an anime, an official manga, like six dozen spin-offs, enough doujins to wallpaper the Vatican, 20,000 fanfics, and I get my ass beat in about five minutes every time. I played Hamlet at Cambridge!
My name is Ritsuko Akagi, and I'm going through a dry spell so severe I have to turn to Gendo "Gone In Sixty Seconds" Ikari. I mean, it's not like I'm not advertising. I don't walk around here in a miniskirt and fishnets because it's comfortable. Sure, the heels are part of the dress code, but you can blame Gendo for that. I do. All the time. I don't even have to slip into a slinky swimsuit and swim around in the LCL. We have computers for this.
So anyway, after I went for my pre-battle dip, I did the whole routine, lovingly toweling off, running my fingers through my hair. I do five hundred lunges a day. I can crack walnuts with my ass. People say a once piece isn't sexy, but if this thing was jammed any further up my butt I could open my mouth and bounce quarters off my thong.
I strutted to the nearest elevator, which is always easy because we blew half our construction budget on elevators. I know Misato is so drunk she has to avoid matches twenty-four-seven, but I have to excuse her for getting lost. It's one of the perils of working an organization that designs everything around really badly understood Jewish mystical imagery for no readily apparent reason. My office is shaped like a Menorah, for Christ's sake.
The elevator door opened. Have I ever told you that I hate Misato Katsuragi? First off, she drinks the weight of a sperm whale in beer every day, and that along with the microwave meals and donuts and bear claws and an entire cake every afternoon has absolutely no effect on her figure. It's freakish, is what it is. I so much as touch a bagel and my thighs get a little bigger. Misato, apparently, stores all the adipose tissue in her entire body in her bra. I'm serious, when she turns her head it makes the elevator bounce.
So she's got the kid. He looks terrified, which means she drove. He stank of beer and he was staring straight at my chest, but that was kind of the point. Oh well, you take what you can get. I turned my hips a little, thrust my butt out, and tensed up my thighs.
"You must be Shinji," I purred.
"Y-yes," the boy stammered. His eyes went a little lower. Perfect. Misato may carry her arsenal up front, but I'm armed with a weapon of ass destruction.
They took me to see the giant robot.
I was terrified, and that was before they took me into the big dark room that smelled like motor oil and Vaseline. First off, the lunatic that drove me here kept resting her boobs on my head and rubbing my shoulders, and that was after she tried to kill me in her little zippy car. I don't like cars anymore. Then there's this blonde, the one who's trying so hard to get me to stare at her ass that she's almost walking sideways.
The worst part is, it's working. I like big butts, and I cannot lie.
The led me out into the dark on this bridge over a giant pool of blood. I should mention at this point that I have no idea why I'm here, except that I'm probably about to sacrificed to some moldy old Babylonian deity. I mean, who has a giant blood pool in the middle of their secret underground base? And what the hell kind of a name is Geofront? It makes it sound like it's going to rain mud, or we're standing at the top end of a big geode or something.
They turned on the lights. I started screaming.
Actually, I continued screaming.
"I need an adult!"
"You'll be fine," Misato slurred, her fingers tracing circles on my back.
I swallowed hard.
The giant monster was looking at me. I'm not stupid. This thing was obviously a One Horned Purple People Eater. Judging from the rest of this place, they had it contained through secret Nazi science and they meant for me to feed it. My father had probably run out of babies or something and his pet monster needed to eat.
"!" I said.
"Correct!" my father's voice boomed, high above. A light flicked on and I saw him standing behind a pane of glass in a room that was obviously constructed to be used only one time for a dramatic entrance.
"Dad!" I screamed. "Can I have some money?"
"What? No. I want you to pilot this thing."
"What? That's insane! I'm not a pilot? Isn't there someone more qualified, like a jet fighter test pilot or a scientist or something?"
"I hire based on willingness to put out," my father smirked.
"Well screw you! I'm not doing it. I want to go home."
My father sighed. "I expected this."
He slipped on a pair of goggles. "Gentlemen, prepare yourselves for Moé."
They rolled her out. Time froze. I forgot Doctor Akagi's glorious, glorious buttocks. Flights of angels sung over my head, and a glorious light erupted from the gurney as they rolled the blue-haired goddess forth. She was hurt. I wanted to cry, and to comfort her.
A miniature Shinji in a white robe with little wings and a halo appeared on my shoulder.
"Shinji," it said a squealing voice, "You can't! She's your sister! It's perverse!"
