Notes from GobHobblin: The 'massaging the heart' thing is an actual last-ditch first aid technique. A good friend of mine has a brother who is a combat medic. He did this to a young soldier who had received massive chest trauma, and kept the boy alive until a medevac helicopter arrived. Unfortunately, that story did not have an ending as happy as Misato's. It is one of those things done when death is literally the only other option.
September 17, 2026 - Tannhauser Tower, Frankfurt, Germany
The boy squirmed, his brow furrowing in rising panic. "Not today…please?"
"Come here, Kaworu," the man said, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his lab coat. Two Seele Sec men stood slightly behind him, dressed in khaki trousers and white polos that strained at their bulging muscles. Everything about them screamed mercenary, and that was more often true than not with Seele Sec. The boy looked at them, then back to Kihl. The man's face was a mask of indulged amusement, as though amused by the boy's hesitation…the way a father would be amused by a child's despair at their first haircut.
"Please?" the boy whimpered.
"Go on, Kaworu. Don't make Dr. Grahl ask his assistants to help." The boy trembled, looking as if he would about to cry. Lowering his head until his blue hair draped over his red eyes, and turned slowly. Trembling like a leaf, he made a slow path towards Dr. Grahl, and passed between the two large Sec men. They both laid a hand on his shoulders, and gently but firmly propelled him towards the door, speeding him along. Grahl followed at pace.
Renee Dutroux, the French Representative-in-Chief to Seele and the occupant of Chair Number 3 on the Seele Directory Council, watched the antics with a bemused expression. When the door closed behind the small party, he turned to Kihl. "So…" he murmured, "Why Kaworu?"
"Hmm?" Kihl was distracted, and he turned as though waking up. Dutroux blinked his empty eyes like a lizard.
"Why Kaworu? Specifically, Kaworu Nagisa?"
"Kaworu means 'incense,'" the German explained. "It sounded like a charming name, so I decided that his name should be Kaworu. Nagisa is formed from the characters for 'shi' and 'sha,' forming the word 'shisha.' That means 'messenger,' and I intend to send some messages with this boy."
"I would ask, then, why Japanese? And I would further ask…why ten years old? That's a very…specific age." There was no answer, and there was no need for there to be. It was clear what the purpose of the boy was for, in light of the ugly split between Gehirn-now-Seele and Nerv. It was a message, aimed at a very particular person and his team. Dutroux thought it a petty action, and it probably was. Even Kihl could be petty.
Kihl, of course, dodged the question. "Amazing, isn't it? All highly illegal, of course, but the growing period was not difficult. You could grow a physically aged geriatric freshly hatched with the resources and the know-how." Kihl seemed exceptionally pleased with himself, and Dutroux noted that he probably should be: the Kaworu child was physically ten. Through an intensive psychotropic drug regimen, sleep learning, and behavioral programming, he had roughly the knowledge and maturity of a five or six year old. And he had not yet celebrated his first birthday.
Hell, he hadn't even made it to six months, yet. Kaworu was a modern medical marvel…and, as Kihl so eloquently intimated, highly illegal. The methods used to produce him, aside from being outlandishly expensive, were conducted using stolen research and stolen samples, obtained via a terrorist action. Nerv had very narrowly avoided an international incident in the creation of Rei, her siblings, and the Evangelions, but the way in which Kaworu had been created violated every conceivable law and precedent in genetic engineering and cloning. Further, the method used to 'age' him mentally existed only in the intelligence community, for two purposes: the creation of sleeper agents, or the extraction of information from unwilling subjects. And the only intelligence communities that practiced those techniques were ones in countries with already questionable records in regards to human rights. If anybody found out how Kihl had educated Kaworu, he could be charged with anything and everything from abuse of a child to major crimes against humanity.
Kihl never fretted about the small details, however. That was a trivial concern, for trivial men.
"You should see his sibling," Kihl said, smiling. "That will be something to behold."
"Our President should be something to behold," Dutroux murmured, "We weren't able to win this one."
"Ah, yes…Ms. Lemet. Our modern Madame de Pompadour." Kihl turned a cold eye towards Dutroux. Dutroux stared back blandly; none of the Seele Chairs had quite the same fear of Kihl as other men did. He was a great man, yes…but only a man. All men died, eventually.
