Disclaimer: I do not own Neon Genisis: Evangelion.
Author's Note: Chapter title taken from "Hollow Men", one of T. S. Eliot's most well-known poems.
At its core, this story could be perceived as a romance, but not quite in the traditional sense. It is a romance about two fundamentally dysfunctional characters who are so blinded by their insecurities and miscommunications that they can't really begin to acknowledge their own feelings, never mind come to terms with each other's. In doing so, all attempts at communication fail, all routs of possible understanding between them collapse, and so any possible romantic outcome gets pushed off into the background while other 'priorities' pop up. Denial has a funny way of masking itself with 'more important' matters, and life never ceases to jump at the opportunity of being one of those 'more important' matters. Throw in a fairly standard existential crisis compounded by metafictional post-modern pissings, and you've got the recipe for what makes this work tick.
I'd like to make it known that this story is almost entirely finished as of this moment. I'm in the process of sorting out and completing the final chapter, but each subsequent chapter is only subject to minor changes in grammar, wording, and/or arrangement as I see fit. This being the case, I plan on posting one chapter per week.
Nightlife 1.0: This Is the Way the World Ends…
Gendo Ikari held the cell phone to his ear as he fumbled with his keys, trying to get just one of them to line up properly with the deadbolt.
"Yes, that's correct." The damn thing wasn't lining up. "Negative. Yes. I believe that's what she said. No, I do not. I'm not currently at my office, so I am unable to respond to that question with any validity. Yes, I have read that report." Just get in there, he wanted to say. "I got that impression as well. Fine. No. No—didn't you—what? No. Okay. Fine, make it so." He dropped the keys as he clapped the phone shut. They clattered to the wet concrete floor. He stared at them dejectedly and sighed. "Shit," he said. The floor was so damn far away, and he felt every inch of its distance as he bent over to retrieve the fallen chunks of metal.
The door opened and the hinges squealed loudly. For some reason, this apartment block never received the automatic swish-doors—he forgot the technical term for them—even though he was sure he had signed a memo to dispatch a team to correct the matter. He filed away a note to remind himself of their insubordination next time job reviews were due as he set down his briefcase in the entranceway of the dark apartment.
Beyond the entranceway was the main living room, with two windows facing the geofront. Off to the side was the kitchen. A hallway connected the living room to the master bedroom, and off the hallway were doors to the bathroom and a guest bedroom and/or storage area. There was a closet there also.
His phone went off after he set his keys on the table beside the recliner in the living room. As he reached around to turn on the free standing lamp, he stubbed his toe on the bottom of the chair and cursed aloud, the phone still vibrating its gears away against his thigh. In a flash, light illuminated the room and he pulled the phone out of his pocket.
He needed only to glance at the caller ID before tossing the phone onto the seemingly-vintage 1970's shag carpeting. It made a dull thud sound but continued to vibrate.
"Not now, Ritsuko," he said tiredly. Fingers rubbed across tired eyelids as feet guided a torso towards a chair.
He sighed as he fell into the recliner. The lever on the side of the beast jammed, but he gave it a quick series of jerks and it freed right up. He sighed again. He reached for the remote control for his fourteen inch analogue television set and the screen flickered to life after a few flashes of white light.
Tomorrow there was going to be another meeting with the Instrumentality Committee that would probably suck up most of his afternoon. The morning would see sync tests with all three pilots, but he doubted he needed to actually be there for that. He had already scheduled a meeting with the head of the maintenance division in regards to… to…
Gendo blinked. On screen, the title sequences for a show called Japan Stigma Super Great! played. An enormous mouse chased around a Gila monster with a chainsaw before being messily devoured by an eagle the size of the command bridge.
…He also needed to get the latest report on the most recent batch of cross-synchronization tests run on Units 01 and 00. And he wanted to check in with Fuyutsuki in regards to the hiring of a secretary, but for some reason, he had a vision that had been repeating itself continuously in his head since he first conceived the idea—
"Ikari, a… Secretary?" Fuyutsuki's incredulous gaze cracked as soon as his smile appeared. He chuckled, then laughed, then collapsed into raucous chortles and snorts for air.
Gendo's eye twitched. On screen, the screaming face of a disembodied head melted and dripped off a pale, pitted skull. A psychopathic kitten dressed like Santa Clause chuckled sinisterly, before cutting the throats of an entire batch of civilian-dressed hostages. A crude caricature of Mickey Mouse was given a Fu Manchu goatee and a brain control device, before being shown pictures of impressionable children. He laughed conspiratorially. Gendo's face remained impassively frowning. He wanted a drink.
