Superwomen of Eva: Legacies
Batgirl Beyond #1

The man descended into Nerv with a purpose. A pleasant smile was fixed on his face, but it was easy to see the steel behind it as he navigated the Nerv complex with the self-assurance of someone who knew the place like the back of his hand.

Finally, he limped to his destination, the doors to the Nerv commander's office opening before him. At his desk, Ikari Gendo looked up.

"Commander Ikari," the man greeted airily.

"Mister Wayne," Gendo returned the greeting. "What brings you to Nerv today?"

"Nerv is spending an awful lot of my money," Bruce Wayne said, his voice deceptively light. "After some... rather ugly rumors I heard involving Unit Zero's activation, I decided to have a look at my investment."

Gendo wasn't fooled. One did not accomplish the things Bruce Wayne had in the wake of Second Impact by being as naive or foolish as Wayne's reputation painted him. The fact that he knew about the failed activation test quickly enough to fly in from Gotham so soon...

In truth, Bruce Wayne terrified him.

"The situation is well under control, Mister Wayne," Gendo assured him. "The unfortunate failure of Unit Zero's activation is an isolated incident. It won't go berserk again."

"But if it does, have you got a back up?"

"Unit One can serve as back up until Unit Zero is online again."

"And... what about pilots?" Bruce asked mildly. "As I understand it, Soryu's still in Germany with Unit Two."

"That is correct."

"Leaving them both without support. Do you have someone who will be able to pilot Unit One once Unit Zero is back online? Do you have a contingency in case something happens to incapacitate Ayanami or Soryu?"

"No. There is no one else who can pilot Evangelion, Mister Wayne."

Bruce's eyes narrowed, and his expressed hardened, all traces of naive buffoon and even the savvy businessman washed away like paint. The room, as dimly lit as it was, seemed to grow darker.

"I find that hard to believe," he declared, leaning over Gendo's desk. It suddenly occurred to Gendo that there were probably at least a dozen different weapons that could be hidden in the old man's cane. "You're telling me that, out of three billion people, only two can pilot an Eva, and you're telling me this despite the fact that three have already been completed, and funding has been set aside for at least ten more.

"There are other pilots, Ikari, but you don't want them involved. Maybe you're protecting them, maybe you hate their guts, or maybe they just smell bad. Whatever your reasons, they don't matter anymore. You know as well as I do that the Angels will be here soon, and if something happens to Ayanami or you send her out there without back up, there's a good chance we might all die. So I'm going to ask you again: Is there someone else out there who can pilot Unit One?"

"...Yes."

Bruce leaned back again and smiled. The darkness suddenly seemed much less oppressive. "Good," he said cheerfully. "Get them over here so that they can start training right away. Wayne Enterprises will of course be happy to cover any expenses."

"Of course," Gendo said, resisting the urge to clench his fists in frustration.

"Thank you for your time, Commander Ikari. I have to say, I hope our future meetings are as productive as this one."

"'Future meetings,' Mister Wayne?"

"I'm moving to Tokyo-3 to oversee my corporate office here personally." He gave a disarming grin. "After all, when the giant monsters attack, where better to live than with our protectors?"

Bruce carefully made his way back to his limousine, then pushed the intercom that allowed him to communicate with his driver from the otherwise soundproof passenger compartment.

"Back to the tower, please," he said, his voice pleasant.

"Of course, Mister Wayne," his driver acknowledged.

He missed Alfred, but he'd long ago accepted the loss and moved on. He doubted he would ever trust anyone the way he trusted Alfred, but he had made the necessary adjustments to work around that.

He picked up the car phone and dialed a number from memory.

"Hello?" The voice that answered was achingly familiar.

"Diana," he said. "It's Bruce."

"Bruce," her voice warmed, "it's good to hear from you again. How have you been?"

"Surviving," he replied, squelching the emotions that her voice invoked. "This line is secure, right?"

He got a sigh in response. "Business, then. Yes, it's secure."

"Good. I'm concerned about Nerv," he said. "There's something fishy going on. I'd like to get someone on the inside, and I think I can swing a combat instructor position for you."

"Anything for you, Bruce."

"Thank you, Diana. You still going by Prince?"

"How did you-?" She broke off, then answered, "Yes, I am."

"Good. I'll have one of my assistants draw up the papers. When can you get here?"

"Give me a couple of weeks," she said. "And Bruce?"

"Yes?"

"It's good to hear your voice."

"...same here."

Just a few days later, Bruce felt the briefest hint of regret over his choice to temporarily move the corporate headquarters to the Tokyo-3 offices. The wail of the warning sirens pierced the afternoon air and drew him and his limo driver into the nearest shelter.

