Old Tokyo, CE 2013

"Is it done, then?"

"Yes, it is," said the shadowy figure of a young man. He removed his hat in a mocking sign of respect. "Rest in peace, Mr. Yamakashi; you've done your group the utmost honor."

He rose and turned to the two men who were standing behind him. They bowed, a motion which the boy reciprocated.

"Gentlemen," the boy said with a raised voice, lighting a cigarette and putting it to his lips. "Allow me the honor of taking over as the head of the Yamakashi Group."

"The honor is ours," the first man intoned. "Mr. Rokobungi, the Yamakashi Group is at your service."

Rokobungi smiled with the utmost sincerity.

"Thank you, my friends," he said. "Let us do the late Mr. Yamakashi proud."

Neon Genesis Evangelion: The Extraordinary Tall Tales in Regard to the Adventures of a Certain Mr. Shinji Rokobungi of Fifteen-Thirty Prosperity Row

Or

The Rokobungi Saga

Stage I: Young Master Rokobungi

Tokyo-3, CE 2015

The silhouette of a jet momentarily caused the sunlight to flicker over the copy of the Economist which an agreeable-looking young Asian boy of about fourteen or fifteen held. His eyes squinted in annoyance at the disturbance, and his hand found the old fashioned English top hat which he always carried. The extra wide brim cast a very comfortable shadow over the shiny paper of the magazine.

"Bloody hell!" he said to himself in the Queen's English. "How does this Misato Katsuragi plan to find her way here now, eh?"

He slipped out the photograph that had been included in the letter sent by his father. On it was a purple-haired woman with an astonishingly well-endowed figure, especially in that delightful area between the nape of the neck and the beginning of the end of the ribs, on the ventral side. Somewhat abashed by the rather scanty clothing that the young lady had on in the picture, the boy resealed the envelope and heaved a sigh. He certainly did not like the sight of the current American housing market; it seemed to him that the raging, rising prices could not possibly last long. In fact, the meteoric rise had been slowing for the past month. America's optimism always confounded and puzzled him, but that was a matter for a different day. The rampant inflation of the Japanese yen was going to hurt him a lot harder than foolish practices across the Pacific Ocean. After a bit of rummaging, the boy found a plain leather-bound notebook, in which he noted, with satisfaction, that his assistant had indeed confirmed the fact that the third Chinese manufacturing plant of the Rokobungi Group was up and running.

The well esteemed Mr. Shinji Rokobungi, Esq. stretched out his neck in the most refined fashion, reclining back on the public bench with his hat doing an excellent job of shielding his eyes from the perpetual summer of the Post-Second Impact world. Leisurely, he drew his polished, gold-handled cane to shoulder level and tried to settle in.

A loud shriek jolted him out of his reverie. A pair of missiles had just rounded a corner and sped off behind a grassy hill bordering the edge of the city. Shinji leapt to his feet in horror, amazement and extreme annoyance as the explosions reached him. Was there a war on already? His first thought was that the Rokobungi Group's weapons development arm was not yet fully operational. Come on, now, dear world; if you must fight, wait just a few weeks!

Metal shutters over every shop and door were rattling like the End was nigh. The ground trembled with deep thuds, like the sounds of footsteps, gradually approaching the general area of Shinji. A moment later, a trio of jets came out of the valley with all guns ablaze, lighting the afternoon sky with orange and red flashes. Out of the explosions, an ungodly creature strode. It was pitch black, had ogre-esque long arms, and a sharp bony mask for a face mounted mid-chest, over a softly humming red orb. The changing intensity of the flashing orb, Shinji thought idly, vaguely represented the La Marseilles. The ogre raised its arm, a skinny stick with a long shaft sticking out the back of the forearm, and a spear of light shot out, neatly punching through the nearest jet. Only when the fighter crashed to the city's streets and ignited in an oily ball of flame did he realize that he was in deep shit.

"Well," he said casually. "I suppose I should take leave of this charming little place."

Capping his head elegantly, Shinji slid out of range of the battle and began a brisk walk down the main avenue of Tokyo III. As the devil may have it, the creature, which Shinji mentally designated as Monsieur Ogre based on the odd body shape and the pattern of its flashing core, decided that the very same road was an agreeable route through which to travel. As fashionably as any gentleman of breeding, Monsieur Ogre walked down the road with leisurely comfort, ignoring the barrage of missiles over his head.