He rubbed his temples, and then the bridge of his nose. He really wanted a drink, so he lowered the footrest of the recliner and got up stiffly. Sighing, he walked out into the kitchen—stubbing his toe on a bump in the carpet, cursing, limping—and retrieved a glass from the cabinet that hung over the small sink where several dirty bowls were stacked and waiting to be cleaned. He reached into the counter beside the sink and pulled out a well-worn bottle of J&B, pouring some into the bottom of the shallow glass. He regarded the scene for a few seconds, before remembering that there should have been ice in the bottom of that glass before he poured the whisky. Lumbering over to the icemaker, he got a few cubes and tossed them in, letting the amber liquid fizz and splash without care.
Feeling alone, he returned to his recliner in the other room, again tripping on the slight bump in the carpet and again cursing. His sigh was heavy and deep as his body molded to the shape of the chair. Onscreen, a woman with breasts fed a cucumber to a screaming child. Outside, the night loomed and stretched on like an anthropomorphic snake that had slithered out of Eden.
His phone went off again, vibrating its small plastic girth into the shag carpeting whose cushioning had all but rotted to barren dust. Gendo stared at the white screen on the front of the phone from where he sat in his chair. He could barely make out the caller ID.
After the second ring, the decision to answer the contraption was made. Groaning, he moved slowly toward the plastic device, feeling twice his age and tiredness as he bent over to retrieve it, only to find that it had stopped ringing the moment he picked it up. He shook his head and almost mumbled something incoherent as he set it to rest on the table next to his glass.
The television buzzed and droned on in the background as he pulled back the blinds on the wall-sized window, letting the vision of the dim geofront embed itself in his brain. The NERV complex stood almost exactly in the center of the domed expanse, and it reminded him of a pebble amid a million grains of sand. There were three or four other buildings this close to the geofront's wall, and all were designated as NERV's housing area. Surprisingly few were occupied.
A train departed from the complex and shot its way toward the edge of the dome, before curving and spiraling its way towards the surface. Gendo could almost count the number of lights in its windows.
He breathed deeply and retreated back to the chair. As he took another drink from his glass, he changed the channel, and the surrealism of Japan Stigma Super Great! switched into some bizarre contortion of a familiar dream.
On screen, a disproportionate David Bowie-look alike inexplicably went ablaze as his power levels tapped into the visual spectrum. The character laughed.
"Ha! Ha-ha-ha-haaa! Shinji Ikari, your pathetic synchronization score of eighty-three is equal to absolute zero when compared to FLAX HARDSEED's ratio of over nine thousand! And I'm not even inside your Evangelion!! Ha! Ha-ha-ha-haaa!"
The screen suddenly shifted to show Shinji's crying form—tears wafted out of his eyelids and kind of floated in the computer-generated LCL. "N-no, how??" he cried. "How is th-th-this possible? Why a-am I s-s-s-s-s-s-so w-weak-k?" He hiccupped in LCL. Gendo tried to imagine how that tasted.
White light flashed, and the sloppily brush-stroked words "I HATE MYSELF AND WANT TO TURN EVERYONE INTO ORANGE GOO" splattered themselves onscreen—the frame was visible for only half a second. Gendo managed to make out the "HATE MYSELF" and "GOO" parts, but that's it.
"Oh Mother!" he screamed, long and drawn out, "Why have you forsaken me?!!" His crown of thorns was an optical illusion created by the way light refracted through the computer-generated LCL in the plug. "Father! Why?!"
The scene changed. A blue haired girl was taking a shower. Water ran down her pale, lithe form. "What do I want out of life?" A voice over—presumably hers—pondered. "What is this I feel towards Flax Hardseed? Where once I yearned for the appreciation of the Commander, it was replaced by a yearn for the feel of Shinji's naked flesh on mine—but now even that has been eclipsed by a craving in my loins for this Flax Hardseed. His androgyny is both appealing and revolting. I find that I am undeniably attracted to the aspect ratio of her inscrutable perfection."
Gendo's phone went off again. The sound of the device's vibration against the flimsy wooden table next to his chair was loud and unpleasant.
"Hello?" He answered it, and the person on the other end was Fuyutsuki. "Yes. I understand that."
The television screen flickered and suddenly showed a redhead copulating wildly with the somewhat effeminate brown-haired protagonist of the show. Gendo used the remote to turn down the volume as he held the phone to his ear.
