I do not own the rights to "Neon Genesis Evangelion", "Knight Rider"or any of the persons, places, intangibles, or concepts within. This fan fiction is a non-profit tribute to both series. Therefore, if requested by Hideki Anno, Gainax, Glen A. Larson, Universal, or other interested parties, I will discontinue and remove this story immediately.
Tokyo-2, December 2015:
"Wilton, we have to evacuate!" Devon Miles shouted over the whir of the VTOL transport's twin engines. As the gray, aging man stumbled towards the aircraft with his personal doctor, Wilton Knight blinked back the mist forming over his eyes. Devon knew just as he did, the battle was lost. Their agent was unable to penetrate the Committee's inner circle and prevent the launch of the Mass Production units.
They had fought so hard and so long to stop the organization from taking control of the world. The Human Completion Project was against the basic laws and fundamental truths of man. That a group of eccentrics would deem this madness was in the best interest of the human race was a black mark on what shred of nobility remained after the Second Impact.
As the VTOL pulled away from the rooftop of the Knight Industries Tokyo-2 office, they could see a flash of brilliant, white light on the horizon. "My God," Devon whispered. "They… they dropped it directly on the city…" Devon turned back to the refugees flooding the streets of Tokyo-2 since a week before. The tents and shacks erected converted the remnants of the metropolis into a shantytown.
"It won't stop there," Wilton replied, a coughing fit held back against his closed fist. "Devon, signal the pilot… to divert and search for survivors." As both Devon and the pilot protested, however, a wash of orange light erupted over the city streets below. Suddenly, the VTOL started diving towards the surface, the co-pilot frantically transferring control to his station. Gripping the passenger safety railings along the cabin, Wilton tried to stand, peering over the edge.
As he did, he watched a white specter of a teen girl approach, brushing her hand against his cheek, and then blackness.
Tokyo-3, January 2016:
Wilton Knight limped from the VTOL wreckage as Devon continued calling on the emergency channel to any remaining survivors. The Third Impact had eliminated pilot and co-pilot alike, the orange puddles of their remains sloshing ever so slightly in the sealed cabin of the wreckage.
In the distance, he thought he saw something. The white, black, and tan mottling stood apart from the deep crimson and tinted hues of gray. "Devon!" he shouted, falling to his knees as he coughed up traces of blood. His rumpled tan suit stained and torn from the landing, he knelt in the mud as his partner approached hastily to his side.
"Wilton!" Devon started. "You can't wander off-"
"There's someone along the beach, over there!" he answered, pointing his trembling hand towards the unknown shape. Starting to rise from the tainted soil, Wilton took Devon's hand, his legs shaking as he struggled with each step. Mr. Miles knew he couldn't stop the man, simply walking along side him, helping him to the figure.
Standing over the unconscious body of the boy, his brown hair mottled with blood, cobalt eyes staring sightlessly into nothing, Devon pulled away from Wilton long enough to check the boy's vitals. "He's alive, barely…" They both stared down at the knife wound that cut into his face, and the white neural clips grasped in his hands. "He's a pilot… one of the Children!"
Suddenly a brilliant light flooded over the three figures, and the whir of a helicopter's blades echoed against the utter silence of the Post-Impact Earth. "We're taking him with us," Wilton commanded, his voice barely perceptible over the roar of the approaching aircraft.
New Santa Barbara, California, April 2023:
A young man with brown hair and blue eyes highlighted by a vertical scar down his left cheek stood in the lavishly decorated office in the Knight mansion just outside of New Santa Barbara, staring out at the darkened coastline. A black duffle bag hung over his shoulder, the Knight logo printed in gold over the canvas. Dressed in his black suit and tie, he wiped the stray tears from his red-rimmed eyes. The other guests and attendants of the service had long since gone, leaving him with Devon.
"It's been seven years, Shinji," Mr. Miles started, walking back to the highly polished wooden desk. The man stood at six feet tall, in a well-tailored black suit, his hair combed into an asymmetrical, waving part. Setting the paperwork on the desk, he looked back, his graying eyes studying the young only an inch under his height. "You're more than prepared-"
"Devon," Shinji sighed, bowing his head in shame. "Please… no, I'm not prepared for this!" Shinji had been over it with Devon Miles, the director of the Foundation for Law and Government for the last eighteen months. "Even with Wilton here… No… I can't do this!"
Devon sighed in frustration, straightening the blazer to his suit. Collecting himself, Mr. Miles straightened his back, projecting the calm, rational, and trusting nature that had convinced the younger Ikari over so many years before. "Shinji… when we found you, Wilton knew you were someone special. He took a risk bringing you into his home, making you a part of the family." As the young man wilted under the FLAG director's gaze, Devon continued. "When you graduated from Stanford, then worked beside me in the Foundation, he knew the kind of man you would become. Wilton had no doubts. In the seven years I have known you, there has been no hesitation, no reason in my mind to suggest otherwise."
"I appreciate everything you have done, but… seriously… there's just no way!" Shinji clenched his left hand in a stress reflex. "What could I possibly do?"
"One man's dream," Devon answered simply.
"But… I just can't!" Shinji shouted, slumping forward as a fresh trace of tears formed in his eyes. "One man… one man can't make a difference! Not against them. I should be proof of that."
