Disclaimer: Studio Gainax owns Neon Genesis Evangelion. "Mr. Crowley", Blizzard of Ozz, any associated lyrics, and any other name or product, are registered, trademarked and copyrighted by their respective owner(s). Should they or the appropriate legally affiliated entitie(s) request it, I shall remove this fan fiction from the Web. Thank you.

Authors notes:

This is version 2.0 of my first posted fic! Ok, for anyone that's already read this, I apologize for the long wait since I last posted anything. Real life kicked me quite hard, and I've only recently been able to get back to writing. For anyone that hasn't read this in the past, the story originally started as a songfic, and is now much more. This story is an alternate version of what could have happened in "Death and Rebirth", so be prepared for some differences and changes. I have tried to keep the characters in character for the most part, with some changes that feel appropriate or were necessary for the circumstances. I will have a few ACC's in this fic, but as I said, it is an alternate ending for the series, so I hope that you look past the surface and enjoy the character, or at least accept the character's presence, if nothing else. I also hope that you can pardon the measurements I give in metric (even though I'm an American!), I'm doing that partly because this fiction takes place in Japan, and partly because I've probably read too many hard science fiction books for my own good! ^_^

Well, without further ado, I present you with my first fan fiction:

" " : Indicates spoken words.

italics outside of quotes: Indicate thoughts or written text.

] [ : Indicates radio transmissions.

Aberrant Impact

Chapter 1

Tokyo-3, June 3, 2015; 1:37 A.M. Misato Katsuragi Residence.

The young man was lying on his bed, staring at the pale white ceiling of his room. His eyes were unfocused, and his appearance was very tired and haggard looking; the reason was that he had only managed an hour or two of sleep a night over the last few weeks. However, it was his choice not to. He feared sleep recently, and the dreams that usually followed. Some of the dreams had haunted him for years, but more, far darker dreams had done so in the last year. Ever since the time that Shinji Ikari had become known as the Third Child. He was the Designated Pilot of Evangelion Unit-01, the monstrous biomechanical war machine that was his armor against the horrifyingly powerful entities known as angels. He had experienced many dreams in the past several months, very few of them pleasant ones. Most were dreams that others would call nightmares, dreams of his battles with the angels, and of the darkest parts of his very life.

Lately, his dreams had been plagued by images of another young man, a boy who had been an Eva pilot, much like himself. But the young man had been so very unlike himself at the same time. The boy, known to Shinji as Kaworu Nagisa, had become his best friend. The memory of Kaworu was very keen in Shinji's mind. The calm, happy demeanor he had always projected, his persistently tousled gray hair, his pale, red eyes. And lately, when Shinji slept, he saw the death of one of the best friends he had ever had. The only person Shinji remembered telling him that they loved him. Shinji had believed Kaworu when he had told him that. I loved you too, Kaworu... You should have survived, not me... You were so much better than me... I wish I had known you longer, you were... You were like a brother to me. I wish… I wish you had been my brother, not… Not, what you were…

Tears traced their familiar path down his face. He did not expect them, considering the amount of tears he had already shed; so many tears, in fact, that he thought he could no longer cry. All because of the stress in his life as late, which had increased dramatically after the battle with the thirteenth angel. It had been during this battle when his father had ordered the dummy plug in his Eva to be activated. The dummy plug was an artificial pilot designed to take over for the real pilot. It had performed with ruthless efficiency, tearing the possessed Evangelion Unit-03 quite literally to pieces, and finally crushing the pilot's entry plug.

