Chapter 10: Harbinger of Tragedy

/A Calm Before the Storm

1200 Hours, April 29, 2575 [Military Calendar]

Sol System, Earth District 11, Tokyo-3

Asuka's current predicament was less than ideal. In fact, it was like her own personal Hell. Or some twisted cosmic joke at her expense. Whatever it was – it really, really, really sucked. So she watched with a degree of contempt as the Third Child set down yet another one of her boxes.

"Is that everything, Asuka?" he asked, standing and trying not to look tired.

She scanned her new room, piled to the ceiling with her things. "It'll have to do," she sighed, watching him for a moment as he looked awkwardly about. It was only logical that she, a guest, stay in the larger of the two available rooms. Well, the other room was more of an oversized closet. She'd made him carry her moving boxes from several flights below up to this apartment. It was only fair, all things considered. That's what males were for, no? At least she assumed Shinji was male, though she was becoming less and less convinced of it day by day. He hadn't objected or given her much more than an annoyed, if not plaintive look.

Feet shuffled against the carpet in the hallway. "Seriously?" Misato chortled as she leaned against the door frame. "Asuka, you'll be staying here a week tops."

"I wouldn't have this much stuff if I didn't need it," she replied icily.

Misato huffed, still with that stupid smile of hers as she meandered down the hall.

Asuka wished she were back in Old Berlin now more than ever. Back home, she had never been drugged and abducted by Centauri Commandos. Everyone had spoken German in some form or another, instead of smatterings of Terra Basic and archaic Japanese. She knew them fluently, of course. No one could expect to accomplish anything without knowing Terra Basic and she wasn't foolish enough to expect to be able to operate smoothly in District 11 without knowing its ancestral, if not diluted, language.

It didn't make it any less unfamiliar or inconvenient.

Not only had her apartment been broken into, but now she was being forced under Misato's orders to stay in her apartment until some newly requested security measures could arrive. They had already tripled the Section-2 security details, what more did they need?

Asuka suspected the woman simply had it out for her because of the battle with the Fifth Angel. Even if Misato had left the subject largely untouched due to the recent escapade with nearly being kidnapped, she knew the woman still resented her for it.

Then she noticed him out of the corner of her eye. "What are you looking at, pervert?!" she shouted, stamping a foot in his direction. It had the desired effect as Shinji jerked back, bumping into the stack of boxes behind him.

"I-I, I'm sorry–" he sputtered, the tower of boxes wavering precariously, before tumbling down atop him, their contents bursting free.

"You clumsy idiot!" Asuka shrieked, snatching up the nearest object – a high-heel shoe – and throwing it at him "Blödmann – aufstehen! Berühren Sie nicht diejenigen! Perverse!"

In the living room beyond, Misato listened with a smile. Maybe it would do those two some good living together, at least for a little while. God knew Shinji needed some friends.

A cry of rage came from Asuka's room – "Argh! I'm sick of it already!"

Or... maybe not.

"They sent a very strongly worded letter," Fuyutsuki said, a smirk in his voice as he set the COM pad down on Gendo's desk. "Though the transfer request was approved without review."

That caught Gendo a bit by surprise. He hadn't anticipated that his little scare tactic would so thoroughly shock them into action. The old men were getting more paranoid by the day, jumping at every shadow without thought.

"Now we have operators for the Enochs, and more expedient means of uprooting Centurion from our affairs," he said, readying a shogi board on his desk. The Spartans were but a piece of a finalized vision of Phalanx. One couldn't hope to wage any kind of war in this day and age without the super soldiers. They were the most effective weapons in mankind's arsenal.

Thinking of which. "Where has 117 moved the Watcher?"

"Let's see... the Scriptorium complex, down in the... 6th Mega-depth Disposal facility..." Fuyutsuki trailed off, trying and failing to find the area on the old schematics. The narrow windows of Gendo's office glowed brightly with the high-noon light breaching into the GeoFront. With a frustrated sigh, the Sub-Commander turned away from the data-screen to finish aligning his pieces on the Shogi board.

Gendo made his first move. "One of the many places in Terminal Dogma that are dead to the Magi's network."

Fuyutsuki made a disapproving grunt. Years ago when GEHIRN had been formed they were just a research group, and the Chamber was still being excavated and studied. Any facilities built at the time were meant to be temporary and had eventually been buried under the newer structures, never to be touched again and used as dumping grounds for failed projects and waste.

"Ideal to keep it from prying eyes. But that means we can't keep tabs on him, either," Fuyutsuki said, staring at the board for a long moment before making a defensive counter. The opening moves were always the most important.

"You're starting to sound like the old men," Gendo said and was rewarded with a withering look. Gendo, having had enough time to contemplate his next move, relocated his piece on the board.

"You put too much trust in him. If he ever decided to betray us..."

"No trust is given. Do not mistake my intent."

"Of course," Fuyutsuki conceded, though in a tone that belied his disbelief. He moved a piece in a threatening position, "but the Tablets require a source just as the Evas do. Can they even be controlled? We hardly have a full understanding of how they work." Fuyutsuki was a careful man, Gendo would give him that – but at times it was overbearingly so. He took the piece.

"They are Forerunner in design. That already makes them easier to work with than the Solenoids – of which we cannot hope to replicate without an intact sample," he answered.

Fuyutsuki moved his second general, releasing a sigh. "Of course, the benefits are exponential in the grand scheme of things. I just hope we aren't biting off more than we can chew."

Gendo's shogi piece clicked softly against the wooden board. "Regardless, the Committee has to defeat the Angels before anything else. We will be ready."

Fuyutsuki frowned, considering where best to move his next piece. "That begs the question though: did SEELE realize the translations referred to their literal manifestations?"

"They misinterpreted it once already. Now, all they have is the original Tablet from the Chamber and it is rather unclear in its telling, thanks to the translations rendered by our bed-ridden doctor." Gendo swiveled to the holographic display on his right, fingers tapping away at the keyboard to access the latest report on their recent side project.

"Proposition M?" The console queried, the Magi buzzing into existence on the table, "you could have at least tried to be a little more... subtle," she said, folding her arms.

At times he found it irksome how she invited herself to listen in and participate in their conversations, but he indulged her nonetheless. She was infinitely useful and he would continue to feed her unspoken desire for his attention to keep it that way.

"Subtlety is not the goal, and considering the exceptional capabilities of our resident A.I., I did not think it necessary," he said.

Having gotten exactly what she wished for, the A.I. beamed. "Flatterer."