His counterpart, dressed in red pajamas with horns and pitchfork, appeared to my left.
"Your hot sister! Look at the junk in that trunk, man."
"He's got a point," said the tiny angel.
"Ba. Donk. A. Donk. The defense rests." said the devil.
I rushed to her side and embraced her.
"Beloved," I whispered. "Shinji is here for you."
"I react to your bumbling attentions with utter indifference," Rei groaned.
I got bored of stomping around and smashing helicopters. I mean, once you've smashed one helicopter, you've smashed them all. I sat down, tore open a newsstand, and picked up a newspaper. After discovering I couldn't read, I threw the paper away and picked out a girly magazine instead. Your Lilim forms fascinate me. What are these globes on the chest of your females? I like them. After I became bored of that, I decided to read some of these sequential art things.
This thing you call "tsundere", it confuses me. Why do lilim males tolerate this behavior? It would be so much more efficient to just deposit your spermatozoa and move on before the female eats you. Why go through years of abuse for no readily apparent reason?
The books behind the curtain also confuse me. Doing that with an octopus seems highly unsanitary. Also I fail to see what the octopus gets out of it.
Ah, she's here. What do they call her again? Unit One?
"Look," I said as she took a stumbling step and fell, "why don't we get this over with? I'll just blow up now and save you the trouble."
She got up and took a slow, awkward swing at me. I guess not. Oh well, let's do this.
You know how it goes. I break her arm, the little twerp screams, she beats the shit out of me and I blow myself up, then they give captain sissypants credit for "defeating me".
So here I am, back in the lounge. My agent walks in. His name is Donny, and he's about 45, a spare man from Queens, originally. He tries to hide the accent and fails. He sits down next to me with a folder in his hand, and he looks like he hasn't showered or slept in a week. One of the challenges of being typecast is that you end up stuck with a shitty agent.
So he looks at me and says, "I got a new job for you, man."
I take a puff of my cigarette and let it out slowly. The woman at the front desk glares at me, but shit, I can do that cross explosion thing and she knows it.
"Yeah?" I say, not caring that I've switched from past tense to present tens for no real reason.
"You'll be fighting an Eva, and-"
I sigh. "Oh God. Not again. Please."
"No, no," my agent says, "this is good. Listen. This time, it's set in Victorian England, and-"
"There's a bunch of Japanese people in Victorian England?"
"Well, yeah, but the Evas are steampunk, and-"
"Let me see the script."
I leafed through it.
"Look," I said, "Look, you jackass. The Third and the Second are doing it like horny goats two-thirds of the way through. This is completely ridiculous. For one, he couldn't scrape together enough testosterone to grow a beard on an ant, and for two, she's so crazy that bats who are batshit crazy call each other Asuka crazy. It'd never work. Also, have you read this? I know more about lilim anatomy than this goon. No one actually does that."
"It's an adaptation," my agent whines. "Look, man, we're desperate. It'll be another two years until 3.0 comes out. You'll be lucky if they don't just use stock footage for the recap. I've got kids. Besides, you missed the angle."
"What angle?"
"Gendo is Jack the Ripper! And a vampire!"
"Fine," I say, "but I want top billing."
"You're kidding, right?"
Ugh.
"Very well," my father roared, "we shall settle the question of who shall shepherd the boy through the ancient rite of Thunderdome!"
"Never mind," Ritsuko glowered. "I'm not doing that again."
"Why can't I live with you, Dad?" I demanded.
"I don't have a house. I sleep in here," he indicated his expansive office. There wasn't much to it. Black, as big as a house, funny tree globey thing etched on the ceiling, smells like cinnamon and laundry detergent. I scuffed my feet on the floor a little. Take that, asshole.
"I could live with Rei," I suggested. "I could tend her wounds and hold her as she cries and cup the softness of her-"
There was a gun pressed to my forehead. "No," said my father.
"Okay then," I said. "I'll be going."
"As Ritsuko has declined the Thunderdome, I claim the boy for myself," Misato shouted, bouncing on her heels. Quite hypnotic, really. "Come on, kid! To the boozemobile!"
MEANWHILE IN GERMANY
June 18, 2015.
Dog carcass in alley this morning. Eva tread on burst stomach. Actually burst everything. This city is afraid of me. I've seen its true face. The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood and when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up around their waists and all the dolls and angels will look up and shout "Save us!" and I'll look down and whisper "Nein!"
Gott, I wish someone would hammer my glockenspiel.