"We still have a slim majority in the National Assembly, but she has the support of Piaf," Dutroux said.
"And what does Piaf have!?" The sudden rage in Kihl made Dutroux's eyes open a fraction wider, and reminded the Frenchman why he did, in a small part of his soul, still fear Kihl. He was unpredictable. "Didn't we ruin him?" the German continued, "What does he have left after the Paris Incursion? What? We spent a fortune annihilating his career."
"Charisma is it's own fortune, and Piaf was very popular. Is still very popular, and his alliance may win a majority back in the Assembly, whatever we do. You can only commit so much strong-arming before it's not subtle anymore. People are getting wise to you, Kihl…you've moved too hard and too strongly, and now we may pay the price for that."
"What price?" Kihl laughed, "Gendo Ikari was going to wander off on his own eventually, and he's playing a game he knows nothing about. What does he have? Sarif? The man's a dilettante, playing with his cybernetics and robots. The Evas? Lilith's cells? That's where the future is, Dutroux. Everything else is meaningless."
"The Council doesn't think so, Kihl. You're gonna have to convince us of that, you understand?"
Kihl smiled, and Dutroux noted idly that it was a most predatory expression. "Persuasion is one my skills," Kihl whispered, almost lovingly.
"I really don't want to go back to school," Shinji mumbled from the back of the car. Hunter nodded sympathetically, sitting in the driver seat wearing dark sunglasses, doing his best 'hulking bodyguard' routine. Being a slight Afrikaaner somewhat muted the effect, but he still looked intimidating when he wanted to.
"Well, sorry, bru, but that's where you're going," Hunter said bluntly. "Back to books, and learning, and…books. All that."
"Can't I be home-schooled? David has enough money to send me to a fancy prep school, can't he just…hire a tutor?"
"Shinji, we talked about this. School is about more than just learning math and history and all that, it's about socializing. Learning how to deal with the rest of the human race, learning about yourself. Learning how to be a human among humans, and all that."
"Why do I have to learn around a bunch of assholes?" Shinji whined.
"Hey, whoa! Where'd you pick up that word?" Hunter snapped.
"From you, when you watch Fight Night on Thursdays," Shinji snapped right back.
"Damn straight you did!" Hunter beamed. "Just put that on the DL, bru, that might make those 'friends' of yours get a little too friendly, know what I'm saying?"
"Yes, Hunter," Shinji sighed, exasperated. He picked at his tie, and squirmed in his blazer. "I still don't want to go back to school."
Hunter lounged on the couch, drinking a beer as Paz de la Rosa choked out Oscar Macintosh on pay-per-view. One bare foot was plopped up on the coffee table, and his hand rested on a bowl of buffalo popcorn. Shinji sat on the other end of the couch, straight and still, with his fingers interlocked in his lap. One eye was swollen shut, and he snuffled from sinuses abused by a good pop to the nose. He also had a small cut over his left eye.
Miserably, he glanced at Hunter. The man sipped his beer casually.
"Are you going to tell Mom?" Shinji asked.
"Hell no," Hunter said. Shinji looked down.
"What about my dad?"
"I already did. He can tell your mom."
Shinji winced. "You're mad, right?"
"Yep." Shinji let out a great heaving sigh. First day of school, and already suspended a week for fighting. To be fair, it wasn't really a fight so much as a spectacle, which began with Shinji being thrashed and ended with him being dragged sobbing off of the boy who started it. He didn't really know how to punch, so he had settled for trying to pull the kid's face off. Hunter had left him for only a moment; it happened occasionally, during the day. He couldn't be there at all times, of course, and part of his job required him to be invisible a certain percentage of the time.
Which meant that Shinji would get bullied. There was not much to actively do about that, except involve the teachers, which Hunter did. Bullying still happened, but Hunter was forbidden from actually touching other students except in a life threatening situation. None had arisen yet. The fight was a first, though.
"I wish you didn't," Shinji whimpered.