'What a formidable poker player he would be!' Shinji thought, as Monsieur Ogre trampled over rows of cars with the least possible concern or shift in his frozen expression. Daunted, Shinji sped up his own pace, turning a corner to escape being caught up in the ensuing onslaught of fire. If Miss Katsuragi was going to show up anyway, she must have abandoned the scheme by now. An incendiary interrupted his thoughts as the alleyway into which he ducked lit up in a blast of seemingly pure hellfire. Seconds later, a crackling of glass and tinkling of sharp objects against metal brought Shinji back to full consciousness. A dark blue Alpine Renault lay between him and the explosion. A woman's head poked out of the driver's side window. Dark purple hair dragged over a pair of shades. It was Misato Katsuragi, in much more serious attire.

"Get in," she commanded, looking with odd disapproval at Shinji's custom made three-piece pinstripe suit, which was torn and quite worthless now, unfortunately.

"You must be Shinji Rokobungi, then?" Katsuragi asked.

"At your service, ma'am," Shinji said, managing to hold onto his dignity and his cane. The woman snorted and fired up the engine.

"Alright, then; let's get out of here," she said. The Alpine's tires bit into the cement floor, squealing their protest as the car shot out of the alleyway and back onto the road. Monsieur Ogre, thankfully, had moved onto other objectives. Katsuragi glanced at the mountainous hump with apprehension. Shinji let go of a long-held-in breath and allowed himself to relax a little. The decrepitly cramped car wheedled its way out of the embattled city and out to the suburbs. Picking at his now wrinkled suit with considerable distress, Shinji set down his hat and looked for refreshments inside the car. None were to be found. Disappointed, he laid down his cane as well and began staring out the window. Katsuragi, at that point, began casually checking him out through the rear window. A stretch of time passed during which the two silently observed Monsieur Ogre's progress. Suddenly, Katsuragi tensed.

"Oh hell," she said, parking the car behind a sturdy looking building. "Why are they luring the Angel there?"

'Angel?' Shinji thought to himself. 'Ah, that must be what Monsieur Ogre is called.'

Looking through a pair of binoculars, Katsuragi observed the fighters suddenly all veering away from the Angel, which was now standing in an uninhabited stretch of wasteland. She bit back a curse and forcibly shoved Shinji to the rather musty floor of the car.

"Look out! It's an N2 mine!" she screamed. The world became bleached by a white light so intense that the concept of intensity itself must hide in shame. The Alpine's every nook and cranny became clear and bright to the point where the world was flat for want of shadow. All the windows shattered, and moments later, accompanied by a thunderous blast of sound, the Alpine was lifted off of the ground and sent floating through the air like a hapless fairy caught in the air current surrounding a speeding drunken driver. A full ten minutes later, the ringing in Shinji's ears ceased enough so that his other senses can stop worrying about the safety of the eardrum and take note of the fact that the topmost third of his head is quite literally jammed into Katsuragi's cleavage, which perhaps even served as a cushion against the impact; it was a very soft and pleasant cushion, if anything. With some embarrassment, he extracted his forehead from the wonderful embrace of those parts, and tried to help her up.

"I'm fine," she told him. "What about you?"

"Hale and hearty, Miss Katsuragi," he replied. "But your car…"

Misato glanced at the upturned Alpine in despair.

"And I just had it refurbished," she moaned, giving him a rather cute, pouty look. "Well, it'll drive, I think; we'll just have to turn it right side up."

She threw herself against the side of the car, locking her palms onto the still warm roof, and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Well, aren't you going to help?" she snapped.

"Oh, uh, of course," he said. Hesitantly, he put his hands, with their carefully manicured nails and platinum plated Rolex, onto the filthy, burnt and smoking roof of the Alpine. Katsuragi looked over the hand with evident disapproval.

"On the count of three," she said. "One…two…three…push!"

Not wanting to appear rude, Shinji threw all that he had into the single, simple action. The metal frame groaned, and the car tipped over, bumping mournfully into the pungent dirt. Katsuragi leaned back, clapping the dirt off of her hands.

"Thank you, Mr. Rokobungi!" she said cheerily. "You're pretty useful."

"My pleasure, Miss Katsurgi," Shinji replied with a bow.

"Please, Misato is fine," Katsuragi said with the hint of a wry smile.