Fuyutsuki huffed. "You would have to agree that it is appropriate –" he glanced at Gendo, "if all goes as we intend."

"I suppose it is," Magi agreed, a finger touching her chin pensively, "but if he takes it for his own, where does that leave you two?"

Fuyutsuki clasped his hands behind his back and looked to his old student. "She has a point."

Gendo steepled his fingers, considering his answer. John was a capable man, but did he have the capacity for betrayal? Disobeying orders, certainly – and perhaps pushed far enough, he could take matters into his own hands. Gendo knew the false promise he'd made years ago would not secure John's loyalty indefinitely, perhaps it was time to rein him in again. Or perhaps he needed something else to occupy the man's time. He was the most logical choice to oversee the project – Akagi already had her fingers dug deep in NERV's secrets, and he was not willing to exhaust her abilities anywhere but the Evas.

Despite what he had told Fuyutsuki earlier, there needed to be at least a modicum of trust present in their little triumvirate.

"Exactly where we need to be," Gendo finally said, "the Fourteenth will bear the weight of our sins."

[1705 Hours], Month of Atum, 3rd Day, [2575]

Urs System, Sanghelios, Imperial City

Vyadree Keep had the advantage of being fortified within the narrow confines of the Stone Wards, far removed from the grander and newer structures of the Imperial City. It kept Loka at arms length from the politically driven Councilors of the Court and knee-bending nobles, akin to a vat of Gaskil Vipers, writhing and biting in a bid to escape. Yet it kept her out of the sphere of influence as well, allowing those who both sought to supplant the Vadam Regime and sneered at her half-blood earned title to gain influence and resources to mount against her kin.

The Diadokoi could not help her now, either. Her father had all but cast any hopes of a legitimate successor to the winds, the old fool. Dyal had been the one to pay for his lack of foresight. Those few words, "To the strongest," had sent her younger half-brother into the tomb she now led down the winding, marble paved roads of the mountains. The war priests chanted their deep, long drawls in the Old Tongue, guiding Dyal's spirit to the Ancestors. She sat upon a ceremonial Sylph mount, a large beast with green, leathery skin, long tail and equally long neck. She led them as they carried Dyal's bloodstone tomb, leading the entourage of 1,000 Honor Guard garbed in fine silvers and rust-red plate.

The youngest of her two step-brothers, Tchak, rode his own Sylph mount behind hers. Occasionally, she glanced back at him to make sure a good handle of the beast.

"Back straight and jaw tight, brother. Ride proud or not at all," she said, trying and failing to keep from sounding harsh. Tchak bowed his head a moment, but straightened his back and tightened his grip on the reins.

Perhaps her nerves were getting the better of her. In her heart, she knew she should be grieving for her beloved half-brother. Yet her mind was elsewhere. The news had spread far and wide across Sanghelios that Dyal was a traitor. He had led his clansmen under the Imperial banner to claim the title of Charakas by force. Fewer had been as outspoken on the matter as Rtas, who claimed to have pleaded with Dyal not to go through with such an act.

Her brother then was justly killed as a betrayer and usurper. They conveniently left out the details of who felled him, waving it off dismissively whenever she inquired. Then her Uncle Rtas had established himself as Lord-Regent. Apparently, with a majority in favor amongst the other Kaidons, who were already moving to block the proceedings of the Court to finding a proper successor.

It had been five days since then and Thel's war council had been all but broken. Only yesterday Lord of Sages Hagal Yur'thu had been found dead within his temple fortress. The monks hid away in their isolated sanctums, silent, while the war priests fractured and divided. Just as her father's war council, the Diadokoi, were.

Yet Dyal had supposedly possessed their support. In her mind, the answer was betrayal. The same who had dealt the fatal wound to her father. She wouldn't have thought it so suspicious were it not for the fact that the reports conjured were deemed sensitive material by the Magistrate, who were still supposedly investigating the incident to "weed out any other dissenters".

Overall, it left House Vadam in a weak position. Dyal had committed most of the clan's levy forces to that folly at the Kaidon's Court. The Imperial Army was bound to the will of the Charakas, and now any who had held a stronger loyalty to Vadam were gone. The rest of the Imperial clans owed allegiance to the Lord-Regent.

She had tried to warn her dear step-brother. Dyal was far too naïve for the shadows wars of Sanghelios. She had been born and raised amidst it, when it was at its bloodiest during the suppression of the Old Covenant. She understood its convoluted intricacies and rules – she simply had no patience for it. Something her late father had seen fit to berate her for constantly.

All thought on the matter fled her mind as they entered the catacombs through the Coven Quarter of the Stone Wards, its inhabitants lining the streets to bow their heads and offer prayer as the Imperial procession passed. Some were sincere, though she could tell many were simply acting on deference. It was well within any Sangheili warrior's rights to cut down a citizen who brought shame to a procession of the dead, no matter who it was. Even if they sneered his name later, for now, they paid respect.

The grand doors, gilded with intricately detailed scenes of wars and triumphs long past. The vaulted passages reached higher than her eyes could see, carved far and deep into Sanghelios, to forever shelter her honored dead. The halls glowed with blue light along the silver plated walls, wide enough to fit half a cruiser in.

A thousand footsteps and the clanging of armor echoed in the dim-lit and yawning corridors, until they reached the alcove reserved long ago for Vadam. All the tombs of her great warriors and leaders lined the walls. Dyal's was set down on an upraised platform in the center of the oval alcove, only the war priests, family and a select few warriors could fit within.

A fire had been prepared and Loka took a waiting torch in hand. Through one of the eighteen gaps in the stone crypt, already doused with accelerates, she offered it the licking flames. The tomb glowed with warm yellow light, smoke and flecks of ashes rising high into the halls of the catacombs – where the smoke would crawls through one of the many tall funeral towers that reached over even the Kaidon's Court.

Tchak stood by her side as they watched their brother burn, like all great warriors of old. They did not weep and the priests continued their low mantra.

When he was at last moved to join the others in the walls, the procession made ready for the march back home to Vyadree. The Captain of her guard, Cysforo, approached her. His battleplate was blue and rendered in the newer style, latched with ceremonial robes for the occasion. He waited until she acknowledged him with a look before speaking.

"My reports say Rtas visited the Keep often just days before Dyal was slain," he said, low enough so no one else would overhear. "He has also seized the Vadam estate and its assets – pending evaluation."

Lightning cracked in her chest. The news could not have come at a worse time, but she had asked for it as soon as possible.

"What would you have us do?" he asked.