Tokyo-3 had been built as a fortress city, with enough shelters buried within and beneath the twenty-two layers of alloy plate armor to comfortably fit its projected population, with the extensive network of catacombs to provide a buffer of additional shelter. Unfortunately, those projections had fallen short, as the city's population had boomed, people drawn to Tokyo-3 not only by the economy revitalized by Nerv's presence, but also by the sense of safety of having the world's protectors headquartered there and, in a sense, by the shelters themselves.

Bruce knew the catacombs well, having extensively studied their layout - their real layout, rather than the ones on file in city hall - years prior, even as they were being laid down. He knew what they looked like and where they led, but even he was unprepared for what they would be like under these conditions. The shelter itself was packed to its safe capacity - fully twice as many people as it was intended for - and people still spilled out into the less-protected catacombs outside, huddling by the shelter door.

It was hot and stuffy, partially because of the enclosed space and partially because of the people who had crowded into the tunnels. The smell also wasn't helped by the semi-open air sewers in a large portion of the catacombs, which while normally just an odd design choice on most days had turned into everything short of an immediate health risk with the people crammed on top of the grates. It was disgusting, but ultimately bearable, and Bruce knew that under the other circumstances that were possible, this wasn't that bad.

They were in there for hours, the people's faces a mix of fear and boredom. At some points, some people swore that they could feel rumbling off in the distance, but for the most part, nothing happened. Then, anticlimactically, the all-clear signal sounded, and people started moving out of the catacombs, the shelter doors opening behind them.

For his part, Bruce was left slightly more uneasy than when he had started the day. He had dedicated himself to being the best CEO he could for his company, because that was what it seemed the world needed to rebuild. But as he looked out on the faces of the citizens of Tokyo-3 that day, he couldn't help feeling that what the world really needed was a hero.

"Next time I'm going to have to predict a snow day," Bruce said aloud.

"Sir?" his assistant for the day asked.

"Nothing," he answered. "Just talking to myself. Anything else for today?"

"No, sir."

"Very well; you're dismissed then."

As his assistant left, Bruce turned his attention back to the newspaper in his hands. It was the English version of the Daily Planet, electronically transmitted from Metropolis and printed for the newsstands of Tokyo-3, primarily for the city's American expat population, but also popular with the rest of the city's multilingual residents; the Planet still had a reputation for honest, hard-hitting reporting. None of this was any importance to Bruce today, not when compared to the front page story.

The front page story was penned by Lois Lane and featured the striking photograph of a young heroine they had taken to calling Supergirl holding the nose of a cargo plane above her head as she gently lowered it to the ground. It was something he hadn't seen in almost fifteen years, something he thought he'd never see again... and something he sorely wished Clark had been alive to see.

The fact that the story was penned by Lois Lane was almost certainly not a coincidence. The fact that this new Kryptonian on the block seemed to look Japanese was almost certainly no accident. The fact that this had happened so soon after the Angel attack was almost certainly part of something big. Yet, for all that, Bruce had to admit that it was almost certainly just one more mystery among many in Tokyo-3.

So, for the moment, he just resigned himself to his lack of information. As soon as the sun went down, though, that would all change. It might not change fast, but it would change.

Kirishima Mana carried another stack of boxes into their new apartment in Tokyo-3. She set it down, leaning on the boxes, and brushed her hair out of her eyes. She wasn't really feeling the strain - she was a lot stronger than she looked - but they had been at this for hours.

"I cannot seriously believe we really had to bring this much junk," she muttered, glowering unhappily.

Her "aunt" - better known to Mana as Sergeant Lisa Yurigama - chuckled as she set down her own burden. "Now, now, Mana dear, most girls your age would love to have such a varied wardrobe."

Mana bit back a retort that might blow their cover and settled for rolling her eyes. "Yes, auntie."

Their mission was classified at the highest levels. They couldn't even speak of it outside a lead-lined, soundproofed Faraday cage for fear that someone - like Tokyo-3's newest celebrity - might learn of it.

Because when your target may have a Kryptonian on staff, maximum paranoia may be the only way to stay alive.

"Now, I've got an appointment with the principal this afternoon," Lisa said. "Hopefully, you'll be able to start at your new school as early as tomorrow, before I leave for the UN base."

"Yes, auntie," Mana acknowledged with a nod. Nerv was hardly their only suspect when it came to the question of who might clone themselves a Kryptonian, after all.

Mana looked up at the sign above the door. 2-A. This was where she was supposed to be. She squared her shoulders, hefted her bookbag... then thought better of it and forced herself into a slouch before walking in.

