Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. This author does not own any of the characters, setting, or anything in-between concerning Gainax's IP Neon Genesis Evangelion. I am but a simple caveman. The company gives the word and this thing vanishes from the Internet in moments.
Acceptable Losses
C-I
2009
The Crèche, NERV Second Branch
There is an ending.
Whether it be through struggle, simple dithering through life, or passive acceptance, everything ends. Often feared and cast in such negative light for centuries, Man has no love of endings. Does life stop and simply fade away or is there more? No answers. The universe seems apt to keep its poker face and let things carry on until heat death. The trend is embraced with fervor unrivaled by even the most fanatical of zealots. Such is a world half empty.
Aki felt her ending draw nearer. And she relishes the thought. Freedom from everything that happened in these lonely halls and off-white rooms that held all memories, that is what she craves. There is nothing else.
Be it weeks or years, she'd find her ending.
The room is dark. A single harsh light shines in the corner, throwing bizarre shadows everywhere.
Her eyes lock onto the fig leaf covered name emblazoned on the wall of her modest cell. NERV. Her eyes trace the simple motto, 'God's In His Heaven…All's Right With The World." She bit back a giggle, running a hand through her cropped hair. The fittings remain nothing but bumps under her fingers, running all the way down from the brain stem to the spinal cord. She shivers.
No God only scared men with needles. The thought tickles her the right way. Laughter rings against the metal door, echoing deep inside her mind.
Fingers idly trace the dark cluster of veins standing out on the white flesh of her arm. She winces, the flesh tender and bruised, dabs of ochre and soot on alabaster.
All's Right With The World. Then why'm I here? Where's Mother? She glances at the door.
The thought is cyclical, rote.
It's all that keeps her from falling apart in the darker nights within the Crèche. Her fingers clenched into bloodless fists, trembling. It'd be time for cocktails and tea soon. That'd be nice. A moment of peace. They ate thick potato soup this week with fresh cooked breads. A luxury. It'd help the meds settle. Maybe she'd not wake up from the nightmares then. Maybe. They constantly up the dosage. She acclimated to the big choking pills far too quickly. 'Tolerance,' they say. Doctor Tennyson hates her for it. Aki's bony fingers trace the shiner that covered her cheek. It didn't matter, no bones broke.
Not like last time.
Yes, the good doctor carries a grudge, one might say. The good doctor did not brook silence. Her bedside manner is the charm of the facility, didn't you know?
Didn't you? You can speak up, child; I would just like your opinion. Don't you like me? Aren't I so nice? Why, I helped Doctor Palermo set Reese's broken arm! Stop staring and speak, Aki! Stop staring at me you dead-eyed little bitch!
The slap made her ears pop, the doctor wears rings.
Aki smiles and shakes, drags her blanket over boney knees.
Slowly, she lies down on her cot and stares at the NERV emblem a while longer, tracing the fig leaf's contours and stylized veins. Sin is what the fig hides. Whose? All Aki could recall of anything is being a good little girl. Who is so afraid? The adults speak in hushed whispers of Second Impact. They speak of prevention.
When? Aki hadn't been born then, why did it concern her? The comet that fell had nothing to do with her. The wars and famines were over when the Crèche took her. They tell her she is special, fortunate, and other things she doesn't remember.
What sin did the fig leaf cover for her? There are no secrets, no sins. The leaf covers nothing. Aki bites down hard on her lip. She pictures the little house she once lived in: crooked frame on her wall, the spidery crack in the glass window, the apple trees growing in the rich soil, the red ocean turning violet at sunset.
The place called home.
Swimming in the clean red ocean, a lost pleasure. It warmed her, cheered her, it was harmless. The adults called it the ocean of blood. Lies.
Nothing like the blood dripped out of cuts after tests. Nothing like the blood Maddy puked all over the floor during the last battery of tests. It was darker than Aki recalled the ocean being, it didn't roll off of Maddy's face like the red water did after a swim. The blood pooled in Maddy's eyes when they went dead, thick as paint. Hemorrhage, the good doctor said. Extra rations, said the Children, deep past the hurt and the tears.
Aki misses the red seas. There is no taste of blood there. Nothing touched her. Not sadness, not people, not endings, not blood. A sea without memories, a fading voice always said in her mind from behind carefully sealed doors.
The tests are home. The LCL is her surrogate ocean. Yet she cannot swim.
The orange slurry shoving its way into her lungs reminds her of the red seas.
It took her memories away in the shock. She could breathe. Aki never breathed in the red seas. But in the Plug, in the dark, alone with thoughts only, she breathed underwater.
The only explanation is magic. Magic is real in the Crèche and no where else. The magic takes you over, only if you embrace it. If the magic is kind to you, you prosper, you eat, you get to sleep, and the good doctor pats your head with a smile. The adults smile and nod and talk of synchronization-survival estimates and potential in 'the real thing.' If the magic isn't kind to you, you starve, you bleed, and you witness the ministrations and will of the Old Men.
Aki believes this. Science, not magic, the doctors and technicians say. What the hell do they know? She once saw men try to breathe underwater and they died. A quiet memory.