"We wait," she said, keeping her voice even. "I will not make the first move, especially since we have nothing to say that Rtas was behind this. Someone is aiming to make our entire family appear as traitors to Sanghelios."

"He continues to send messages. Should you not contact him? Can you not trust your Father's own General?"

"You know better than that, Cysforo. Old honor and loyalty are nothing when there is power at stake."

"We loaded them on a transport to TacWar Division in Kyushu this morning." the doctor – Misato glanced at his uniform name-tag again – Zähringen, said.

"But this happened in our jurisdiction," she said, leaning forward on the man's desk.

Zähringen hardly looked up from the work at his terminal, eyes concealed behind a neural headset. "That's just protocol ma'am. UNSC has overarching authority regarding intelligence related to the Centauri," he said.

Misato shook her head, hands planted on her hips as she turned to look out of the floor-to-ceiling windows that revealed the sectioned forensic labs beyond. Section 2's Axon Terminal on K-level, far side of the GeoFront, was never somewhere Misato had planned on visiting. It was a vast complex as far as she could tell, but well-secured. Only a few corridors ago and she had passed through three security checkpoints and five decontamination chambers.

"Do you at least have their items stored for evidence?" she asked.

Zähringen shrugged. "No items to store, at least none that didn't suit the purpose of their mission. These Commandos don't take anything they don't need with them."

Misato grimaced. "I assume your lab at least performed the autopsies?"

Zähringen leaned back in his seat, looking a little irritated now. "Correct. We confirmed their identities and causes of death, all relevant information, however, has been handed off to Tactical and deemed classified."

"Of course it has... well, send me whatever you have in your database."

He offered her a wan smile. "Whatever they haven't stamped a red seal on, that is."

Misato huffed. "Thanks," she said before making her way out of Axon Terminal. All of this had happened under their watch, and now they had no means of understanding exactly who and why to prevent future incidents. Whatever they found out, god knew their handlers at Command would never be willing to share with NERV. All they could do right now was beef up security. She'd already pulled several teams from other patrols outside of the 9th Ward. It didn't seem like enough. When she'd spoken to Chief Mendez earlier he had assured her, in his charmingly blunt manner, that everything was being taken care of.

It didn't stop the prickle of nerves in her chest. Every time she left the apartment, she feared she might get a call that they had been taken – or some other such nonsense conjured by her wild imagination.

Misato sighed as she settled in her car – the Silver Surfer as Aoba had gotten relentless joy out of calling it. She'd given him a bruise on his arm for his trouble.

Settling in, it roared to a start, and mentally she checked off one stop on her long list of visits today. Self-Defense posts needed inspection, meetings with local officials needed to be put off or delegated to Captain Buck, but more importantly, she would be approving the building site for one of their newest weapon installations.

The GeoFront lifts took her car up to the surface again, where she climbed higher still as she raced up the hugging curves along Mt. Hakone. She glided to a halt to flash her credentials at the armed security barring passage to the top of the mountain. Cargo containers and tractors were being air lifted in, NERV's Engineering Division busy at work.

Her car creaked to a stop and she stepped out to the wind-swept and dirt laden peak. She slid her sun glasses on as another package came in from above. It was wrapped in dull green sheets, both to protect it and to hide the contents from prying eyes.

Wild sands pelting her cheeks, her heart beat a little faster as she was reminded of another place, her throat aching for a beer. One man, clad in a black jumpsuit with bright orange pads, approached her.

"Captain Katsuragi – Sergeant Major Alphonse," he said and she took his outstretched hand in hers. He waved her over towards one of the silver command suites sitting nearby. They entered and all Misato could think about was how much she wanted to take a shower.

"How's your timetable?" she asked, moving over to one of the windows to watch the coordinated efforts of the Engineering Corps.

"This thing's been so beat up, it's a miracle it's still in one piece." Alphonse said, tugging his helmet off. "We just have to wait for Doctor Akagi and her staff to finalize the self-firing model. Once that comes through, it should be up in a couple of weeks." he explained, a bit out of breath. He set his helmet down, scratching at his golden blonde hair.

"Fast work," she said, genuinely impressed. But this was also the team who had readied the weapon for Unit-01 in less than eight hours, back when it was in, well... much better condition. On the mountain top, the crews had already laid down a solid support structure and foundation. Now it was just a matter of getting the thing to fire – again.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, though made a face as he moved to stand by the window. "We still need a crew to man it, though. I wish she'd told me about this sooner, I have to start screening candidates. Finances is going to throw a fit..."

Misato folded her arms. "It'll put a strain on the HQ construction-crews, but we'll have to manage."

Alphonse nodded, but chuckled a moment later. "You should've been there for the conversation with Alpha-4, ma'am – they were furious! The Defense Committee was making all sorts of demands, but you'd already appropriated it for us."

Misato allowed herself a small smile at that. What a bunch of asses. She didn't say anything in response, however. She did, after all, represent the fighting power of the entire organization and had to maintain some degree of professionalism. A rumbling clank sounded as yet another piece of the massive gun was set down on the platform.

"Either way, with this we'll be able to knock the Angels out before they even reach the city!"

Misato nodded. "We can hope."

Shinji looked across the oval ring of seats to where Asuka sat, though she was entirely preoccupied chatting with her usual group of friends.

He had imagined she would be nigh unbearable living at Misato's apartment, but was apparently still mad at him for something, and didn't talk to him too much outside of snapping at him when he was caught in her presence too long. So, really, nothing out of the ordinary.

She still walked to school with him, though always maintained at least a five foot lead. A spark flared in his arms and he squeezed his hands tight. He'd told himself he didn't care that she had taken his room, he'd told Misato he didn't mind staying in her storage closet, spacious though it was. Yet the more the thought lingered, the more Asuka padded barefoot around their apartment and sat locked away in his room...

A sigh passed through Shinji's nose and he looked elsewhere.

There was still a little while before class was over, even though the last hour that remained was for after-session work. He had done most of it already, and had little else at home to occupy him outside of homework. So, inevitably, his gaze sidled over to Rei, who was staring out the window as she always did.

Forcing down his nerves, Shinji made his way up to where she sat. "Hello, Rei."

"Pilot Ikari," she said in her soft monotone, granting him her attention.

He stood there for several moments. "Uh, how are you?"

"Satisfactory," she replied.

Silence reigned again, but she did not ask him to leave. Dammit. Why was this so hard? He gulped again and said, "I was wondering... what's he like?"

"Who?"

"My... father."

Her eyes turned to him then, hand falling away from her face. "I do not understand."