"I didn't—no, I didn't have a chance to go through that yet."
"Ooh, ooh, Shinji, ooh, you stupid moron, ooh,"
"Aah, Asuka, aah, I hate myself, oh god,"
Gendo turned the volume down a little more and took another sip from his glass. Fuyutsuki rambled on.
"Inform them of their negligence," Gendo enunciated. "And place their review sheets in the—what? No, place them into the basket marked—yes—review. No, I'll look over them when the stack gets high enough."
On screen, the NERV command bridge had descended into debauchery. Atop Olympus stood Flax Hardseed, grinning maniacally as he gazed down upon the orgy below. His eyeballs were red with irritation and blood tricked out of his nose, the pallor of his flesh was nearly translucent; she was a living ghost.
Gendo tilted his head and idly wondered what the hell he was watching. "I still plan on making the meeting with the head of maintenance tomorrow," he said. "That means—yes—you'll have to sit in on the synch tests. …I don't see what the Doctor's most recent irrational outburst has to do with my… 'avoiding', as you say, the Pribnow box. Tell her—yes, I know that—I am aware she called, but I did not—Fuyutsuki—I—Oh don't bring Naoko into this, she's dead already—" He sighed and frowned at the television set. The television Rei emerged from the shower and the screen showed a close up of her glistening skin as she dried herself.
His phone beeped at him and the screen alerted him to an incoming call.
"Fuyutsuki, your critique on my interpersonal relationships will have to be put on hold. I have a call from Section Two. Yes. I'll call you back." Gendo took it. "Hello."
The Rei inside the tube found herself confronted by a shadowy figure who was inexplicably dressed in an overdramatic black trench coat. He had bandages and cloth all over his left hand.
"Did I what? No, why would the Third Child need my authorization to visit—"
"I am Scar, the Claw." The figure on TV said to Rei. "And you are Rei Ayanami. I require your sexiness to fulfill my plan."
Gendo's attention was momentarily distracted by the scene (his reaction a mix of disgust and curiosity), but it returned to the conversation with the Section Two agent almost immediately. "I often fail to see the reasoning behind the Third Child's actions. However, he has proven himself in combat on numerous occasions and achieved the praise of his peers in his scholastic activities, so I do not see why we should interfere with his personal life so long as it does not negatively affect with his priorities to NERV. Yes. His lack of common sense often stuns me as well, but there is no reason to believe that—no, I understand that. Understood. Keep me informed as to their status—should danger arise, the First Child's safety takes priority."
He terminated the call, glancing at the television as he punched in the number for Fuyutsuki's office. As he waited, the scene digressed even more.
"I cannot deny that I am unabashedly lusting for Flax Hardseed," Rei commented as Scar approached her. His long black locks shadowed his face dramatically. "It is therefore unwise to attempt to conscript my cooperation for your plans."
The dial tone stopped. Gendo spoke: "Fuyutsuki, the scenario is divergent."
"But you are to be a tool for my vengeance, Rei. And a sacrifice of my undying love and—"
"Correct. I have ordered the agents to remain at their posts—yes, interference at this stage could have disastrous consequences." He reached for his glass, but when he put it to his lips, Gendo realized that it was empty. "No. I—no, Ritsuko has nothing to do with this. And no, I'm not 'snippy' because of what happened with—hhhhhhh." He set the glass loudly down on the table and released his breath as something that was more than a hiss but less than a growl. "Rei is seeing my son, Fuyutsuki. Seeing as in seeing 'seeing'. Romantically. Or at least, Shinji's daily visits to her apartment have lead Section Two to believe this much—both children are still rather solitary and awkward around each other in public." Gendo really needed another drink, so he shifted his weight in the chair as he attempted to rise.
"Incest? I've… never actually considered that possibility before," he admitted as he grasped the empty glass and shuffled toward the kitchen. "The likelihood of Shinji even making advances has always been low enough, but the chances of his advances being reciprocated were too negligible for me to even bother with. Rei is… you know how she is." He tripped on the bump in the carpet and mentally cursed. He caught his shoulder on the doorframe before his fall was imminent, though. The resounding thump ached like a mallet on flesh.
The television still sputtered its nonsense. "I am I," the pale blue-headed girl on screen mumbled. "I am not a doll."
Scar's dark smirk appeared underneath his unruly mop of hair. "Flax Hardseed would see you differently, I am afraid. Your mere presence has already taken a dominant turn for the worst within the scenario I have prepared. All will soon become clear."