She stood at a wide bay window overlooking a bridge, watching people throw rocks and shout at tall men wrapped in plastic, standing on big metal beasts settled on the bridge. Tanks belched flame and roared like the dragons of myth. Hungry, Aki remembers. Everyone was just hungry. The people screamed and rushed at the dragons, they fired and the people vanished. Red mist and bits and pieces floated down to the ground. A smoking forearm fell onto the dirt in front of the window. Fingers twitched and scraped furrows into the dirt. That arm grabs her when she sleeps. Twitching and choking her.
The crowd broke, people shoving, screaming, gnashing like trapped dogs to get away from the pile of writhing offal that had been their fellow rioters.
Dozens fell off the bridge into the canal. All they did was float. Float, float off into the ocean.
How can she breathe orange water when no one else can breathe red water? Science, they say. They never taught her that at home. A quiet corner of her mind knew it would end the mystery. Aki didn't want that ending. It kept her eyes bright.
Only one ending satisfies.
Aki draws up the covers, curling up against the cold air. Goose flesh crawls up her legs like a thing alive, a bony frame covered in stretched chicken skin. Tired.
The covers don't help. The shakes again. The pinprick scars lining her back ache in the cold. The pain stretches and contracts, growing and shrinking over and over again. Breathing hurt. She ignored the spot of blood growing on the sheets. Her mind withdrew deeper into the little box she saved for the beatings.
Everything ends. Her time by the ocean, at home, the apple tree she swung on, playing among so many friends with faces worn smooth in time, washed away. Her childhood is populated with mannequins. All sitting neatly in rows, whispering to one another. Aki remembers hugging them. She remembers skin like plastic. The sensation of life isn't there. Little context exists anymore.
Miss Amuro calls it 'water under the bridge.'
Aki laughed 'til she cried when she first heard that.
The speakers belt out a jingle. It's time to sleep already? Aki feels a thrill of pleasure spread through her, rolling over to reach down and pull out her auto-tab. The plastic injector always feels heavy in her hand. Strange images fill her head. Inflamed throats and choking sounds. Doctor Goodwin took detailed notes that night. 'Such fine data, we're making progress. Oh? Yes, yes, put her in the body bag.'
The images fade. A long time ago, that's all. The tabs hold vitamins and priceless sleep. Tabs help her ignore the constant chatter of the speakers in the ceiling. Eighteen hours a day, it prattles out the useless bullshit to help motivate the candidates. Learning to tune them out is a skill all candidates acquire.
"—one. God's In His Heaven and All's Right With The World. Be good little Children, take your vitamins everyday'—Aki slides the auto-tab right above her navel, hits the button, softly moaning when the euphoria hits her—'and grow strong. You are loved. Your mommies and daddies are so proud and you are not alone."
"Shut…up…" she says. Things feel too good for talk.
Aki's mouth dries up; teeth clench her bottom lip, watching the first bead of blood well up from her stomach. Spindly fingers wipe up the blood and draw across her tongue. The rich taste of iron and vitamins. Her eyes do their focusing trick and shut tight at the sudden, painful headache, head in a vise, tightening to the breaking point. No sobbing. That pleases her. There would be no satisfaction for them. The eyes and ears are everywhere.
No shame.
Where's Mother?
Yet Aki knows, knows, knows. Mother's watching.
She peels an eye open to stare at the gleaming camera lens right above the door. Before the relaxers claim her lucidity, she lurches to onside, vomiting. Not enough food, now she pays. The smell is excruciating. The room is spinning like turntables now, save clean up for tomorrow.
Her face streams when the dry heaves begin.
There would be no sobs from Cell Six-I. Not for Mother, not for God, not for anything or anyone.
As the speaker reminds them their every waking moment: God's In His Heaven.
Little girls never cry if He is there, right?
2011
Pribnow Testing Range, NERV Second Branch
The Entry Plug coruscates with white and black light. It polarizes and finally, sight. Faces stare at her on three pop-up screens.
"Begin activation protocols. Liven up, Six-I."
The plug is filled slowly with LCL, Aki's head rolling back to stare with dead eyes. Flat faces stare back at her expectantly. She smiles, vacant, opening her mouth and sucking down the LCL, breathing deep. The wrong tube, then coughing, hacking, she chokes for a minute. Anticipation filters back in. She is hungry for the fix.
Exasperated sighs from the observers, one of the techs laughs. Conversation just beyond hearing, Aki leans forward over the butterfly switches inside the plug, fascinated by a single bubble floating just beyond current pull.
My magic…
"Lean back, subject, we're beginning soon—when the hell is the dosage supposed to kick in?" The asshole, Yushida-man, starts to speak then covers his mike with a surreptitious look at Aki. She giggles.
Everyone hates you, funny man. And it takes twenty minutes, six seconds.
They didn't stick her with enough this time. Not quick enough on the draw. She sighs, pleased, looking down at her bodysuit and feeling the drugs push through the tunnels and avenues inside. Used to all the traffic, the body adapts, takes more trash to pack its streets and slow things down.