Shinji bit back a sob of grief as he remembered the crippling, nearly fatal wounds caused to his friend, Touji Suzuhara, who had been Unit-03's pilot. Touji had suffered grievous wounds to his torso and upper body, and even the loss of his right leg above the knee. All at the hands of the dummy plug controlled Unit-01. No, Shinji corrected himself hatefully, at my hands… Unit-01 is supposed to be under my control… If I hadn't hesitated… He squeezed his eyes shut, trying unsuccessfully to stem the tide of tears as he remembered how Unit-01 had crushed Unit-03's entry plug, with Touji still inside. Then Shinji remembered the apparent death and miraculous survival of his friend and fellow pilot Rei Ayanami. A death that he knew to have happened, but was somehow averted by the technology NERV had at its disposal. He also remembered the disappearance, and probable death, of his friend and sometimes mentor, Ryoji Kaji. Then the disappearance and recovery of his fellow pilot Asuka Langley Sohryu; a girl he had very mixed feelings for, but whom he knew he cared for. A girl that now slept in a coma in the NERV Tokyo-3 Central Hospital.

Finally, his friend, Kaworu, had died. Only he had not been just another young pilot. He had been the seventeenth and, he hoped, final angel. He had not just died, though, he had been killed. A death that Shinji felt stained his own hands. He could still hear the sickening crunch of bones, and the squelch of internal organs. He could still feel the light resistance Tabris' body offered the hand of Eva Unit-01, and the slick greasiness his crushed body left on the Eva's palm. He could see and hear his friend's head falling into the blood of the crucified angel, Lilith. Shinji could still see the decapitated remnants of Kaworu's head dissolving in the vast pool of LCL as if he were still in Terminal Dogma, as if he were still in Eva Unit-01.

"God dammit!" he sobbed, feeling painfully alone. "Why did you make me kill you, Kaworu?" He looked away from his ceiling, to his doorway. Slowly, he stood, shuffling out of his room. He felt his tears gradually ebbing as he moved around, the energy spent on moving taking away from his ability to cry. He noticed that Misato Katsuragi, his guardian and commanding officer, was not home, as was normal lately. At least she left a note this time… he thought, forlornly. He had read the note the prior evening, and knew that she would be home the following morning after five o'clock A.M., to give him a ride to the hospital to visit Asuka. He sighed, thinking back to when things were not like they were now; to the time when he knew he wasn't alone. "Why did you all have to leave me? I'm so alone…" he muttered, thinking about everyone he knew. As he remembered them, he forced his thoughts about them to all of the good times he had had with everyone he knew. After doing so, he felt a little bit better, but far from happy. He simply felt a little bit less depressed…

Tokyo-3, June 3, 2015; 2:03 A.M. South Bank Apartments, Apartment number 405.

"Mmnno… No…" A voice echoed throughout the roomy apartment, followed by the rustling of sheets as the apartment's sole resident moved around. Groggy and filled with fear, it was the voice of a person suffering a nightmare. The voice belonged to a young woman; her body was tangled in the sheets of her regular-sized bed; a luxury in Japan, even if it was just the mattress set upon the floor like a futon. She had once had roommates, but after the near total destruction of Tokyo-3, they had moved away. Thus, she was left living alone in a three bedroom apartment that would be considered rather roomy in a country like United States. She had long since thrown her bedspread to the floor in her dream-induced movements.

"Get away… Away from my sister…" The dream that caused her such trouble was of her past, a little less than a year prior. A time that she believed she had put behind her, though the time still haunted her in her dreams from time to time. Most of her dreams were shadowy, almost vague dreams, the kind that were scarcely remembered the next morning. This dream was one of the exceptions. "Why?" As the dream intensified, her speech became clearer, and her movements more vehement. She threw herself onto her left side with a low, angry moan. "Why are you doing this? I…" She reached towards the wall with her left hand, her hand held in a placating manner; it was as if she were trying to calm someone who was standing there. "No… Don't do…" Her right hand came up next to the left, crooked as if holding something, her left joining her right, clasping her right wrist.

