The author makes no creative claim to the Evangelion franchise. Evangelion, the EVA series and all other Evangelion characters belong to their respective copyright owners. The author has received no compensation, monetary or otherwise, for the publication of this story.

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To Marcus

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The Epitaph

Chapter One

It was 0600 hours and the alarm went off. Marcus sat up and rubbed the inadequate sleep from his eyes. In thirty minutes he would have to report for PT. He sat on the edge of the bed and thought about the day ahead of him. It would be just like every other day since he'd arrived in the war zone. Wake up, go to PT, take a shower, come back to his quarters, talk to his wife on the computer for a few minutes, grab a cup of coffee and a to-go plate from the mess hall and then off to eight hours of radio checks. After work, he'd try to blow off some steam with his guitar, but more often than not he couldn't even get himself to play. Then it was back to his quarters to kill time until his roommate left and he could go to sleep. Once he woke up, it would all begin again. The same thing: Day in, and day out.

"How am I going to survive this?"

He'd gone to war for the first time six years earlier. Back then he was on the front lines. The war was new and exciting and his unit patrolled the streets of the newly conquered city. Combat was interesting. It had to be. If you didn't pay attention, you wound up dead. When you're being shot at only three things matter: Not getting shot, keeping your buddies from getting shot, and shooting the guy who is shooting at you. Combat was simple. But this? This was hell. The war was nearly seven years old now and there wasn't much fighting left. Marcus had been promoted, but a side effect of the promotion was a desk job.

"How did I end up a fucking desk-driver?"

That morning, while shaving, he studied his face in the mirror. He had a few lines on his forehead. His dark brown eyes punctuated his soldier's mug. His upper lip sported a hint of a mustache that never really went away. He had always been proud of his nearly black hair, but in recent years it had begun a retreat towards the back of his head. It hadn't gone far as of yet, but he hoped it wouldn't go much further. He just turned thirty and he didn't think he looked too bad. He was in the best shape of his life. He stood six feet and one inch tall in his stocking feet. He had always been the skinny kid, but the gym had given him a fuller physique.

He thought about his wife back home. They had been together for the better part of ten years. She was what kept him anchored. She was his lover, confidant, accountant, and boss. He loved her in a way that he was never able to love any other woman. She was as much a part of him as was his arm. Being away from her was like being without his dominant hand. She and his boy were in California visiting family for the holidays. Their son, James, was about to turn two. Marcus had missed his first birthday because of the army, and he was going to miss this one as well. He wanted to be with his family, but ultimately, he was doing what he was doing for them. If all he had to sacrifice was a birthday here and there to ensure his wife and kid had a solid future, then he would do it. Besides, it wouldn't be forever. He snapped out of his reverie when he glanced at the clock. He wouldn't have time to get online this morning; he had to get to work.

When he first went into the army more than a decade ago he was a tank driver, but they didn't need tanks in this war. Since his promotion to sergeant and his subsequent deployment, he had been assigned to the tactical operations center. Instead of patrolling streets and shooting at bad guys, he was now sitting at a desk, doing radio checks and filing reports. He was in charge of exactly one subordinate soldier. Marcus's main job was coordinating troop movements and arranging air support. Most days nothing happened. Sometimes a patrol would call for help investigating suspicious activity. IED's had become less of a problem so there were fewer calls for the bomb squad. Boredom was a constant issue. If you're bored, you're not on top of your game. If you're not on top of your game, people can die. A boring war was still a war.

Later that afternoon, as he was reading an old newspaper for the sixth time, his mind started to wander. He had been talking to his ex-girlfriend online ever since he deployed. They hadn't actually laid eyes on one another in the past decade, but they'd always kept in touch. Over the years things had been pretty complicated. There was a lot of history between the two but now that they were both married and had children, they were friends. They dated back when they were teenagers. They spent their time together being cruel to one another and hurting each other's feelings. When adults do the things to other people that they did to each other, it ends up on a talk show. But they were only kids and kids do fucked up things. Maybe that's why they were still friends. They each knew the side of the other that they would rather forget ever existed.

Almost every day when he got online after work, she would pop up a message asking if he was busy. Most of the time, their conversations turned to philosophy or something equally as involved. A few days ago she asked him a question that he found himself pondering at the present moment.

"If you could live forever, would you and why?"

A call came in from a patrol wanting information about a certain bridge. Things had been pretty quiet but it had been getting more interesting the past few days. Elections were coming up and some of the old loyalists were up to their old tricks. There had been several coordinated attacks and just the other day he handled the medical evacuation of a boy that was just a little older than his son back at home. He always hated it when bad things happened to kids. Just as he was about to explain to the patrol on the radio that there was no way he could know what the bridge they were wanting looked like, his brain registered the sound of an explosion. To say that he heard the mortar hit the TOC would be a misstatement; the ringing in his ears prevented him from actually hearing anything. His warrior instincts took over, but by then there was nothing for them to take over. His consciousness slipped into the ether.

Marcus felt the overwhelming sensation of having no sensation. There was no pain. There was no feeling at all. He didn't know if he was alive or dead. At that moment, all he knew was the deafening roar of nothingness.

"If you could live forever, would you?"

"Calibrating."

"Fifteen seconds to élan."

"Psychic integration within acceptable parameters."

"Enabling cognizance."

"Animate."

Marcus had the sense of being back in a body, however, the body was not his own. He struggled to open his eyes but this body would not obey the commands of his mind.

"Do not be alarmed. Your nervous system will reach synchronization shortly."

The voice was alien to him. It was unnaturally mechanical and had a strange lisp. His eyes finally opened. The only thing he could move was his eyes. Apparently he was not yet "synchronized" enough to move anything else.

"What the fuck is going on?"

He couldn't speak.

"Your speech will return. You will soon have complete use of this body."

"Can they hear my thoughts?"

"Yes, we can hear your thoughts."

The strange, lisping speech was unsettling. Marcus was strapped to a table. His sense of touch was returning and though the table looked hard and medical, it was fairly comfortable. The room was dimly lit. He could hear the soft whirr of some machine nearby. He sensed that there was more than one person in the room.

"Have I been abducted by aliens?"

"We are not 'aliens'. Extraterrestrials do not exist."

He still couldn't speak. He thought as angrily as he could, "Then who the fuck are you and where the fuck am I? What's going on?!"

"All in good time, Sergeant Winborn."

"Synchronization at seventy-one percent." This voice was different from the first.

A being moved into his limited view. Marcus estimated that the odd looking man stood about five feet five inches tall. He was very thin and lanky for his height. His head was devoid of hair. The man wore a garment that seemed a mix between a lab coat and a muumuu. Marcus surmised that he was a doctor of some sort. His facial features were soft and feminine but he carried himself like a man. A small silver box at the base of the doctor's neck served as the origin of the mechanical voice Marcus had heard earlier. He could feel himself returning to the rest of the body.

"Synchronization complete."

The straps released themselves from the table. Marcus jumped up, ready to fight.

The doctor spoke, "Remain calm, we mean you no harm."

Marcus noticed that he was naked and had nothing with which to fight. Even his dog tags were gone. He tried to recall what happened prior to waking up here. He remembered the sergeant from the patrol calling in and asking for info on a bridge. He remembered an explosion.

"Am I dead?" This time it came out as a statement instead of a thought.

The doctor cryptically replied, an amused expression on his delicate face, "Death is a condition relative to life."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Marcus demanded.

The doctor ignored his question, "Please make use of the dressing room to your left. We will leave you for now; your debriefing is in one hour."