She can feel numbness in her lower back, though. It's starting to work. A vague disappointment settles in her mind. Tolerance, they said. Aki just wants a bigger dose. But she's about to get all the Mix she could want. More than enough to have the stars come down from Heaven and whisper things that have been forgotten by the universe. It unlocks doors in her mind. Some that should stay closed.
Aki sucks in LCL, wetting her lips in anticipation. Give it to me. Let me escape this place. Bring back the magic.
"How do you feel?" They know she's not going to say a word. The psychiatrists tried. The bridge crew certainly won't succeed.
Yushida-man sighs, nodding to a tech offscreen. "Begin."
Her seat slides forward and splits down the middle, revealing symmetrical rows of needle-tipped injectors. Aki bites her lower lip and feeling a rush of heat in her belly. Little frothing bubbles gather at the edge of her mouth, slip away in the filters.
Give it to me.
The ringing in her ears builds up, screams that stab her eardrums in the night, the feeling of splitting in half. Aki settles back, face blank, mouth agape. The sharp points dig into her skin. She begins to hum a catchy little jingle.
Pribnow Unit, NERV Second Branch
The Pribnow Crew waits; activation is always a time for worry, so many variables and reaction-survivor curves. They lost three candidates in as many weeks. Yet the suits present weren't as worried about Six-I. This investment is merely one part of a greater whole.
"She takes to this crap like its candy." Yushida turns to the men who do not smile. Immaculately dressed, all of them, they contrast wildly with the steel, glass, wires, dirtied techs, and supercomputers all around. Each looked like a wax statue, freshly made and set down. His laughter dies and he turns attention back at the readouts coming up. "Um, well, we have little to worry about sirs. Every precaution is ready, medical teams are standing by in the eject bay."
An old man with dark glasses snorts, looking to the nervous Operations Director. The black lenses reflect the light so perfectly and the man's wrinkled face set so precisely, he can't read this man. And Anton Yushida prides himself at being able to read people. It's what got him this far. He couldn't remember this board member's name. Somehow that seems dangerous.
"You say that, and yet, you have three bodies on ice in your morgue ready to be incinerated after the autopsies are complete, no? I seem to recall you had medical teams on standby then as well. I wouldn't put so much faith in technology to save these children, Mister Yushida." The old man spat. His hidden gaze sweeps back toward the monitors.
Biting the inside of his cheek and sucking on the sudden sharp taste of blood, Anton forges ahead. Arguing with a financier would shorten his career to minutes. His life too. "Forg-"
The old man cuts him off, "This is the resonance cascade, yes? The subliminal synchronization?"
Yushida sups confidence from the shift of conversation, straightening up, "Yes, sir. It's the newest protocol we've devised for the child—er, candidates. It keeps them calmer without sedatives. The reactions of sedatives and the Mix itself are…well, you gentlemen have the reports." For a brief moment, he remembers the fate of Six-M. Aneurysm. What was his name? After the last few deaths, they all become one in his head.
The suits look at him, impassive as the mountains.
"Ah, as you see, Candidate Six-I has taken to it quite well. She's been the most pliable of the remainder. Nothing revolutionary, but…the results speak for themselves. Heh, we see her as our golden child." Relief runs through him, cooling as ice, when some of the Old Men nod approvingly.
"You will produce a serviceable product then? This process has been…costly, sir." Another, a man dressed in a charcoal-colored suit and cornflower blue eyes, spoke. Yushida nods quickly.
"Of course, of course! Doctors Goodwin and Tennyson are proceeding with the treatments of each of the six remaining candidates. Aki here shows the most promise." He paused. "At least, eh, s-sixty-eight percent chance of survival." He clams up and his skin pricks with sweat in the sudden heat flooding the room. Didn't they feel it?
Someone coughed behind him. The technicians remain blissfully unaware, tracking Aki's vitals and the start up of the induction. Certainly not looking at their boss cracking under pressure.
He can see the contempt amongst the Old Men.
The man in the glasses turns toward him. "Let us hope then, that your people can deliver on this most costly of projects, Mister Yushida. Competition is fierce and we shall need a working model in the next few years. Do well. And I don't care which is left by the end." With that, the Old Men turn and leave leisurely by the rear doors.
Like a pressure valve, Yushida let out the breath he had been holding, closing his eyes to regain his composure. A shaking hand brushes away the sweat and he glares at the techs that dare to look back. "Prep stage two…make her sing."
You better live, kid.
Something isn't right. He knows the Glasses Man. He was there when Project-M was introduced. He had asked questions, but stuck to the rear of the group of officials. Him and one other, though Anton can't recall him. They spoke in quiet whispers among the military personnel. High rollers. Who they were didn't matter. What matters is they hold his career by the balls. A simple word and done he is, eunuch he is.
Anton Yushida does not disappoint.
"Alright, let's go. Key the link and keep the Plug undervolt. Someone get me Doctor Goodwin, we need current data on the cocktail." He takes a proffered phone with a curt nod, dialing the doctor's line. The phone rings, the chirring noise settles his nerves. Anton's mind wanders.
Kiel, he recalls suddenly. His name was Kiel.