"No… Please, don't… NO!" She lunged into a kneeling position, her eyes flying open, searching for the last thing she saw in her dream. As she fully came into wakefulness, she realized that she was in her apartment. Her left hand went to her chest, rubbing a spot just right of her lower sternum, her right arm supporting her. The round entered four centimeters above the bottom of the sternum, two point five centimeters off of the body's centerline, she remembered, mentally quoting the eerie thoroughness of her hospital report as a pained expression came to her face. The nine-millimeter round continued through the chest cavity, moving laterally right to left, narrowly missing the right lung's primary bronchial tube, the heart, aorta, and spine. The round exited three centimeters lower and approximately three and a half centimeters left of the entrance wound, approximately one point five centimeters from the spine.

The way the report had been written made her feel as if it were from her autopsy instead of her trauma ward report. She shuddered at the memory. The wound channel was narrow due to minimal bullet expansion, thus contributing little collateral damage to surrounding tissue and organs. Damage was limited to the wound channel, the cracking of two ribs and the mild bruising of three others, the right bronchial tube, and one vertebra. Had the bullet expanded more than it had, permanent damage to the internal organs would have resulted. The exit wound, due in part to the subject being flat against a gypsum board wall, was not much larger than the entrance wound. Also, had she not been against the wall, the exit wound would probably have done irreparable damage to her spinal column…

She let the memory of the report fade, and slowly released her arms from around herself. The spot she had touched was mostly hidden under the simple sports bra she wore. Just a little of the smooth, pale white scar tissue was visible, standing out against her lightly tanned skin. About three centimeters lower and three and a half centimeters left of the entrance wound… Just one and a half centimeters from my backbone… She stood up from her bed, untangling herself from her sheets in the process. I almost lost my sisters… My ability to walk… She looked at herself in the mirror over her low dresser. The sports bra and matching panties were the only thing she normally wore to bed, and were now soaked with sweat. She shivered in the cool air of her air-conditioned apartment, her nipples hardening. At least the wound isn't too visible, even when I'm dressed like this, she thought, trying to use humor to lessen the impact of the dream.

Not that it matters, she decided, then sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly in self-defeat. I don't have anyone that will look at me, so no one will think that it's ugly, or to say that it doesn't matter because they love me… She looked away from her mirror, surprised by her last thought; she walked to her kitchen and turned on the tap, letting the water run until it was cold. I wonder... She thought as she watched the water flowing from the faucet, then continued her thought, speaking aloud, "I wonder… Do I even want to have someone feel that way about me…?" She shook her head, sighing as she did so. I just don't know if I am ready yet…

She took a glass from her cupboard, filling it as she looked out of her kitchen window upon the devastation that was Tokyo-3. Almost half of the city had been destroyed outright when Evangelion Unit-00 had detonated. Only about one third had been left intact after the area had been flooded by nearby Lake Ashino. The remnants of the city that had been damaged, but left structurally intact enough for restoration were going to be rebuilt, at least from what she had heard. As she drank from her glass of water, she realized that the standing remnants of Tokyo-3 were being rebuilt, work going on as she watched. They're working twenty-four hours a day to put the city back together, despite the rumors that it will be abandoned... I wonder if they will call it Tokyo-3 when it's rebuilt? She pondered this with a wry smile as she filled another glass of water and turned off her tap.

She finished her water, and put the glass in the sink, still gazing out the window. Well, I don't want to worry about that right now, I need to get some sleep before work… She looked over at the clock on her microwave; seeing that it read two-oh-seven A.M., she cursed softly. I've only had about two and a half hours of sleep, and I have to be up in two hours. I hate having to go to work at five, sometimes. Well, as long as I don't have that damn dream again, I'll get enough sleep. She turned away from the window, absently rubbing the wound scar as she had earlier. Lost in thought, Kieko Yamada returned to her bedroom and straightened her sheets, not bothering with her bedspread. She pulled the sheets over her, leaving only her head exposed, and curled up, slipping into a dreamless sleep.

Tokyo-3, June 3, 2015; 2:11 A.M. Misato Katsuragi Residence.

