Characters belong to Hideaki Anno.
Slowly, I come to. My vision, blurry at first, becomes clearer. I find myself looking up at a ceiling, an unfamiliar ceiling. Confused, I glance side to side, all around me, trying to figure out where I am. I find myself in a room. Along the left wall of this room are a series of large windows. Sunlight pours in from those windows mercilessly. It is blinding, painful to my eyes, eyes which, for all I know, may be the eyes of a newborn baby, opened for the first time. The room is as familiar as the ceiling, very spartan, very plain, and very big. The room is too big, so much space wasted for only me.
"Me?" I wonder suddenly. The word seems to stick in my mind, taking precedence over everything else, even the room. The room, which for the moment is all I know.
"Me is me, me is myself." I think to myself, realizing the necessity, suddenly urgent, to find some indication, some sign of who I am. Again, I glance to my right, at a monitor seeming to draw attention to itself with all its squiggly lines, moving up and down. And there, amidst the chaos, I pick out the only thing I think could possibly be my name, myself, displayed in bright green against the blackness.
Then, instinctively, I try to read the name, my name, aloud, "Asuka," I say to myself, carefully pronouncing every syllable. "Asuka Langley Soryu."
"So, that's my name." I think to myself, taking a moment to savor this victory, however small, in regaining my identity. "Knowing one's name is always good. Better still if others know it as well."
Then, briefly, I wonder what others think of my name, and me. I wonder, "Do others like me or hate me?" Then, in answer to my own question, annoyed by my own insecurity, "What are you, stupid? Of course they like me! I'm Asuka Langley Soryu!"
I take a sudden pride in the name, knowing it is mine. But, somehow, I realize that my name is not the only thing I have to be proud of. Instinctively, I run my fingers through my hair, feeling for them, only to find them gone. Somehow, I realize they signify something, something important to me, and I find myself becoming deeply saddened by their loss, no, my loss. I think to myself, "Maybe I could find them, if only I knew what they looked like."
Then, by accident, a strand of hair comes off in my hand. I stare at the strange thing, and see for the first time how it shines so brightly in the rays of the sun. Then, I realize, "This is my hair, this is another part of me."
However, before I can celebrate another victory, I find myself startled by something. Then, in spite of a tremendous burst of pain, pain that makes me want to throw up, I manage to sit up in bed. The reason for my pain becomes obvious to me, suddenly. My arms, previously concealed by the blanket, are heavily bandaged. The bandages are stained red.
"Blood," I realize suddenly, "Lots and lots of blood." But, it is not the blood that startled me. I'm in a hospital, after all. The presence of blood is expected. Suddenly, I wonder just what kind of person I am to behave so casually at the sight of blood.
No, what startled me was the sound of a woman sobbing. Listening to her go on and on, I find myself suddenly compelled by the desire to find her, to help her. Actually, I realize that it's not the woman who matters to me, not the desire to help her. It's me. I just need to do something, and this bed makes me feel so frail, so useless. Without regard for me or anything else, I force myself to stand, force myself to endure the searing pain that nearly brings me to my knees, nearly, but not quite. Then, as I start to stagger away from the bed, towards the open doorway, I find myself restricted by the tubes in my arms. This frustration is short lived, as I rip them out carelessly, and without further delay, make my bid for freedom. It isn't until I'm halfway down the hall, heading towards the crying, that I notice the trail of blood, so bright upon the floor. And blood trickling down my arm.
When, finally, I reach the closed door at the end of the hall, I'm shocked to recognize the voice of the woman crying inside, the voice of my… my mommy. Then, just as quickly, it rings in my ears, the sound of something crashing and the tightening of a rope.
I shout, "Mommy!" my voice panicky and weak. Suddenly, I am terrified at what awaits me beyond the door, but still I feel compelled to open it. Then, I see my mommy hanging there. And she makes me feel like a little girl again. Somehow, I manage to find the strength to shut the door on her, to spare myself the sight her, as the tears start to trickle down my cheeks.
I collapse upon the floor, weeping, my back pressed firmly against the door, in an effort to barricade it against the bad memory, against the pain and suffering that go with it. Then, I am surprised, suddenly confronted by a little girl standing over me, a little girl holding a dolly. The girl, wearing ribbons in her long red hair, is dressed as though for a funeral. The expression on her young face seems incredibly cold to me, lacking any form of emotion at all. All of a sudden, she screams at me, the high pitch of her child's voice deafening in my ears.
"We promised ourselves we would never cry again!"
"We?" I ask her, incredulously. Then it dawns on me. This little girl is me, or she was me a long, long time ago. I remember wearing that same dress, and those same ribbons to a funeral once, my mommy's funeral. I remember grandma telling me it was okay to cry, but I promised her I'd never cry again.
And, suddenly, I wonder, "How can there be two of us, two Asukas at the same time? This makes no sense."
"Recognize us, now?" Asuka asks me, and I do in fact recognize her, now my age, and wearing the red, form fitting plug suit of Unit 02. The dolly she was carrying, my dolly, falls to the floor, where she quickly smashes it underfoot.
Watching her squash my dolly annoys me suddenly. How she does it so carelessly, with little regard for me or my feelings. Does she not care about me? Thinking she doesn't, that annoyance becomes anger. That anger becomes rage. Then, in spite of my injuries, in spite of the pain, I lash out at her as best I can. I lash out, but I do not hit her, not because I didn't want to, but because her barrier stops me. Then and only then, do I know precisely what she is.
"An AT field!" I exclaim suddenly, stating the obvious. The force of it knocks me back against the wall, hard. This girl standing over me, she looks like me, she talks like me, but she isn't me. She is an Angel. She is my enemy.
"How dare you…" I growl, staring up at the Angel, defiantly.
"How dare I?" it sneers. "I dare whatever I will, Lilim. And, it just so happens that by pouring over your pathetic excuse for a brain, I've found precisely the right memory to leave you a quivering, defenseless mess. Not that you can hope to hurt me now, anyway."
Suddenly, I become aware of a strange sensation in my head, like little fingers in my brain. It turns my stomach, this violation. To think that this… this stranger has read me like a book, knowing my deepest, darkest secrets, knowing things it had no business knowing. To think it knows me better than I know myself.
"You always try to act so tough, don't you Asuka? Too bad I know the real you. Face it. Deep down, you're nothing but a pathetic, lousy, whining little girl. You're no better than Shinji!"
"Shut up, you. Shut up!"
"Words too painful to hear, I know. But, were it not for Unit 02, you'd no longer have a place in this world. No one would want you." The Angel smiled slyly, then added salt to the wound, "Come to think of it, hasn't your synch ratio fallen below accepted levels, already?"
"Shut up! Shut up!" I scream, my voice sounding suddenly pathetic to my ears.
I knew I would rather die than lose my status as an Eva pilot, and from the way things are going, I figured I would die a pilot. Then, all of a sudden, my tormentor is struck down, and I am left gaping at my savior. But she is worse than the Angel. Just the thought of her saving me makes me sick. To think that this girl, this nobody, was able to rescue me only proves how worthless I've become, to myself and everyone else.
"I hate them, I hate everyone, but most of all, I hate myself!"