Aki sits, swaying and humming, feeling the plugsuit shift around her like a fruit peel loose around the pulp. There is slowness to her movements as she swims through the charged LCL. Everything just slows to a crawl, the world passes her by. It is as things should be, she muses. Distantly, her ego crawls into the bolthole deep inside.
She realizes she's singing the old rhyme. Hazy memories of the implantation session warm her. Ophelia was alive then. They used to eat lunch together. Ophelia smiled a lot, a big gap where her front teeth should have been. Aki misses Ophelia. She misses Mother too. The faces squawking at her from the screens finally shut up.
Peace.
-OBEY-
She twitches.
Aki lets herself float for a time, it helps her calm. The slight currents from filters caress her cheek. Aki wonders why that is comforting. Something to ponder when she's inside. Maybe. Ah, the inside…
The com chirps, "Okay, jazz the waters."
Aki grunts, eyes fluttering open to watch the LCL begin to shimmer and shift in patterns off a ships hull at dock.
"Pre…tty…" Aki says, thinking of her home by the shore, the bodies floating in the canal, the struggling limb.
"She talks?" Always the same.
"Shut it, she speaks when she's high."
They argue about me…they need to die. Just like the rest of us…die and give me my sweets. I want it all.
Vacuum-sealed fingers grip the butterfly toggle; breathing grows heavier forcing LCL in and out. Calm vanishes quickly, bubbles rushing out her mouth with every breath. Her body thrusts back against the chair, a hiss turning to a yelp, the needles pricking her back. She writhes around, hair fanning out in a charcoal halo.
"Why am I left behi-i-ind…" The scintillation hurries speaking to Aki's mind, stimulating dormant thoughts. 'Wake up,' it whispers, subliminal coaxing out the darker impulses. Aki crawls into the safer reaches of the Ego, sheltering in the Room.
-OBEY-
Let it burn. She giggles between the stanzas, bracing. A knock on the door, behind which lies nothing.
"Snap shot, pressure is holding at forty-five percent."
Aki. Another knock.
"Mom-ma."
Scratchy sounds, the speakers crying. "Heart rate is increasing." Sounds like Lieutenant Vandergraff. He's nice. He doesn't shout.
"Good, good, give me a countdown."
Aki, baby, open the door.
Aki curls into a ball, face staring out at the stony faces in the Box. They mosaic and blob as Aki withdraws further into herself. The Room is inviting.
"Three…"
Aki licks her lips again, panting suddenly. The taste of blood. The red sea never tasted like blood.
"Two…"
A click behind, dozens of needles set and prime, their CO2 cartridges ready, each carrying an element of the Mix cocktail that would make Aki the dream of the NERV organization thus far. She didn't care. Not one goddamn bit.
"One."
A short, howling cry bursts from Aki's lungs, her back studded with dozens of injectors. Bowing forward, long ribbons of drool and blood flow from her mouth, bending back in the filter current like ugly streamers. Eyes rolling back, Aki slumps over when the oscillation increases tempo, a strobe giving vivid freeze frames of suffering. Little hands dart out and grab the butterfly controls, body shivering and seizing.
Aki watches from deep inside the Room, almost passive, sitting on a ratty bed there. They wish her harm. They wish her harm. She craves the fire running through her veins burning them, leaving them ashen iron husks.
Another knock on the door. There's someone who'd like to speak with you…please…
The sound of bodies ramming against the door jars Aki into the corner.
Let us in, you little bitch! You'll fucking pay for this one!
Out little doll! OUT OUT OUT! Look at you, you stained freak. Waiting for Mommy to come kiss it and make it better. We're gonna change that, right now…
The door bows in, seemingly made of rubber than wood. The sound of breathing, gasping, just beyond the door. Something rakes against the wood. Aki claps her hands to her ears. Rocking back and forth, she will not listen. She sings softly to herself.
We wait in here. We're the weight you feel. A tumor that nothing can see, nothing can stop. We'll get in…soon. And then…then…we get to see how hollow you really are.
"Home. Home. Home. Home. Home." She chants in her little room. In her mind.
"Christ, she's talking to herself again…"
"Ignore her, Lieutenant. I want readings." Yushida watches his screens slaved to each console. His eyebrows arch at the numbers coming in, fluctuating as they are.
"34.5 theoretical." Lieutenant Chambers lets out a small whistle. "That's…that's the highest yet, sir."
"Yes. Good, good…the docs will be up in a bit. They'll bring her down. Holy God…" Yushida's gaze settles on Aki's neck, watching slowly as black corruption crawls up her skin. "So it is does stain…" he murmurs.
"Sir?" The entire Pribnow Box is silent, everyone watching as the pilot's carotid artery turns ashen against the skin.
"Nothing, keep monitoring." He watches the tangled bird's nest of discolored veins grow, reaching like fanned out fingerss across her cheeks, stopping just shy of her nose and mouth and eyes. That's mighty intriguing. She'll be a hit in fashion. Anton barely suppresses his laughter, nodding to Vandergraff. "Patch mother in; let's get some reins on the beast."
"Aki." Mother says.