Devon nodded slowly, walking towards the window, staring out at the reconstruction efforts. "If that is your final decision…" Turning back to Ikari, Mr. Miles started drafting the paperwork. "You're still a valued member of the Foundation, and we want you to stay. I want you to stay."
"I… I'll think about it… after…" Shinji answered, gesturing to the duffle bag. As he watched Devon stare in disapproval, Ikari could only challenge him with his reasons. "If I don't know… I never will. There are too many old ghosts not to go."
"Well," Devon started, walking up to the boy. Clasping his hands gently over Shinji's, he nodded in agreement. "Godspeed, Shinji." As Ikari slowly walked from the room towards the master stairway, Devon Miles punched a single button on his desk's telephone. "Yes, Katherine?" he asked as the handset made an audible click. "Send the Two-Thousand to our Tokyo-2 branch." As he looked out over the raging ocean and the clouds moving in, Devon nodded as the voice on the opposite end continued. "And get me the first flight to Japan."
Tokyo-3 Demilitarized Historical Site, May 2023:
Hikari Horaki stood amongst the graves in her simple white sundress, bowing her head as she placed the flowers next to the marker. The simple white cylinder protruded to nearly shoulder height, the simple engraving engulfed by the empty field of pillars. Reading the engraving as she did every time she visited for the last seven years.
"Nozomi is just finishing high school," she said to the pillar, studying the flowers she placed in the dirt. He never did like feminine things, but somehow, Horaki knew Suzahara would appreciate them. Glancing back at the endless field of death, she started to choke up, bringing her hands to her face. "Once… once she graduates, I think we are going to leave for Germany. Asuka…" She paused, trying to control her voice. "Asuka used to say it's safer there… and there are jobs." She paused, trying to take in a ragged breath, before she heard footsteps behind her.
In the distance, a young man with brown hair and opaque sunglasses wandered amongst the graves. Dressed in a black leather jacket, black slacks, dress shoes, and a deep blue polo shirt, he approached cautiously until he recognized the face of the girl. "No…" he muttered. Slowly, he reached up, pulling the shades from his face, revealing a vertical scar down his cheek, and the penetrating, blue eyes.
"I-Ikari?" Hikari started, pulling away. The brunette was certainly different than Shinji remembered, her hair down to the small of her back, and the tanned, freckled features tightened over an athletic figure. As she started to turn away, she noticed no one else in the cemetery. "But all of the pilots were-" Hikari froze, her mouth working silently. Shinji stared more intently, taking two steps forward, his hands reaching out to the woman. "The government said they killed all of them-"
Shinji shook his head, walking up to the marker. Kneeling in the dirt, he placed a small bouquet in his hands beside his friend's marker. Hikari's chest tightened, her breathing labored as she backed into the pillar behind her. "W-why?" she sobbed, her voice cracking. "Why?"
Shinji bolted from his reverie, staring up at the girl as he rose to his feet. "I had to come back… to find out-" he started. Frozen in place, he bit his lip, thinking of what he was supposed to say. "I needed to see… for myself… what happened…where everyone went." He watched as his vision blurred once again, and the young woman forced herself forward one step. "He… never should have accepted-" Again, the man paused. "I… shouldn't have, either…"
"You're… not with NERV?" she asked. As Shinji shook his head, Hikari looked nervously along the horizon. "Then… how?"
"I work with the Foundation," Shinji explained. Hikari looked confused for a moment, until she noted the symbol on the duffle bag at his side. As she pushed for more information, he simply froze, shaking his head. "Don't… not now, Class-Rep-"
As each bit back the words they wanted to say, they turned towards the setting sun, wandering aimlessly towards the main road. The city had been abandoned, left as a tribute and memorial to the horrors of the last war. Nothing had been touched since it was designated strictly a historical site, but there were still those who would linger amongst the ruins for days. Shinji had nowhere to go.
"Take me home," he whispered silently, looking out at the dwindling light.
Tokyo-2 International Airport:
The black on black streamlined car descended the ramp of the aging C-130 Hercules transport as Devon Miles watched silently from the private jet less than a mile away on the tarmac. The familiar shape cut against the dying sun as it retreated down the access road, shadowed by two security squad cars, blue lights flashing silently. Nodding once in approval, Devon turned from the glass, walking out of the aircraft towards the awaiting European sedan.
As the black sports car peeled away from the access road, through the checkpoint, and out along the main highway, the security cars came to a stop. The officers had done their job, and had not asked any questions as the vehicle continued down the highway. In the darkness of the coming night, the high intensity lamps flashed to life, while a single red laser pulsed along the streamlined fascia, the car accelerating to the speed limit.
Holding its course, it pulsed the millimetric wave radar. Within a fraction of a second, it received the emergency locator signal from the reflector built into the intricate watch strapped to its driver's wrist. Calculating over twenty routes and cross-referencing with current traffic conditions, the phantom cut across the lines of traffic, plotting an intercept course.
The last heir to its creator's legacy was near, and it would be there, waiting for him.
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No one has done it before, so I thought I would be the first. Those who know the original series have a better idea the direction I am going, though I am always open to suggestions and comments. Please leave them in a review.
Thanks
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