"You don't want to deal with the leftovers, bru, don't cook the recipe," Hunter said, wincing at the television. A new fight had begun between two fighters he had never heard of before, and one of them had decided offering his back was a winning strategy. It wasn't at all…but the fighter offered it every opportunity he got. "Come on!" Hunter finally snapped, "The ref ain't gonna help you, help yourself, you human paraquat!"
Shinji watched the fight, and looked at his hands. "What's it like…to fight?"
Hunter looked at the boy in confusion. "Huh? Shinji, you were in a fight, why are you asking me that?"
"It didn't feel like a fight. It felt…messed up."
"Well, there you go. It feels messed up," Hunter said.
The boy jerked a chin towards the television. "Then why do you watch this? Why is it fun to you?"
"This? This is fun, but it's not fighting. Not like what you did," Hunter said. "This is sport. That last fight, where de la Rosa tried to pull Macintosh's head off? Those guys are friends. They trained together two years ago. What you did was about anger, and fear, and maybe a teensy bit of hate."
"It felt messed up," Shinji repeated.
Hunter finally looked at the kid, and soaked in some of his misery. "All right, look, bru, don't dwell on it." He slid the popcorn over, and Shinji tentatively took a kernel. "You got in a fight, you got some licks, and you gave some of your own. You made a big scene about it, and now what? You gonna dwell on it?"
"Yes?"
Hunter flicked Shinji's ear, and the boy squirmed away from it. "No, you won't. You'll let it go, and move on with life. Learned a lesson, right?"
"What…what was the lesson?" Shinji asked.
The Afrikaaner shrugged. "Damned if I know." Shinji gave him a baleful look, and Hunter laughed. "Here, I'll give you a lesson: you weren't wrong to fight that kid." Shinji looked confused.
"But…I'm in trouble."
"Yes, yes, you are, because there is a time, a place, and a way to handle things. It doesn't mean that fighting him was wrong…just that maybe the time and the reason was. Don't worry if that doesn't make sense. Just think about that for a bit, okay?" Hunter looked back, sneering at the television. "Buffalo popcorn is fine, but buffalo wings are better. Want some?"
"I don't like spicy food," Shinji said meekly.
"No spicy wings. Mild ones. Deal?" Hunter held up his fist. Shinji smiled slightly, and thumped it meekly.
"I'm still in trouble, right?"
"Hell yes," Hunter said, and they both smiled.
Two days went by when there was a knock at the apartment door. Shinji tensed at the table where he was working on his schoolwork. Hunter lowered his magazine, glancing at the door. He stood up and drew his pistol, and pointed at Shinji. They had practiced this drill repeatedly, and Shinji stood up and moved closer to the side of the apartment where the panic room was. Hunter moved up to the door, and glanced through the screen. Relaxing, he holstered the pistol and opened the door.
"'Lo, Misato," he said through a grin. Shinji blinked in surprise, then bolted towards the door, giddy. Sure enough, the violet haired woman was in the hall, looking sharp in stylish American clothes of burgundy and red. Hunter slid back as Shinji enthusiastically went through the door and nearly tackled his sister.
"Oh, God!" Misato gasped, in mixture of surprise, pleasure, and not a little discomfort as the boy collided. "It's good to see you, Shinji," she gasped, "But be gentle, please." It was hard to detach him, but she managed. They had been close as he grew up, and remained close through video calls. Still, this was the first time in too long he had been in the same room with her, and she was fighting the urge to pick him up. He was far too old for that, but old habits died hard.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, backing up.
"Getting an upgrade courtesy of Sarif Industries," she said, rubbing her belly. "They closed me up about an hour ago, so please be gentle." Those with internal cybernetics had to have a way for organ technicians to access them for maintenance and upgrades, which usually meant a strip of 'scar tissue' that was artificial and carried no blood vessels. It was painless, and easy to open: Misato was actually awake during the five hour procedure. It didn't mean it was very comfortable when it was closed up and 'healing,' though. Which meant glomps from siblings were off the table for the moment. "I had to stop by and see my two favorite boys!" She looked at Hunter. "And scold you for not keeping Shinji out of trouble." She gave him a dirty look, and he squinted with an incredulous expression.
"Don't throw that on me," he said.