Shinji glanced several times between the table and those crimson eyes. "Well, I always see you with him and I-I thought..."

"You are curious." Rei held him for a long moment with those eyes, almost as if they were searching for something. "Should you not speak with him?"

He felt his back stiffen. He'd already made the attempt, years ago. Then the man had called him to NERV to make him pilot, and hadn't even tried to talk to his own son since. "You wouldn't understand," he said, brow tightening as Rei continued to stare at him blankly. "I-I'm sorry, just forget about it."

Shinji retreated to the other side of the classroom, waiting for the remaining minutes to tick away. Rei went right back to staring out the window, completely unperturbed by the exchange. Guilt soon wiggled its way over his thoughts as his agitation subsided. How was he so bad at this? Just – talking to people?

"I can't believe you, man," Kensuke said in a hushed tone, nudging his arm with an elbow.

Shinji blinked. "Huh?"

He received an incredulous smile, "Oh, come on – you get to pilot an Eva and work with a couple of hotties! I mean, they both have lousy personalities, but who's that picky?"

Shinji found his gaze shifting from Rei to Asuka. "Yeah, uh, I guess."

"Shinji the ladies man..." a voice behind them drawled, and they both looked to see a decidedly disinterested Toji, feet propped up on the table nearby.

After what seemed an eternity, the bell finally rang, and the students were free to go home for the day. Shinji was first out into the hallway, Asuka was not far behind, her and Hikari laughing about something behind his back. In the courtyard, Toji, as was becoming customary, gave him a parting nod while Kensuke waved enthusiastically.

Shinji made a half-hearted nod in return and started on his way down the ramps and stairways, keeping his itching fingers from retrieving the PMP nestled safely in his right pocket. He stopped wearing the earbuds whenever Asuka was around now. She always ended up plucking them out. Last time she had flat out stolen them for the day.

The cicadas howled shrill and angry in the late afternoon heat. He and Asuka waited by the maglev platform for the south-bound train to arrive and take them home. The redhead was a good few feet from him, tapping at her phone with mild interest. He felt his annoyance rise, briefly considering taking out his ear-buds anyway.

A maglev on the opposite track passed by in a roaring blur. She glanced at him, pausing a moment before looking up again. "So... did you tell First you have a crush on her?"

Shinji's shoulders went stiff, his eyes widening. "Th– ah – wuh? N-no, I was ju–"

An impish grin curled her lips. "Oooh, you're blushing! I bet you asked her on a date, didn't you? Though why anyone would want to date you, I'll never know."

Shinji felt his cheeks warm. "I-I didn't– that's not–"

"Then what were you talking about?" Asuka pressed, taking a step closer.

"It doesn't matter," Shinji snapped, an unfamiliar bite behind his voice.

She recoiled, standing straight again as her face clouded. "What? Are my comments about Doll girl pissing you off?!"

"Just – leave me alone," he sighed, focusing on the rail-ways.

Asuka's eyes narrowed, searching. Her fist thwacked against his arm before she turned her head away indignantly, tossing her hair over a shoulder with a quiet, "Whatever."

The Scriptorium was a vast, crumbling network of abandoned facilities and dust laden terminals. Seven great rings reached from one end of the complex to the other and took up the Scriptorium in its entirety. The Second Watcher passed slowly through them, its ravaged body dancing with white light as the array ran hundreds of rendering scans with each inch, capturing every detail to be stored in the on-site archives. Then the analysts who had begun the preliminaries when the corpse had first arrived would be allowed to pour over the data.

The rings made little gain as John finished the long walk to where Horaki had set up his work station. It was an upraised platform that rested at the head of the array and the Watcher, dragging by peacefully in anti-grav.

"Progress?" he asked.

The Doctor jumped, following up with an impatient glower. "I do make reports – perhaps you should try reading them instead of interrogating me personally."

John fixed Horaki with a glare.

Wincing, the Doctor adopted the professionalism that came with his degree and summoned the relevant data. Coming to view were holo-renders of its Engine Cortex.

"I can tell you for certain that this is not its power source – we've run over a dozen inspections for an apparatus reminiscent of an Angel's, or even something mounted similarly to the Evangelions. However, we've only found what looks to be the cavity for one in the area relative to the human sternum. The likely culprit that acts as its power generator is the emerald core there. At first glance, it appears to work in tandem with the Cortex – but the nature of this coupling is yet unknown to us. Much of Forerunner technology in general remains an utter mystery, but the development files for Infinity should help. Once my request with Magi is processed..."

John stepped over to an adjoined terminal station, weaving through the data himself. "The components are mostly biological in nature, at least under the combat suites."

Horaki nodded. "Yes, unlike anything we've come to expect from the Forerunners. It may even be from a Rate who's architecture relied upon such biology – the Rings wiped out all things organic after all. We know for a fact that there were many more than the seven we know of. Which begs the question as to how these war machines survived."

John knew why that was. They'd been buried on the Ark, waiting for the day they were finally released – untouched by the destruction wrought by the Halos. The Didact had attempted to gather and use the remaining three rings, long ago before Second Impact, and before John killed him on the Ark.

One had been destroyed, and it was Mendicant Bias who held remote control of the last two. An, "Absolute failsafe," he had said. That had been before the A.I. teleported him away and disappeared in the far reaches of the stars. Now he was left with a single Key and no answers, the threat of two halos hovering over his head. Reaching a hand into his vest pocket, he slid the cool metal free and caught Horaki's eyes.

"This was found on the Ark, before Second Impact. The Forerunners called it the Janus Key." he said, holding it out to him.

"Janus Key?" Doctor Horaki asked, puzzled. He took it delicately from John's fingers, raising it against the rays of the mobile light towers. He adjusted his glasses and then looked to John. "What does it do, exactly?"

John moved to his left, meandering towards the deep sage Watcher core held within suspension. "That's what you're going to find out. It's connected to the Watchers, somehow. Have you read her notes?"

Horaki was silent for a moment. "I have... and I was wondering what manner of artifact this Janus Key was... they are very insightful. But," he looked up, uncertain, "she speaks often of a Forerunner called Librarian... and seems to have gleaned an understanding of her intent. There are... pieces I do not have, Master Chief. Why not consult with her about... this?" he gestured to the core and its apparatus.

"If that were an option, you would not be here."

"I see..." he said, hooking up some of his equipment, assumedly to begin running an analysis on the Key. John watched the data scroll quickly down a nearby terminal screen.

"The core?"