"In which case, do me the honor of calling me Shinji," Shinji said, tilting his head to meet her gaze. He held out a hand. "Now, shall we take to the road once more?"

XXXXX

There were few things which Gendo Ikari cared enough about to look at closely. That included the personal history of his son, Shinji. Aside from the fact that the young man had managed to obtain a release from the guardianship of his Aunt and Uncle and had taken on Gendo's old surname, Rokobungi, there were few things that would have warned the Supreme Commander of Nerv of the fact that his son showed up in Nerv headquarters in a tattered pinstripe suit with a silk shirt and bow tie, carrying a ridiculous looking top hat in his hands. Most of all, Gendo stared with confusion at the boy's silky, pencil thin mustache and razor sharp sideburns. His hands went to his own face, with its rugged explosion of testosterone-fueled manly facial hair, and could not but disapprove of the boy's haughty, aristocratic look, which simply lacked the sensual manliness which Gendo considered a prime masculine trait. Subconsciously, as he did whenever meeting another male of his species at a formal occasion, Gendo puffed up his chest and flexed his thick arms, replete as they were with more manly hair and a plumber's muscle, which showed even through the drab Nerv uniform. With all the dignity of the world, Shinji examined his surroundings. For a fourteen year old who had just been dragged through the detonation of a weapon of mass destruction, whisked through the most sophisticated and secure military installation in the world, sent into a completely dark cage, and then to have said cage lit to reveal a three or four story tall head belonging to the Evangelion, man's ultimate fighting machine, he was quite calm. Seeing no one in the nearby vicinity who resembled Gendo, Shinji replaced his hat, slipped on a pair of white silk gloves, took out a brass framed monocle and put it on, whipping out the thin manual that Katsuragi had given him on the way over and began to read it with the greatest interest in the world. The giant robot in front of him went completely ignored. Besides him were the two women who had escorted him inside, Captain Katsuragi and the Chief of Technology, chairperson of the E Project, Dr. Ritsuko Akagi, PhD., MD, etc. This distinguished person then proceeded to shatter the silence.

"You won't find that in there," she said, with a hint of pride. Politely, Shinji raised his eyes from his reading. Akagi continued, "This is the synthetic life form, Evangelion. It is man's ultimate fighting machine. Built here in secret, it is man's last defense."

"Fascinating," Shinji said. "And what, my good Doctor, do I have to do with such an important piece of hardware?"

Akagi's eyes narrowed.

"Clearly," she said. "You are to pilot it and defeat the Angel outside."

With a hint of guilt, Katsuragi turned her face and looked down.

"I knew it," she muttered. "Rei can't do it and Unit 00 can't even be activated…"

Shinji removed his hat and held it to his chest. He smiled sincerely.

"This must the most delightfully hilarious practical joke I have come in contact with all year," he said. "How can you be so unfair as to expect me, a boy still in his teens and miserable of bodily strength and dexterity to master so grand and powerful a machine and fight a creature which even an N2 Mine—that is what it is called, I presume?—could not destroy?"

"You will be instructed," called Gendo from his glass-encased cubicle at the top of the Cage. He tried his best to flash a grin with the appropriate cynical and uncaring texture, but Shinji's mouth broke into a smile of the most sincere sort. He whipped off his monocle and doffed his hat towards his father.

"My most honorable and esteemed father!" he cried. "It has been so heart-wrenchingly long since last I had the pleasure of your company!"

'It has also been a while since you started smoking dope, I would say; it's getting to your brain,' Gendo thought. What the hell happened to the kid? He looks like…

The smiling young man was erect of posture, with the most amiable expression upon his face, adorned as it was by the most genteel of oiled mustaches and excellently cropped razor sharp sideburns. His collar was stiff and stood like a pair of soldiers, exposing an expensive looking bowtie over what used to be a sparklingly white silk shirt with a pinstripe swallowtail coat on top of matching pants and polished, silver-buckled shoes. Over it all he wore a short cape, and in his gloved hands he carried a walking cane. Gendo would have deduced that the boy must have taken enough hallucinogens to choke an African bull elephant, but Shinji had all of his wits about him and more. Gendo was a little confused. How was he supposed to deliver his cold, pragmatic, heartless father comments now?

The earth rumbled. Every person in the Cage tottered upon the brink of falling over as the Angel's attacks began pounding at Tokyo-3's defenses.

All but Shinji and Gendo

End Stage I