Aki's conscious mind leaps out of the bolthole into the ravages of her Mix-addled brain. She gasps at the pain and muscle torsion. Red-eyed and holding back tears, it becomes secondary to Mother.
-HATE-
"Mom-ma…I-I hurt." She mewls, looking up at the [Audio Only] frame before her on the holograph.
Mother coos, "I know, honey. But you must do well. Sing, Aki, it'll stop the pain."
Her legs cramp, calves coiling together and wrung out like towels. She screams and reaches down to wring the pain out. Her face hurts. Why? In the observation room, a dose of sedative slips into the Mix. Tweaking out, she stares at the blank viewscreen, imagining the heavenly face beyond it. Aki smiles, blood and bile flowing out of her mouth, away, away into the filters. Men speak somewhere around her. She ignores them.
"Wanna see you, Momma…"
"Not now, baby."
Aki growls, her hands jerking at the controls.
-CALM-
She sings. Mother coos and heaps praise upon her. Aki is a good girl, such a sweet girl, such an obedient girl.
The mien of the Plug changes into a barren cityscape. Something in her mind tries to think of red water. Why? Before her stands a tall man made of light with a silly halo-KILL-looping round big black eyes.
-ADAM-
Her left eye begins to twitch out of control. Her vision blurs.
"…bleeding…"
Aki coils up on the chair, hunched over, the injection tubes forming rows of plastic spines fueling a sudden frothing rage building up in her chest. An empty spot there begins to fill. Bloody froth and spittle fly out of her mouth. There, something long dormant begins to wake, pumped up a thousand times by the psychotropic.
"—on't need a fucking graph—look at her eyes! So much blood. Ge—"
-KILL-
Mother whispers in her ear, "Do well and you will have no need of ancestors."
-KILL-
The world turns into a narrow tunnel ringed in red. Something must die.
"—medical—"
The world goes black with a roar of utter rage.
2015
The Crèche, NERV Second Branch
Four long years. And in the end, was it worth it?
See the results for yourself.
Anton Yushida looks like grim death. The past four years have not been kind. The near bankruptcy of the Project, the deaths of all but one candidate, the investigations, the parleys with the UN Assembly, the lying, Doctor Tennyson's death, the document leak on the Net, so on. Anton runs a hand through his now thinning hair, tracing the hairline before fitting his cap on. He'd been the picture of nervous youth once.
He is watching the tremor in his hand come up full force. Anton knows that with the ending of the prototype phase, this final product, his life is forfeit. Too many accidents, far too many bodies (and he knew where they were all buried), too much, too many people knew what they were doing in old Building 32. The Old Men are pleased with the results.
Not with him.
He looks at the waiting sedan and the men staring straight at him.
Caught in a snare, they seem to say in body language alone. Anton knows a little about Section Two. And that kernel of information terrifies him. Project-M, at least this phase and facility, is being shut down. Success is all that matters, thank you, carry on. His staff gone, transferred, Yushida found all the time in the world to mull his fate. All that is left is Goodwin. He knew too much as well. And he failed just as much as his commander. The doctor is stoic. Anton envies that sort of will. A take anything that comes will. It does wonders right now.
Yushida looks to the product being wheeled out down the service ramp. No lights, no ominous rows of troops, just a hop and walk out of the infirmary for the Sixth Children. She even looks lucid. Small miracles do happen. That pleases him greatly. He feared that she'd be in one of her more withdrawn states. Her bloodshot eyes look skyward.
"Hmph, I guess we haven't let her out enough." Goodwin mutters.
Anton can't help but laugh. The orderly throws them a sharp look. Anton cares not. He's a dead man; the orderly gets transferred to Europe. And the Children, well, he didn't envy the upcoming tasks for her. She fidgets in the wheelchair, standing on shaky legs with some coaxing from the nurse. The Section Two men immediately usher her to the car, taking a final look at Anton. The girl looks confused, but makes no sound. She hasn't spoken in three years. Not since the incident with her mother and Tennyson. Tennyson's files are handed to the spooks.
"It's free now. The beast is free." Goodwin shakes his head, sighing heavily.
"I imagine this means our end now?" Anton grins, looking at his old friend. Holding out his hand, Goodwin clasps it firmly. "No regrets."
"None." Goodwin says. Two shadows creep up along with theirs.
"Gentlemen, if you'd come with us please." Anton turns to look the agent in the eye. Reflective sunglasses show only Anton's own worried, aged face, nothing else. He chuckles and nods, walking along with Goodwin, walking off grounds into the desert, out toward the fence almost four miles out, into the hills. Anton looks over his shoulder to see the sedan pull away.
Nothing happens for some minutes.
"We've done terrible things," Goodwin says. The agents remain silent.
"It's alright, Jim. No one will know. That's all that matters." Anton almost sounds sure of himself.
They walk. After climbing a steep hardpan dune, they find a small trench. Anton notes the bucket of lime sitting next to the trench and the shovels present. A laugh bubbles out of his lips unwarranted. He imagines if he moved just so, he could scoop up a shovel and plant the point through the throat of one of their captors, giving Jim enough time to grab his other and finish the other agent. They could flee.