Shinji walked down the hall leading to the other bedrooms in the apartment. He stopped at the middle door, the door to Asuka's room, thinking of her. Seeing the door, and thinking of the girl, he felt tears start to sting his eyes again; welling up but not falling. He blinked back the tears, and entered her room. It was much the same as it had been since she had left. He looked at the clothing strewn about carelessly, some trash lying about the base of the overflowing garbage bin and about the less traveled areas of her room. It… It looks almost like Rei's apartment! He thought, wondering idly how the Asuka would take the comparison. Probably not too well, considering how she felt about Rei… He concluded. Shinji took a closer look at the trash when he saw teen magazines torn and thrown in and about the small garbage bin. His eyes widened slightly when he realized that the magazines were some of her favorite teen girl magazines. He stooped down, picking one not near the trash pile up with a morbid fascination on his face. Surprisingly, it was an all-Japanese magazine, the written language of which Asuka had a terrible time understanding. It was still mangled, all of the pages ripped and torn, except for the pages of one article.

It was an article on relationships. The title of the story was "How to tell if THE ONE is someone you know (And whether or not you even know it!)". The article claimed to have a question and answer chart for girls to determine one's feelings that was over ninety-five percent accurate. Supposedly it had been created by a group of postgraduate sociologists from the University of Tokyo-2. The article was tear stained, and there was a section highlighted, with numbers tallying two different totals, surrounded by words in German, and what appeared to be a note in kanji written beside it, all written in black ink. The German was directly around one section of the article. He read the section of the article first, a quiz. The numbers were written in calm, even strokes, and the German words in angry strokes, as if in anger at the article. It rated attributes and feelings about someone and gave a total that indicated what the test taker may feel, and how much that person realized it.

He looked at the bottom of the article. It had two totals; one meaning how much a girl cared about the boy, the other about how much she realized or how oblivious she was to her own feelings. The area for the percentage had a total of ninety-six, indicating the percentage of caring. The second total had a negative and positive sign by it, and she had written an eighty-eight by it and had circled the negative sign. Well, he thought with a small, honest bit of humor, She was ninety-six percent sure she was in love with someone, and it was an eighty-eight percent chance that she didn't know that she was. For a brief moment, he had a small smile on his face, but it faded quickly. I kind of see why she was so angry, I wonder who it was that she felt that way about? Sure wasn't me, not the way she always acted... He did not dwell on it too much, as his attention was drawn to the other writing. He looked then to the Japanese lettering, the note, which spilled off of that page and onto the next few pages, the first of which was an advertisement for a fragrance of perfume. Though he couldn't understand the German writing by the article itself, he could, and did, read the kanji. What he read shocked him to the core. He read the note a few times silently, then aloud as if to convince himself that it was real.

"Hey, Misato, if you find this, I want you to know that I had fun living with you. I know, you're probably thinking that I hate writing in kanji, and wondering why I did it here. I have to write this to you in kanji though. Because if I don't, I'll think about what I'm writing as I write it, not concentrate on making the kanji readable. Since I have to concentrate so much, I'll just write what I honestly think. Finally, I'll be honest about everything, so I hope that you don't mind if I ramble a bit. I'll just write it as I think it, OK? Hopefully you won't be drunk when you read it, but if you are, I hope that it makes sense to you and if not, it don't matter because I have no use anyway, right? Well, first, I'm going to be at Hikari's for a few days, then I'll go and die, now that I'm a useless doll. Hell, Misato, even Wondergirl is better than me now, and she almost died. I guess that don't make her as much of a doll as me, even though she still is one! But she's still better though, a better pilot. Better for, well, Shinji. Oh, dammit all to hell, I don't know why I just wrote that like that, but I know she's better than me and deserves what I couldn't get, right? I mean, she isn't beautiful like I am, but she is pretty I guess, and she's known him longer than I have. Oh, speaking of which, could you tell…" he could make out the words 'the idiot', but they were scribbled out, as if she had thought better of the words. Tears also stained the area, making the note a little hard to read, but still quite legible. "…Shinji that I'm sorry. Could you do that for me, please?"