"You're his bodyguard, you're not doing a very good job. Look at his face!" Shinji's eye now sported a large purple bruise, and the only reason Misato had not been surprised by it was because news traveled fast among the women of the family.
"He got in a fight, kids get in fights," Hunter protested. "That's what happens."
"Bodyguards protect their principles, and when the principle is a kid, he shouldn't be in a fight," Misato said peevishly.
"Don't call me out on this. You know nothing of these things. You're knowledge is weak and inadequate compared to mine on this topic," Hunter replied in a tart tone of voice.
"You suck at your job," she countered.
"Come at me. Come at me, right now. I'll take you down," Hunter said nonchalantly.
"She'd beat you up," Shinji said. The Afrikaaner glanced at Shinji with a look of disbelief in his eyes.
"No, she wouldn't," Hunter countered.
"I would," Misato said.
"She would," Shinji agreed. Hunter mumbled for a moment, putting his hands on his hips and retreating from the argument.
"Stop moping and take us out to lunch, bodyguard," Misato teased. "I want to spend the day with my little brother."
"Technically, he's at school," Hunter pointed out, gesturing to the table stacked with books. Misato shrugged.
"Then he can play hooky. Puh-leeze, I have to be back in Japan tonight."
"Come on, Hunter, it's just lunch," Shinji protested. Hunter eyed the boy, then Misato.
"You're both doing this just so I have to pay for lunch," he grumbled, walking towards the door and pushing past them. Misato winked at Shinji, and he grinned at her. She ruffled his hair and pushed him into the hall, looking forward to lunch with her little brother. A meeting, she thought, that had been long overdue.
Gendo slowly entered the bedroom. The lights were out, but he could see Yui sitting on the bed. She had started to undress, but had entered into a daze, and sat down on the bed without finishing. Her slacks hung loose on her ankles, her shirt lay on the floor where it was dropped, and her arms were draped at her sides as she stared at the wall. Gendo sat quietly behind her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. He opened his mouth to say something…and didn't. He didn't know what to say.
"I want to die," Yui said flatly.
"No, you don't," Gendo whispered, a tone of hurt in his voice. And yet, he understood exactly why she felt the way she did. Naoko and Yui had performed a whirlwind of work with the girls' samples. It had been difficult, but Naoko felt she had cornered whatever it was that gave them their 'spark,' and repeated the cellular process with Unit-00. Today, the Unit had come alive. A Pilot candidate that had been on stand-by for such an occasion attempted synchronization, only to fail. So…they asked. They asked Unit-00 what the problem was, expecting gibberish as the Unit was essentially an infant. That would have been lucky.
Instead, they got the name Rei, repeated over and over in a three-line sequence.
Yui had left after that without saying a word. When Gendo had learned, he knew where she had gone, and had hurried home and now here he was. He tried to think of the things he could say to comfort her, the things she needed to hear…and he couldn't. This was beyond him now.
His wife noted his silence. "How can you…be so calm?" Yui whispered. "They want…they want our children."
Gendo didn't know. He didn't know why he acted calm, because what he felt was turmoil. He agreed with Yui: it was unfair. And horrible. The worst of outcomes…and yet he was calm. He was always calm. What was it that allowed him to detach that way? He didn't know, but he looped an arm around Yui. She nestled her head into the crook, her hands rising up and resting possessively on his bicep.
"We can work with Kyoko," Gendo said. "We still have a chance with her."
"She's trying, Gendo," Yui said, her voice distant. "She's trying so hard."
"And we will, too," Gendo whispered. They sat in quiet for a bit, and then Yui murmured.
"What?" Gendo asked.
"Misato had lunch with Shinji today," Yui whispered.
"Did she?" Gendo asked.
"Yeah…they said it was nice. She wanted me to tell Richter his son is doing okay."
"How's Shinji's little…you know?"
"He's got a big purple bruise on his eye now," Yui said, and Gendo heard a wink of a smile in her voice. "Teaches him to pick fights."
"You want your boy to be a gentle soul, don't you?"
"As gentle as they come," Yui mumbled, and nestled backwards. Gendo pondered that, and opened his mouth to say more…but she had drifted into sleep. He sighed, and let her rest.