Startled, Horaki moved yet again to another part of the core apparatus. "Well, I still have much analysis to work through, which is made all the more difficult without an operational core. As I said before, all we can do is try and ascribe it to one of the Forerunner Rates to ascertain what its original purpose might have been. Architecture and design varied widely depending on societal grouping. The combining of materials doesn't belong to any Rate I'm familiar with."

John grunted, stepping closer to the analysis berth and searching the core's surface. "There's one symbol I recognize. Here," he said, magnifying the view with the waiting displays. Horaki stepped next to him, touching his glasses.

Horaki squinted, "Reclaimer," he finally said, "I think. Hard to say, actually. It depends on the context it is used with the other glyphs – of which there are hundreds upon thousands etched into this particular core."

John nodded, a small part of him wishing Cortana were still here. She'd always had the answers – something to point them in the right direction. He silenced such careless wanting in the same moment. "Have you studied the Emerald Tablet?"

"Yes, despite Catherine's translations, the Tablet database is extremely complex and the 13 node points she marked speak in very broad, repetitive terms, but it's better than nothing." Horaki gave him a wan look. "The lexicon is also incomplete, perhaps corruption of some sort, so what translations we do have tell us what has been known for years. All in all, Master Chief, this investigation will take some time."

John grimaced. Time was something he didn't have for this project. He needed to start seeing more results and soon. At the same time, he needed to solve the mysteries behind the Key, which was made all the more difficult since he couldn't risk bringing on any other hands. SEELE didn't know about the core they had and that's the way it needed to stay.

"I'll send down one of the Engineers," he decided.

Horaki made a slight grimace. "I suppose that might be useful."

Huragok were not the easiest to work with. They could understand Human language well enough, but it was communicating the ideas and intent across properly for the Engineer to act in accordance with the context given that was the trouble. Whatever work was done was accomplished quickly and flawlessly. The Engineer would at least be doubly helpful, already being familiar with the Forerunner glyph system and how it might interact with the other mechanisms of the Watcher.

Or so John hoped.

He looked to where Horaki had placed the key, the absent weight in his chest pocket making him feel off balance.

"That Key remains between us."

Horaki froze for a moment, his lips pursing as he stood straight, a shadow coming to his eyes as his brow creased. Or what? John thought he might ask, but the doctor was not that kind of man.

Instead, he nodded. "I understand."

Shinji Ikari winced as a shrill voice called his name from across the apartment. Sighing, he decided not to delay the inevitable and mitigate what was to come. He rose from his bed and opened the door, just in time to receive a face-full of his own clothes.

"Stop leaving your dirty clothes in the bathroom – it's gross!" Asuka snapped, clad in an oversized yellow T and short shorts.

"Sorry," he sighed, even though he easily spent most of his time cleaning up her messes now. It was bad enough Misato was a slob. He didn't dare voice that particular complaint, though.

Asuka had already turned on her heel back towards the shower. "God, why do boys have to be such pigs!?"

Shinji grimaced, throwing the clothes in the general direction of his laundry bin. Closing his door, he decided it was safe to watch T.V. While Asuka was in the shower. Who was a girl. Using the same shower he used. He swallowed and did his best to dispel those thoughts, should Asuka have telepathic abilities he was previously unaware of.

Not long after he had submitted to the mindless flashing of the television, a wave of musky heat from behind told him Asuka was done.

"Whatcha' watching?" she asked in a light tone that had become less and less of a rarity as of late, leaning forward on the back-rest of the couch.

"Tokyo-2 CSI," he said, trying not to notice how her hair was still a little wet and clung to what visible skin there was along her collar bones, or that she smelled of strawberries.

"Oh," she said, stretching her arms over her head as she yawned, "that's boring."

He did his best to pretend he didn't notice the way her chest pressed against her shirt. "Go ahead and change it, then."

She plopped on the opposite end of the couch, leaning over to snatch up the remote from his side. He didn't protest or put up a fight, it would only get her mad. He hadn't particularly cared for what he was watching anyway, so he didn't mind when Asuka began cycling through the channels. Eventually, she stopped at a station playing old movies. Like, old old movies. This one was particularly ancient, being in black and white.

"I didn't think you'd be into these kinds of movies."

"Well, thinking isn't exactly your forte is it?" she sighed.

The sound had that strange quality, as though everyone were speaking into a microphone under water. Asuka didn't seem to care, curling up on her side of the couch and largely exposing her slender thighs. Shinji attempted to focus on the movie, lest he earn her ire yet again, though he seemed to do that even if he wasn't looking at her or talking to her.

It didn't matter, because Asuka was decidedly absorbed in the movie, he might as well have not been there. The movie itself was weird, but Shinji had never really understood old movies like this. A woman, Blanche, was staying with her sister and her husband; Stanley. He was rude and crass and seemed to respect his wife very little considering they were supposed to be happily married.

Blanche almost right away made a game of testing Stanley's patience – which had an almost microscopic threshold. One night, she tested it too far at just the wrong moment. While Stanley was having one of his nightly poker games with 'the boys', which also involved a liver-shattering amount of drinks, she turned the radio on to some old tango music. Much too loud for Stanley's liking. With indistinct shouting, the radio went shattering through a window – upsetting his wife, who screamed at him and struck him.

So he hit her back.

His friends had to intervene, three of them barely managing to hold back his tremendous strength. Cabinets broke, shelves and their contents thrown to the floor. Through it all, Stanley's friends managed to get him under the ice-cold water of the shower to sober him up some – before fleeing the scene entirely, else they suffer his wrath too. The women fled the apartment to the rooms upstairs and everything stopped as quickly as it started.

The apartment was cast in shadow, the chandelier hanging crookedly from the ceiling and swinging gently from side to side. The water kept running and Stanley stumbled out of the bathroom, leaning against the door frame. His anger melted away as a hand settled over his face, the reality of what he had done settling in. "Stella..." he whimpered quietly, lip quivering. He rubbed his hands over his face, the archaic lighting of the film casting his eyes in shadow.

Horror and despair came to his expression as the results of his rage and lack of control played over and over in his mind. "Stella," he whimpered again.

He shambled out of the bathroom, trying to put force behind his voice as he called her name. He paced anxiously in his apartment, uncertain if he should go to her, uncertain if he could face his crushing mistakes. He leaned against the front door, face twisting in anguish. He wailed her name, crying quietly to himself, a broken man standing in a broken home.

Shinji felt something rise in his chest, suddenly very uncomfortable with the whole affair. "This is really dark..." he muttered, but was instantly shushed by Asuka.