But that's a pipedream. They're already on their knees and the agents have their guns out. Wind throws a harsh grit in their face. Anton can hardly see, eyes watery from the grit.
The agents calmly put two rounds into Jim.
His forehead explodes, blood pumping, gushing, gray chunks falling from the wound as he tumbled in lifelessly. A fine sheet of blood covers the doctor's frozen, shocked face.
Anton closes his eyes and whirls around in sudden, powerful fear.
"Please!" he says. He tries to knock the guns away. The guns cough a reply. Bullets shear off the tips of his fingers and smash into his right cheek exiting just below his chin. Blood rapidly fills his mouth, pouring out in long arcs of scarlet when he falls into the pit.
Choking, with the sight leaving his right eye, Anton looks up at a flatter world. One of the Section Two agents looks down, taking careful aim. He's young, bald, and completely unfazed by his work. Anton tried to cry. All he can do is bleed. That's all that's left in the world, he thinks, murderers like me.
That thought and the bullet are the last things to enter his mind.
2015
Runway Two, NERV Second Branch
Aki's catatonic. This is her semblance of normality. Her thin fingers idly play with frayed hair. Her eyes are locked on the outside world speeding by.
The agents pay her no mind: is she breathing? Yes? Good. A medical manila folder four inches thick sits in the lap of the agent riding shotgun. He thumbs through it and feels ill. "This…is fucked up. Kinda wish I had been on the other team now…"
"I don't need to read anything. Look at the kid."
Their winding conversation about right and wrong in the world is ignored. Aki feels a dozen new sensations. The soft leather of the seat barely helps the constant soreness in her back, pain lances up her spine. Fingers dance across the rough texture regardless. The soft breeze and slightly off-smelling air from the vents cools her like nothing else. Not the bone-chilling winds of the test chambers, no. This is something alien: comfort. She sucks on her sunken cheeks, idly chews them.
Of course, she's inside, deep in the bolthole and sitting in the Room.
See Aki in the Room: huddled up there in the corner and covered in ashy dust, staring at the door. A thin linen shirt is all that covers her shivering frame. A tattered throw haphazardly tucked round her shoulders. Matted locks of hair cling to sweat-slick cheeks. Her skin yellow and waxy in the dying light of dusk. The others prowl around just outside the door, begging for peek inside. Just friendly neighbors, oh yes.
Let us in! Please! They comin'! Aki, please! Nails rake over the thick wood and it shudders as if a dozen men with a battering ram test it. Please, you four-eyed fuck, we can't hide out here!
The voices murmur amongst themselves, conspirators in the umber twilight just outside the door. Aki's looking around the Room in haste. Everything's so cold. Her fingers dig up furrows of powdery dust, revealing the old wood beneath.
Better clean your room.
Aki snorts, wiping the filth off on her leg in great greasy smears, constantly eyeing the door. She tugs the throw over her head, trying to become one with the shadows. Just go, she slams her eyes shut.
The ramming starts again with a chorus of curses and rage.
Nothing more than a fucking freak! Look at you! LOOK AT YOU! I'm gonna cut that stupid smirk off your face! Mock me! Do it a-fuckin'-gain! DO IT! OPEN UP!
DIE DIE DIE DIE, JUST CLOSE THOSE EYES AND DIE!
Aki throws herself into the corner, trying to flee, hands scrabbling at the floorboards, scraping and her mouth open in a silent scream. Long, nasty splinters lance new homes underneath her nails, sending little threads of blood into the dust. She tears her hands apart, trying to dig a hole to crawl into. The dust and the blood mix into a thick slurry that smells like the infirmary.
Come out and play, Aki! Come on! I wanna play sheets again! You like sheets!
Something moves in the corner of the room, just where the shadows thicken near the door. Aki's hands are red ruins, bleeding, splintered and nails dangling at odd angles. The pain throws her mind in a loop. A painful whimper wells up in her throat, leave, leave, leave, leave goes the chant. Make it stop, I just wanna stay inside. Why me? Blow it up, watch it fall flat…
All the sounds cease. Aki slowly looks back at the door, holding her ruined hands close to her belly. Streaks of red dye adorn her medical gown. The Room is warped and twisted. All is elongated, as if viewed through a door's peephole. The door is a short, bent thing. Still Aki cowers in her corner.
The door shimmers with a darkness growing in the shadows round it, the weak twilight from the window unable to break the spell of the dark.
Why you? It says. Because you're here.
It laughs and slips away, the shadows taking on their normal shades and peeling away at the soft orange light from the boarded windows. The murmur outside the door dies away.
Aki rocks back to reality, her head whipping right to left. Slowly, she recalls coming into the car.
The men are silent. She likes this. They don't ask pointless questions. She's confused though, why do they wear black? And why do they cover their eyes? It's been so long since she's seen anything other than white or khaki. The sky, tinted violet by the windows, is so strange. It goes forever. There are no ceilings, no cells, no walls. The sky holds no memories, much like the ocean she lived near once. That calms her.
The agents speak, not bothering to whisper. "I think she has palsy or something, her hands are shaking."
"Not our problem."
