He awoke suddenly in a pool of sweat, after dreaming that same dream again. There he was, on that featureless beach of white, surrounded by the ocean, that terrible ocean that smells of blood. On the violet horizon, he saw dozens of crucified forms against the backdrop of a fallen Angel. A pale specter with blue-gray hair and soulless red eyes stared at him for a frightening second, only to vanish as he blinked. As far as the eye could see, the only other living thing was the frail figure of an injured red-headed young girl. She lay immobile, staring up at the full moon. He had been here a hundred times in his restless night hours, which was a hundred and one times he wished he had never seen this sight. Once again he shouted silent screams, and once again the dream plodded along, disregarding his desperate pleas of mercy. His hands clenched around the girl's slender neck, and she died a quiet death, reaching up to stroke his face as the hellish world faded around her.
"I did it because I loved her!" the man shouted to no one in his empty cockpit. "No one should have to live in this hell!"
"Did you really now?" a monotone female voice in his head replied. "Because I think you killed her because she made you feel inferior Shinji. You never loved her; you've never loved anyone, not even yourself".
"Shut the fuck up!" screamed Shinji as he punched into his wall. With another curse, he quickly regretted striking out at the immobile metal sheet. "Dammit Mom…uh…I mean Unit One. I'm sorry," he whispered as he stroked the paneling that was, like most of the mech, suffering from rust and chipped paint. "You don't need any more damage do you?"
With a sigh, he stretched out his sore muscles. Living the kind of hard lifestyle he did, even at 28, was painful, especially if sleep was so brief and tumultuous as it had been for the past few nights. Looking up at the stars, Shinji figured it was just before dawn. He grabbed a small brown and white box from the ground, and pulled from it a cigarette with the number "27" printed on the side. He lit it with a sigh, knowing that the next smoke may never come in this empty world. With another deep drag, he turned to a map of the world taped not far from where he had just struck. The map was covered in kanji, and scribbles, and many areas were completely obscured by black ink, including most of eastern Asia. In other places, there were strange jagged lines, joining some places together, or crossing through others. To the average person, it might have looked like the possession of a deranged man, and in a sense it was. To Shinji however, it was a tool to his sole purpose of existence; that small piece of paper was a means to which he would find the last remnants of society. He grabbed onto the silver cross which hung on his neck and yelled to the breaking dawn:
"Misato, I swear this to you: I shall be the man recompense the wrongs committed by God's Angels! I shall bring about retribution!"