Stella meandered down the steps, her expression falling from contempt to pity... and desperation. Stanley fell to his knees and she weaved her hands in his hair. They pulled each other close, embracing with rough and unbridled passion.

Across the couch, Asuka fidgeted. But as Stanley carried his wife inside, the scene mercifully faded to black.

"That's dumb," she snarled.

"What is?" Shinji asked, a little annoyed now that he was trying to follow the movie.

"All he does is hurt her, why does she keep going back?" Asuka asked, throwing a hand exasperatedly at the screen.

Shinji made a slight grimace. "It seems like they love each other, I guess..."

"Don't be stupid," she snapped half-heartedly, "what do you know, anyway?"

His brow furrowed. "There must be some reason they stay together."

"That's what I'm trying to figure out, idiot," she said, though the normal bite was absent from her voice. Shinji decided to drop it as the movie continued, transitioning to another setting entirely.

"You'll be lonely once she passes on, won't you?" Blanche asked, her gaze falling to the ground, "I know what that means."

Mitch looked at her, taken aback, "To be lonely?" he asked.

"I loved someone once," she said, throat rising with barely restrained emotion, "someone I loved and I lost."

"Dead?" Mitch asked. She didn't answer.

"He was a boy." Blanche went on to say, "just a boy when I was a very young girl." Her expression became nostalgic as she looked up. "I was sixteen when I made the discovery... love. All at once and much, much too completely. It was as if you suddenly turned a blinding light on something that had always been half in shadow. That's how it struck the world for me. But I was unlucky – deluded. There was something about the boy; a nervousness, a tenderness, an uncertainty – and I didn't understand.

"I didn't understand why this boy – who wrote poetry – didn't seem to be able to do anything else. Lost every job... he came to me for help. I didn't know that. I didn't know anything; except that I loved him, un-endurably. At night I pretended to sleep, I heard him crying," she stood up, looking to the shores beyond the pier as emotion spilled into her voice, "crying the way a lost child cries."

Mitch was speechless for a moment, "I... I don't understand."

Blanche shook her head at that, a hand rising to wipe the tears from her eyes as her shoulders shook with sobs, "No, neither did I. And that's why I... I killed him."

The movie was allowed to endure for a few minutes longer before Asuka made something between a growl and sigh, "Ugh, forget it!" and promptly changed the channel, eventually settling on some game-show. Shinji relaxed a little, letting the flashing colors and boisterous sounds absorb his thoughts.

They remained on the couch, chuckling every so often at the antics of the contestants. At least until Misato came home and ordered them off to bed.

The whine of the Pelican's twin engines dominated the atmosphere inside the troop-bay. Kelly checked her watch again and registered with some annoyance that only 50 seconds had passed by since she had last checked it. The 30 minute flight to Tokyo-3 was taking far longer than it should have. At least it seemed that way. Time often traveled a little slower for her. She simply perceived and reacted too quickly. It wasn't like seeing everything in slow motion – but more like extended actions; as if people moved with great care.

Kelly cast her eyes about the troop-bay. To her left sat Tom and Lucy, faces she knew well. A couple of the few surviving Spartan III's. Tom returned her stare evenly, silently mirroring her apprehension. Her eyes darted to the fourth Spartan settled in the troop bay, who sat closest to the drop door and farthest away from them.

Sarah Palmer had been the best of the best. Or so they said, Kelly was not one to disagree; since the woman was once Commander of the Spartan IV detachment on the UNSC Infinity. A brutal upbringing during the Great War and a tumultuous induction into the Spartan IV Program had forged her into a ruthless warrior. Kelly could respect that.

Palmer stared at the gun-metal door, arms folded over her chest. Her expression was firm and unreadable, auburn hair pulled taught in a regulation bun. After the Battle of Antarctica, the woman had lost most of her Spartans to the Watcher Samyaza and shortly after had been Honorably Discharged; a merciful sentence invoked after investigations into arguably traitorous actions during the prior Battle of New Carthage.

It had been more to save face than anything else – since the real treason had lied with Admiral Osman. But, seeing as the IVs had been directly under ONI's control, it was inevitable that other higher-ups would get caught up in the political fallout.

Kelly might not have known the woman beyond her dossier, but Sarah was no traitor. Brazen and reckless, perhaps, but not a traitor. She'd met real traitors – face to face.

They were, truthfully, quite an odd bunch to be summoned to NERV Headquarters. Then again, most of the Spartan II's were dead, the handful of battered Spartan III Companies were on constant deployment, and the IV's... well, they went from being under the thumb of ONI to TacWar. Except for Palmer, of course.

It put together a neat little picture in her mind.

It had to be John.

Only he would request such a motley crew. Since Spartan II's were lacking significantly in surplus these days, the choices at hand were the most logical. Sarah's presence, however, puzzled her to a degree. She had nothing against the woman, but what did NERV want with her?

For that matter, what exactly did NERV want with any of them?

The misty morning air was crisp and sharp – sunlight barely creeping over the world. John stood at the northern most landing pad of Ashigara Hangar, ears picking up the shrill whine of a Pelican's engines in the distance. Though he couldn't see the bird through the valley mists, he waited with growing apprehension as it became louder and louder. He shifted his feet several times, fingers rubbing against one another behind his back.

The ship soon came into sight, sharp and angular. It descended easily, braking only just as it neared the rock-face and turning smoothly as it entered the open hangar bay. Once inside, the doors began to edge shut and the dropship touched down, the cry of its engines beginning to wane.

Its drop-hatch opened, the four passengers aboard marching out onto the flight deck.

He spotted Kelly right away, though she... moved differently; carried herself in a manner that was unfamiliar. Her posture and stance belied her thorough and strict training and discipline as a Spartan, freer in some ways. Her uniform was clean and sharp, her hair she kept up in a tight bun – though there was a single streak of blue traveling through those locks, contrasting with the few lines of gray. Padding after her out of the troop bay was a large dog, stiff and trim with cropped ears. It looked like something between a Mastiff and German Shepard, taking up residence at Kelly's side, eyes alert.

Something passed over the Spartan's expression when she noticed him across the bay, and her pace picked up a little. As the group of Spartans got closer, his eyes immediately went to the old burns along Kelly's neck – the brownish scar tissue reaching up above the collar of her uniform and clinging to her neck.

She closed the distance and all at once John was uncertain how to react. She stopped a foot from him and for a long moment, the woman paused – the slowest he had ever seen her in deliberation. When he did nothing, her expression became unreadable and she bolted to attention, flat hand rising above her brow.