"I wouldn't—no, I wouldn't go that far," he grumbled, stretching the shoulder that was so sure to bruise in the coming hours. "Incest is a bit much, Fuyutsuki. We cloned her—she isn't actually his sister. She isn't really even a direct facsimile of…" he trailed off as the image of his dead wife careened into his brain. "No, I fail to see how their liaisons could be even remotely interpreted as incestuous. Am I what?—no, I am not in denial. This has nothing to do with Ritsuko!" His wrist twitched. Ice dropped into the glass. Scowling, he grabbed the glass bottle from the cabinet and set it on the counter.
"If you want to really analyze the picture, I would think it'd be closer to some bizarre form of bestiality. Rei's more of a humanoid Lilith analogue than… you know." He took a sip of the amber fluid after he poured it. "I wouldn't think her nature was human enough to qualify any sort of… romance with her as anything other some form of bestiality. Well, I don't know if you'd call that better than incest, but it's certainly an alternative perspective."
He returned to his chair after again scuffing and tripping on the bump in the carpet. "I doubt it," he mumbled into the phone receiver.
The scene on television had shifted. It was a pan of the command bridge—at this point in the throes of the drug-addled orgy's aftermath; bodies lay strewn and untended like corpses on a battlefield whose ground none had gained. Breathing was loud and erratic from all directions save one: the peak of the mountain held a lone figure draped in madness, and he whose name that stood silhouetted was Flax Hardseed, and he who was also she did stare down upon her subjects in despair and penance, for his time of retribution did weigh nigh. These were the words of the narrator, who spoke in a booze-ridden voice-over.
"Gendo Ikari," the bloodshot and bleeding eyes of Flax Hardseed bored holes through the television screen. Glass from the tube bubbled and darkened, curved inwards, and melted away in patchy holes. The screen came away like melted cheese. Light flooded the apartment, but not in rays—in tentacles. Flax Hardseed stared silently as Gendo sat in his recliner, each observing the other in an insane spectacle of afterbirth fluids, particle-wave form tendrils, and melted glass.
"Fuyutsuki," Gendo spoke into the phone. "Let me call you back. There's something wrong with my television."
He clapped the device shut and awoke to find his phone vibrating against the wooden table next to the recliner. He blinked a few times, cleared his throat, rubbed his eyes, and sighed before looking at the caller ID on the phone.
"Hello." Gendo's hand reached for the glass of whisky, but he soon found that it wasn't there. He cursed mentally and started to get out of the chair. "Please calm down," he mumbled into the receiver. "No, I did not forget your birthday, I assure you. If you had bothered to—so now I'm the villain?"
It was meaningless rhetoric to fight like this, he knew, but he couldn't stop himself. Against a barrage of bizarrely misplaced accusations of 'other women', these kinds of fights were often knee-jerk reactionary motions that just had to be fulfilled.
"I've already made reservations at that place you like. Tomorrow, eight o'clock. Yes—" as he shuffled along the carpeting, he tripped on the bump in the floor and stumbled a few steps. "Shit, ow—no, not you, this damn—never mind. It is irrelevant." He regained his composure as her terse and unbelieving voice flooded into his ear. Accustomed to her sometimes lengthy digressions, he remained silent as he rinsed out a glass on the counter and dropped a few ice cubes into the bottom. The glass resonated with remorse.
The bottle weighed heavily in his hands as he retrieved it from the cabinet. "Yes, yes," he mumbled into the receiver. "No, I'm not just trying to appease you, I—" she interrupted him with something heavy, and it made him pause as he poured his drink. He set the bottle back on the counter and stared at his glass for a little while, seeing his reflection bounce and jump and wiggle around the ripples of the fluid. "That's different," he said quietly. His frown was deep.
"Yes, I'm still here," he sighed. "No, no. There's no need to apologize." He put the bottle back in the cabinet and picked up the glass. "I think that would be best. I'll see you tomorrow. Goodbye."
He tripped and stumbled on the bump in the carpet and cursed, but he made it to his chair without dropping his phone or his glass. The clock on the VCR above the television barked out "12:44". On screen, commercials for beer, cigarettes, and ambulance chasers flickered in sequence. Diodes threw images through cathode rays and projected needless information into his tired brain. Sound filtered through FM demodulators and poured itself into his ears like melted wax and iron. A girl wearing next to nothing presented the weather forecast for the next week, and things didn't look promising.
He sipped his whisky. Another train spiraled into the geofront and zoomed towards the pebble amid the grains of sand. He couldn't see the stars from underground.