She surreptitiously scanned the classroom, matching faces to the dossiers she had studied. It hadn't taken much of a bribe to get her into the same class as the pilots, but one of the more interesting things she had noted when reviewing her classmates' information was the fact that none of their mothers were alive.

Once was happenstance; twice was coincidence; three times was enemy action. As far she was concerned, thirty times meant a conspiracy. If only she could figure out the purpose of it.

Mana had formulated and discarded a number of possible courses of action. Between the two pilots, the better one to approach would obviously be Ayanami, as she was the veteran pilot and reportedly the one responsible for killing the Third Angel. The problem lay in Ayanami's withdrawn nature.

Screw it, she thought as they broke for lunch. There's something to be said for the direct approach. She pushed herself to her feet and marched over to the bluenette.

"Hi!" she said cheerfully, offering a hand, Western-style. "My name's Kirishima Mana! Let's be good friends!"

Ayanami blinked and looked up from her book. "Why?"

Mana cocked her head to consider that question. "Well... because I'm new in town, and you looked lonely."

"I prefer to be alone."

"Oh," Mana said. "Sorry to bother you then," she said, letting her shoulders slump and turning away. Had anyone looking at her been older than fourteen - or, at least, been as singularly beyond their years as she - they might have noticed the calculating look cross her face as she spied the other pilot. With a show of gathering her courage, she headed for him.

"Hi! My name is Kirishima Mana! Let's be good friends!" she repeated.

Next to her target, another boy dressed in non-regulation clothing - a tracksuit - guffawed, gave Ikari a backslap and said, "Hey, Shinji, looks like that back up position is paying off. You've already got babes crawling all over you."

Mana took a moment to identify the boy: Suzuhara Toji, born December 26, 2001, in Sakai, Osaka prefecture. Known affiliations: track team. Academic record: below average to average. Relations: younger sister, Suzuhara Sakura; mother, Suzuhara Reiko, deceased; father, Suzuhara Ryu, currently employed by LexCorp as a low-clearance security guard. The facts flashed through her mind in an instant; she had been provided full dossiers on the entire class, and she had learned at a very young age to memorize and recall information rapidly. The other boy with Ikari was identified just as quickly as Aida Kensuke, a member of the A/V Club, along with the assorted associated data.

"Toji!" Ikari replied, looking positively scandalized. "She's probably just trying to be nice."

Mana could go with that. "Kind of. I just moved here, and I heard you did too. Since I don't have any friends here yet, I figure we transfer students ought to stick together."

Ikari smiled and shook her proferred hand. "I'd like that."

Mana sighed as she doodled, sitting at the kitchen counter of the apartment. It had been a week since she officially transferred in and made contact with the pilots, and she was no closer to completing her mission than when she had started. Ayanami remained aloof and unapproachable, even at Shinji's house warming party the day before, and she was now more convinced than ever that Shinji knew nothing about Nerv's plans.

In fact, it was entirely possible he knew less about Nerv than she did.

Still, it had been nice having friends. Even if it did mean fending off Toji's desultory advances and having to resist the alternating urges to correct Kensuke or interrogate him on his sources...

The door opened, and she smiled. "Auntie."

"Mana," Lisa greeted her. "So, how's San'yedo treating you?"

Mana rolled her eyes. "It's fine," she said. "I made a few friends, nothing special."

"So, how did that house warming party go?"

"It was... awkward," Mana said. "I can't seem to make friends with any girls my age."

Translation: No progress with the First Child.

"I see. Any plans?"

"Actually, I was thinking I might head out tonight, though, get a feel for the city, if that's okay?"

"Well," Lisa paused, considering the coded mission proposal, "don't stay out too late."

Mana beamed.

Covert intrusion was second nature to Mana, and penetrating the building's security was, for her, literally child's play. State of the art electronic surveillance, alarms, and locks could only do so much to cover human limitations and the complacency that inevitably set in.

In this, she was the ideal candidate. If she was caught, her superiors wouldn't even have to disavow her, as the JSSDF's involvement wouldn't even be suspected. After all, she was just a kid, obviously out for some thrills, a wannabe Catwoman with some talent.

She approached the door and rested a hand on the handle. If the information she was looking for was anywhere, it would most likely be in this particular office. She tried the door. Here, well past the layers of security, convenience had obviously won out, as the handle turned. The door swung open with barely a whisper, and she slipped in.

Instincts kept her in the shadows at the edges of the room, away from the large windows that lined the office's outer walls, as she approached the desk that dominated the room.

Suddenly, shutters slammed shut, sealing the room.

"Hello, Miss Kirishima. You're late."