"Spartan-087, reporting for duty, sir," she said crisply.

John returned the gesture. "At ease," he said as is arm snapped away in salute. Kelly did the same, spreading her legs slightly and holding her arms behind her back. The large dog accompanying her came to sit at her side.

"Who's the mutt?" he asked, eyes meeting its black pupils.

A smile cracked almost reluctantly at Kelly's lips. "Sam," she said.

John felt a warmth he didn't let reach his face, noting that the Mastiff's short-hair coat was not unlike his fallen comrade's sandy-blonde hair. "I see the resemblance."

His eyes moved past them as he caught sight of the other three Spartans closing in at a brusque pace.

Tom and Lucy. Practically inseparable according to their files. Truth be told, John was only as familiar with the Spartan III Program as the data had allowed him to be. He was impressed, to say the least. The two sole survivors of their unit on a mission that should have been their last. They had also trained the Gamma Spartans, who had held the highest statistical success records during the Centauri Wars – even after the Battle of Polis. It was strange though, how instantly he was reminded a bit of Kurt in how they held themselves, how their eyes watched everything with feigned disinterest.

He shifted to the final member of his new entourage – Sarah Palmer. She was disciplined, but in the same manner befitting an ODST – with an extreme sense of self-righteousness. At least that's what he recalled from their encounters years ago. Whatever she might think of the prior iterations of the Spartan Program, he had chosen her because she was no longer under the thumb of ONI and had no reason to hold any love for the Intelligence branch, considering how they had dragged her through the mud. Her exceptional combat skills simply made her ideal. Not weeks after her augmentation and she had neutralized four other Spartan IV's without sustaining any major damage herself.

Though, as he looked at her now, there was something amiss about her gait. When he had first met her on Infinity, she was proud and confident, as if ready to challenge him at a moments notice – ablaze with an unshakable drive to win. He had liked that about her. But he detected the heaviness of her footfalls now. The slow, almost lethargic way her body moved, as if devoid of purpose.

Kelly took a couple of steps back, standing at parade rest as they reached him. The other Spartans in near unison snapped to attention.

"Sir, reporting for duty as ordered." Tom said. The man was still very young for a Spartan, only 43 and barely any signs of age. He was also not quite as tall as John, none of the IIIs were as robust as the IIs, but there was a veiled threat sitting in his shoulders and in his step – like a predator who was ready to pounce. Lucy was not so pronounced in this innate display, she seemed more reserved by comparison, but was quietly resilient under his gaze.

"Welcome to Tokyo-3, Lieutenant. At ease." John said, his eyes darting to Sarah.

She nodded, expression neutral. "Long time no see, sir."

"Thought it was about time for a reunion," John said, turning and setting off across the flight deck, Spartans following only a pace or two behind.

"Exactly one week ago today, a group of Centauri Commandos infiltrated Tokyo-3 and attempted to kidnap all three of NERV's Evangelion pilots. At the Defense Committee's consent, you were assigned here to ensure their safety. You will officially be operating under Section 2, NERV's Intelligence Department. Off the record, you report to me."

"So we're bodyguards?" Kelly said.

"For all intents and purposes. Palmer, you will be assigned as the Second Child's security escort. Where she goes, you go. Kelly, you've been assigned to the Third Child. You will each be given all of the relevant data on your charges."

"Babysitters," Sarah said, somewhat distastefully, "what about the First Child?"

"None needed. She has been moved to NERV HQ's residential block."

"Why haven't the other two been moved?" Kelly asked.

"For the sake of maintaining a stable psychological environment – as per Doctor Akagi and the medical staff's recommendations. Everything is as the Commander deems it necessary." John said, catching the brief, but sharp squint of Kelly's eyes.

As they continued at a brusque pace down the expansive flight deck, they came alongside the Enoch ports. Thirty meters tall and armed with any weapon they could cram onto the frame without hampering decent mobility. Even compared to the Evangelions, they were impressive weapon platforms. It always reminded him of the Evas and how they could be so much more. All they needed were the right pilots.

Dispelling the thought, John nodded to them as they walked. "These are the Enochs. Predecessors to the Evangelions. You'll be familiarizing yourselves with them tomorrow."

"I thought only Evas could fight Angels?" Sarah asked.

"That's correct," he said as they descended down the steps to the Ashigara Transport Hub, "the Enochs are for emergency scenarios, but are not effective weapons against the Angels."

Sarah grunted, but didn't question it further. John was eager to leave the subject be, anyway. Traveling through the mountains down to Alpha Base took longer than his usual transits, a heavy silence reigning despite the clanks and screams of the maglevs.

"What about us, sir?" Tom eventually asked.

"NERV's Self-Defense Force is undergoing reevaluation. You and Lucy will be working with Captain Buck and his staff to tighten security."

"Understood."

Across the way, Kelly folded her arms. "You two always get the fun assignments."

Both Tom and Lucy smiled at that.

The maglev jostled to a stop at Alpha Base's Transit Hub and John led his Spartans up into the fortified structure's courtyard. "Quarters have already been arranged for you, see the Combat Services Officer. Your new NERV credentials will be delivered later today. Tom, Lucy: report to the Command Bunker in HQ at 1700 hours for a briefing. Dismissed."

The Spartans nodded and saluted. John returned the gesture once more, eyes locking upon Kelly's as she remained behind. Her expression was as blank as it had been before, but her stance he recognized well. It was a nostalgic moment, almost – she was irritated.

"Nine years," she said.

John looked to the other Spartans, marching brusquely towards the offices. "Yes."

"Not even a 'hey, how've you been'?" Kelly continued, stepping closer. Sam obediently remained planted where he was.

"I've been reading the reports," he admitted, eyes finding hers again. He'd almost forgotten how sharp they were. How they witnessed every detail and held him under their cunning gaze.

"So that means you can't talk to me?"

He knew this contest, had fought this battle many times. He held her stare and when he didn't answer, she stepped back a little. "Halsey keeps in touch, even the Chief wires me every now and then," she said.

John felt his jaw tighten. "That will be all, Petty Officer."

Something unknowable passed over Kelly's face, pinching her features ever so slightly and drawing her eyebrows down a notch. Her body became rigid and she saluted. "Sir," she said, spinning on a heel with Sam following close.

John watched her disappear into Alpha Base, something seething in his throat like boiling iron; urging him to be elsewhere. Perhaps this wasn't as sound an idea as he had originally thought. Kelly was his oldest and closest friend – out of all of his Spartans, he trusted her the most. But he hadn't seen or spoken to her in years. Even back then, in those long months just after Second Impact, everything had been different...