Aki couldn't stop making them shake unless she took her doses. It's been a few hours. She hardly cares. As long as she gets something, it keeps her inside and everything outside trying to get in fades away. And nothing pleases her more. Aki feels her stomach start to knot, right above her bellybutton. Her fingers dig into her thighs, hefting them like grabhandles on a toolbox. The sky is blurring by, too fast, too fast! The world passes her by; all she can do is hold on for dear life.
Something lurches and twists.
Because you're here.
It feels as if a coil of ten thousand eels writhe around inside. Each gnaws and rips at the intestinal walls. The car heads toward a giant winged plane waiting on the tarmac, the wings winking in the sunlight. Aki holds her stomach tight. She doesn't want to be in the sky. The fly in the spider's web, struggling to break away is never successful. She'd not get out of this one.
Her eyes are frantic, looking at each man in the car. They'll beat her, she knows it. She deserves it. The car is nice, it smells good. It doesn't smell antiseptic like the rest of her life does. She'll ruin it.
Aki doubles over.
"What the hell is wrong with her?" someone says.
Aki shows them a moment later, covering the back seat with a breakfast force-fed earlier.
2015
Tokyo-03, NERV Headquarters
Misato Katsuragi sighs, seeing the reams of paperwork and tries to will it away.
Pointless things, technical readouts from synch-time graphs concerning the First Children, (not so pointless) accident reports concerning the Unit Zero start up tests a week ago, filling out paperwork for now cancelled exercises meant to take place within the Geo-Front, damage estimates from the now shattered testing chamber and command box. It goes on and on.
I…need a smoke. Misato sneers at the thought, but it's so appropriate. Even a beer wouldn't cure her boredom right now. Drastic measures are needed. Ritsuko's got plenty cigarettes, she won't miss a few.
"The perfect crime." She says. Won't happen though, she realizes she's just being shitty about paperwork.
Thinking more about it turns her stomach.
As much as she wants one, it makes her sick. It wasn't enough that Ritsuko smokes, even thinking back to how she and Kaji used to smoke back in school. Dad smoked. Memory stirs. Look at me, Misato. They're horrid for you, look at this face and hear this cough. This'll be yours if you keep it up, see how the boys love you then. He even laughed afterward.
Only damn joke he ever made. She sighs. Misato's fingers fumble with the cross round her neck, staring through the paperwork spread out on the desk. A gooseneck lamp casts the only light. She wanted a cozier atmosphere. Now it feels decidedly grim. She shakes her head, flipping on the overheads and blinking away the dancing spots.
"To hell with this. Break time!" She says, standing up and stretching. "Food, food, food."
Gathering up a few pages she's not read, she heads for the mess hall. Even as she walks toward the elevators, her eyes scan the pages clasped tightly in clipboard. Yet, she dwells on that crappy old joke and her final days in Antarctica so many years ago.
It screamed, the Captain thinks, shivering. The doors slide shut.
Mess Hall No. 4, NERV Headquarters
Well…dull as Masamune's on a Wednesday… Misato sighs, looking around the mess hall. She figured someone would be on break. Hell, she thinks, Fuyutski'd be great company right now. With a flick of her wrist, the clipboard clatters to a nearby table.
So much for curing boredom. Eh, might as well eat.
She follows the rote: grabbing hot food from the autoloader, filling up on the last of the coffee, grabbing the choice foods from the ala carte. At least it's fresh today. Old man Ichi stands behind the line, reading the paper. A smile breaks on his dour old face when he sees Misato.
"Nuttin' for it today, Captain. Been quiet since breakfast, even let my own take breaks at lunch."
"Aw, I'm sorry. I'll be in here to keep you all company, how's that?"
"Mighty fine, Cap'n. Oh! Nevermind, we got another live one!" Ichi pivots on his heel, looking back into the kitchen. "Ichigo! Get off your ass and start whipping up some fresh coffee! Keko! Spiced noodles with the mild miso! Chop-chop, people!" The kitchen is alive with swearing and falling pots.
Misato turns around, laughing, knowing only one person who ate that shit for lunch. She took one look at the head of Project-E's haggard walk and couldn't stop the words from spilling out.
"Good God, Rits, you look like shit."
The doctor snorts, "Wow, thanks. Ass." Misato beams. "But I do feel like shit, so I can't be completely irate. Spent the night doing maintenance on the MAGI, haven't slept in thirty-seven hours." Ritsuko blinks, rubbing at baggy eyes "God, it has been thirty-seven. Ugh. Even Maya cried off after thirteen hours, half the crew left before that." Akagi pulls out the ubiquitous pill bottle she carries round everywhere, jingling it. Ah, relief inside! She pops the top.
"How is Rei? I've got the medical report, I just haven't read it. 'Sover there with the others."
Ritsuko shrugs, shaking a few white capsules into her palm. "She'll live. Arm'll heal in time; we think her eye is okay." Ritsuko gulps the pills down. "It'll take a bit more testing to know. Her internal injuries are the most worrisome bit right now. Only one surgery needed, which is good. The staff is still worried about internal bleeding."
