I was sick in bed at the time, you see. Probably not in my right mind, stuck sick with pneumonia. That's probably why I didn't protest much when that old man came in to tell me a story.
That's what I'd asked for, anyways. I was feeling run down, and one of bro's stories always helped me feel better then, so I asked if anyone had any stories worth telling. But most of them didn't help the problem any, they just told me stuff I already knew. Stories of me and bro, Yoko and Kittan, the whole of the human resistance. Which might have worked fine, except for the part where I was there for the whole thing, so it wasn't anything new and it certainly didn't help much. Which is why the old man helped so much.
Nia had just finished seeing me, and she had left, worried about my well-being. I tossed in bed for about twenty minutes before I realized the old man that always followed her around was still in the room. Despite my illness, I jumped about five feet into the air. "You're… Old Coco, right?" I rasped, heavily. "Don't you usually follow Nia around? Why're you here?"
Wordlessly (just like him) he sat down in the chair next to me and pulled out a book. He opened his mouth, and in a dry voice, spoke. "The following is a work of fiction. Any similarities to characters, living, nonliving, existant or non, is likely a well-planned coincidence. The characters are copyright Studio Gainax, while the plot is copyright S. Morgenstern, and to a lesser extent William Goldman."
"Wait, is this a story or something?"
He continued without even waiting for my reply. "If you have any issue with the work, please take it up with Thhartokk and he'll gladly take the story down, thought you'll understand if he'll archive it first so that he doesn't feel like he's wasted all his time."
Chalk it up to the delirium. "Wait, what?"
"And now, Simon, a story you haven't heard before. It all starts in a far away land, not too long ago…"