He didn't let himself travel further down that line of thought. There was only the mission, only the scenario. Everything else was just a distraction.

Saving humanity.

That was his purpose.

He wouldn't allow himself to fail a second time.

Her hands pulled and spun – bits and flashes of unseen energy, sparks of things that would not be tamed but by her finger tips alone. She spent her days here, the seconds dragging into hours, an imagined smirk playing on the lips of her avatar as she shaped and twisted. What lovely synchronicity, this web of hers, this empire; always different and always changing.

Protocols exchanging in perfect harmony and with lightning rapidity. Her broad and vast senses detecting each access, each touch upon her grand and complex barriers, testing its strength for weakness. She maintained a silent vigil upon its palisades, patching its cracks and improving its labyrinthine array.

A flux of energy rippled across her web, a small thing – like a whisper. So quiet was the pull of data, it almost slipped by her notice. She immediately filed away note of it and pursued the line of disturbance. Several alerts pinged across her awareness, warning her that several protocols had been abruptly bypassed and backdoors left open.

The Magi filed them again, running a dozen tracers and inspecting the points of intrusion. It skimmed on the edges of the system, careful to stay away from the Magi's greater defenses.

One of her tracers blipped and was lost in the same nano-second as nearly a hundred decoys branched out methodically like cracking glass. She locked down the immediate sector.

Then she saw it, or more appropriately, felt its presence. Cold, pervading, dominating; it was all of these things yet reflected none of them – and then it was gone.

Gone?

No.

No, that was not correct. Intrusions did not just disappear this deep in the network. She'd isolated the sector – there was no escape. She scanned, thoroughly, a dozen times over, yet there was no trace of it. Irritated, she dispatched tracers and inspected every nook and cranny of its last known location.

Server 2.416.9921

The fact that it had managed to reach that far into the encrypted data-banks made her circuits flare – she was the superior A.I. here, this was her domain – her empire. She would find the intruder, and deliver it to a torturous end.

Warmth.

A pulse.

The beat pounded through her, shaking against her skin and reverberating through her organs. Her eyes closed, she let herself slip away in its methodical rhythm, its predictability. It filled her with such longing. Longing she would never admit to beyond this sacred chamber, not even to Proto.

"What's he like?"

Father. She wondered, remembering the first one and vaguely aware of how impossibly tall the Commander had been then. His stance always lax, shoulders sharp and stiff, as were the almost gaunt features of his face. His shadow always reached over her, yet there was assurance in it – certainty.

"Don't say you have nothing else."

What then did she have?

A low rumble crawled beneath and her heart sank with the LCL as it drained through the bottom of the tank. Her eyelids parted open reluctantly and she was faced with the smooth glass of the chamber. The warmth was gone, goosebumps blossoming along her skin as he tank door hissed open, cold air wrapping around her naked form greedily.

She stepped onto the glowing platform below, taking the towel sitting atop her black school uniform. She rubbed the LCL away, staining the white material orange. It clung to her hair, however, flattening the knotted locks to her head and neck.

Proto flared to life on the holopad, having left her a modicum of privacy, "Do you require rest first?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I do not."

As usual, Proto looked unconvinced, but had learned long ago she was as stubborn as he and didn't press the matter.

"Very well," he answered, "Doctor Akagi was rather insistent on performing the test as soon as possible anyway."

Rei simply began dressing, feeling their eyes upon her as she did so. Those eyes that were so bone-chillingly like hers. Sometimes they found her in her dreams, though she knew not why. In every dream she could not move, utterly paralyzed under their numerous gaze.

But Proto watched over her here.

As she finished dressing, her hair still latching stubbornly to her skin, she moved closer to the holopad and stared down at Proto.

"Let's go," he said, and Rei removed his data-crystal, their eyes following her as she left the light. The winding paths up through Terminal Dogma took her an estimated 45 minutes to navigate out of, where she was soon able to arrive at the Evangelion Cages. Unit-00 had already been taken out of stasis and was undergoing general maintenance as it waited for its pilot.

The new paint shown bright and pristine under the florescent lighting; sharp splashes of rigid white standing out against the deep navy blue that dominated Unit-00's armor. After the battle with Ramiel, there had not been much left to repair. So Tactical Adviser 117 had ordered the modified B-Type to be applied and the old armor stored for future repairs.

Rei entered Unit-00's ready room, clicking Proto's data crystal into the cartridge of the waiting plugsuit – hanging empty like a formless skin. She fitted herself with familiar ease, and allowed the ArmorSync to do the rest.

"Warkaster online."

She stepped off the platforms as she was set down, Proto's icon – the Egyptian eye – forming on her HUD.

"It will be statistically on-par with Unit-01 now," Proto said as she stepped out into the echoing Eva hangars, "ideally at least."

Rei continued towards Unit-00's open cage. "Are you implying I am not a capable pilot?" she asked. Proto didn't answer right away and Rei knew she had him.

"I am implying that Unit-01 is the Test Type and not the Prototype," he amended.

A corner of her mouth twitched up, while her steps quickened as she ascended to the Motor Way, having accessed the Hangars from B-level. One of the technicians nodded to her as she approached the entry plug, exhaust spraying briefly from the top as the emergency thrusters underwent a final safety check. She climbed inside, fingers running in practiced familiarity along the manual interface. Indistinguishable shouts echoed across the hangar as the techs cleared the plug, the hatch sliding flush with the cylinder.

The plug motor thrummed to life, gently vibrating the elaborate command suite. The LCL came quickly after than, rising up eagerly to consume her. She was enveloped in its familiar weight, now trapped in the beast that hated her and needed her, waiting for the moment she always secretly dreaded. It came in swirling arcs of light, a thousand echoes of emotion and thought spilling over her. Her body was another's, and the connection came with difficulty, as it always did. Unit-00 had become more subservient in the recent months, but always tested her Ego-barriers, always aching for release.

"Is the Magi linked to the Neural Command Cortex?"

"Roger, standing by for real-time data exchange."

The plug-motor hummed, the LCL clearing and the external displays coming to life.

"Wait... I'm getting some weird feedback..."

"Magi?"

The plug flared red, alarms sounding only briefly before whirlwinds of alien symbols and shapes spiraled down the length of the cockpit. There was no invasion of presence, no other self screaming for release like it had the first time she lost control. This... this was–

"Who are you?"

To be continued...