"Ma'am," Ichi interjects, leaning over the ala carte line with a steaming cup of coffee. "One fresh, black, two sugars." Misato glances down at her own coffee. Sludge in a cup. Bleh.
"You're a lifesaver." Ritsuko sips, savoring the rich taste. "Oh God, yes. We're gonna go plant ourselves over there, let me know when the noodles are done."
"Yes, ma'am! Shijumi'll bring 'em out."
Misato stays silent as they sit down, mulling Rei's condition. She never speaks much with the First. That is Ritsuko and the Commander's job. The girl is too quiet for Misato. Her pale skin and blued hair never bothered Misato in the least unlike a lot of the crew. It's the red eyes that bug her. Red eyes aren't natural, albino or not. Misato snaps back, realizing she's staring off into space and acutely aware of Ritsuko's curious look.
"Sorry, j-just…off in my own world. Um, is Rei going to be okay in the long run?"
"Oh yes, she'll be fine. That's what I think, anyhow. She can take it." Ritsuko says, downing more aspirin.
"I suppose she is. Lots of kids are like that now."
Akagi nods, smiling tightly. "How things are and all. And, uh, I think we're going to be getting a new perspective on kids like that soon…"
Misato looks up from her paperwork, "What do you mean?"
"Maya didn't inform you?"
A slow headshake to the negative.
"Hoo boy. We got word yesterday from the Second Branch. They're sending us the Sixth Children."
"What?" Misato says, swallowing a mouthful of salad. "There's a Sixth? Where the hell are three through five? The candidates we have at the school…? And…huh?"
Ritsuko smiles. "I have no idea. We've not even gotten this girl's file yet. Only the primer from Marduk. She's part of a new program the Second Branch has been playing with for years."
"So, is she like the Second Children in Germany? Motormouth?" Misato vaguely recalls her time with the Second in Germany. Talkative, lively, and a far cry from Rei's stoic self.
"Um, no, not exactly. She's a mute, from what we know." The head of Project-E smiles at Misato's dumbfounded look. "We get all the great ones, don't we?" Ritsuko shuts up. The smell of spices and miso fill Misato's nostrils. Shijumi sets down Ritsuko's usual. "Thank you so much."
He leaves. "Anyway. She'll be here in about a week, maybe two."
"We have only two Units here. We'd have to refit the Prototype for her." Images of the colossi sleeping in the depths of NERV flash through Misato's mind. "Are…" She doesn't know how to ask it. Her tongue feels thick and clumsy. For a moment, all Misato can hear is that wailing cry from Second Impact through the fog of years. "Are they back?"
Ritsuko shakes her head, "Not yet." Silence. They eat for a time; fiddle with paperwork, lost in their thoughts. Misato's mind goes in a dozen directions all at once.
"It's modular." Ritsuko says.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"The Sixth is part of an experimental program for new Pilots. She…can be placed in any Evangelion Unit, along with her M-Type Entry Plug. It's a universal system, newest technology they've brewed up in American R&D. The UN seems rather pleased with it."
"Huh, never heard of it. So, what's the new girl like besides being a mute?"
Ritsuko chuckles, "Not exactly mute. I don't know the exact circumstances, but she refuses to talk at all. Her information packet will be here soon enough. We'll see then. Pointless speculation is best left for me and the Committee. By the way, we've got a meeting coming up in two days. Your people, my people, bridge crew, hell, even the technical groups."
Misato groans, "God, not another one. We've probably got an inspection coming up then. The UN wants to see how its shiny toys are doing rotting 'way down there' in 'this damn dome.'" She rolls her eyes and looks back at her clipboard, flipping a few pages. She pauses.
"What's wrong?"
"Well, I guess Maya did let me know." Spinning the clipboard, Misato pushes it forward. A simple memo attached to a photo and primer.
"Yep, that's her. Born May 2001. Sparse, isn't it? Hmm, missed the prone to nightmares bit." Ritsuko studies the picture. "Look at her eyes. Rei has competition in the blank stare category."
Misato looks. This Aki Yamato stares out at nothing. Her eyes are cold and the color of moss. There is no spark of life. Not even apathy. Nothing. Misato shivers; reminded of the days she spent after the Second Impact. Simply sitting, staring, and never speaking. When she looked in the mirror for the first time after being picked up, all she could see was a ghost.
The girl in the photo is a ghost. Neither here nor there.
"Goddamn. And what exactly did they do at this training program at Second?"
"Not a clue." Ritsuko says.
"…Kay. Um, who's picking her up from the airbase near Tokyo-02 in two weeks?"
"Congratulations, Captain. This one is yours." Misato groans at Ritsuko's sickly sweet smile.
A/N: Woo! Back on the wagon. This has been a rather fun little exercise, cranking out a chapter for the first time in…well, forever. Years. Long one too, isn't it? Good times, I'll be cracking the next chapter soon enough. I know this is old ground with me. I enjoyed Shimmer and re-inventing things is popular now, so why not? That and I never completed the story.
Going back to see it now, I found a lot I wish to cut out, a lot I want to keep and expand on. I have all the time in the world. So now I write again. Please, enjoy. There'll be other 'original' fics along as well, worry not.
Cheers.