"Did he ever tell you that I told him that I hated him and everything? I did it after the angel raped my mind. But I don't, I don't hate him. I know I'm always hurting him and always calling him an idiot, and because of that, I couldn't tell him, I'd just end up hurting him again, as always. I know that he likes me, though he probably likes Ayanami better. I mean the way he came out of that depression he got into when we all thought she'd died when Dr. Akagi called you and told you that she was still alive... That sure as hell show's that he loved her, doesn't it…? But he's better than me, just like she is, and he deserves better treatment than I'll ever give him, so I guess he deserves her, because she'll never hurt him like I do, right? And besides, I can't do that, I can't tell him, because he beat me over and over again, with Eva, with everything, and no matter what I feel or think, I can't admit it. Well, I mean I can admit it here, but I couldn't to his face, or anyone else's. He deserves better than that..." Shinji could just make out the words "Better than me" through another set of scratch marks.

As he finished reading that section, he put the magazine down for a few moments. He realized that he was crying again. She cared about me? She thinks that she's not good enough... But... But I thought that… She said she hated me… Hated everything… he let his thoughts trail off again, and went back to reading the note.

"I was about to tear this article apart, you know. But you know what? I couldn't, because it was right… For once a girl magazine was right about me. Pitiful, no? Yeah, I thought so too. I thought it'd be funny to check myself when compared to Shinji. I wrote all kinds of nasty things, I'm sure you can understand them. I know that the people who did this are right though. The test is almost flawless; I know that from my college courses back home. All this time I thought I hated him, and now I don't know what to feel about him. I never took the time to look at myself, I was too proud to, and for a laugh I did it in this magazine without realizing it. I feel so stupid, looking at it now. I filled this out a couple of days before the fifteenth angel. So I knew when I went out what I felt. I mean, even Hikari told me a few weeks ago that it was becoming obvious that I liked him, but I told her that was stupid, and that she didn't know what she was talking about. I don't think I love him. I mean, I'm the devil herself, Asuka Langley Sohryu, I don't deserve love. I don't need love, I mean. Especially the love of a cowardly, perverted wimpy boy like him, right? That's all I thought he was, but, well, I don't know now. Yes, I do. He cared, even though I acted like a bitch who hated him, because he cared for me without me having to ask him to. I was scared, I was afraid he would take what he wanted and leave, but he just kept giving and giving. He wasn't a pervert, or a wimp, was he? I don't know, I just can't be sure.

But it doesn't matter now, I'm going to be dead soon anyway. I'll be back with my mamma, so I hope that he finds someone better than me, and I hope that he does OK in life. Just don't go worrying about me, I'm useless, now that my Unit-02 hates me, now that I'm a failure. I'm really sorry, about causing trouble for you and Kaji. I miss him, and had hoped that he would come back before I went away, but… Good luck with him, Misato."

Shinji was almost in shock from the general content of the letter. That Asuka had wished Misato and Kaji good luck, it was almost too much. But… But Kaji's gone now… he sighed heavily, and closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to halt the flow of tears. After getting himself under control, he went on reading, "I'm tired, and I'm going to stop now… I hope that no one cries for me, but I hope they remember me as a Pilot, as one of the Heroes of Tokyo-3. Make sure they do for me, OK Misato, please? And all the others, even that stooge, Touji. Don't let anyone forget, Misato. Thanks. Oh, and take care of Shinji, OK? I know he'll probably be happy that I'm gone, but if he tries to go off and cry, bonk him on the head and don't let him cry, OK? Don't let him waste his feelings on a worthless doll like me… Goodbye, to everyone. Sincerely yours, Asuka Langley Sohryu.

Shinji's voice seemed to echo in his ears as he came to the last two lines, his voice trembling and grief filled. He had not expected to find anything like this when he'd entered Asuka's room. He looked around, at the squalor that she had lived in for the few weeks prior to when she had run away. He could not believe that the once proud, beautiful young woman he had come to know had lived like this. He felt his heart sink, and felt his control ebbing, and he sat on her bed, putting his right hand out to steady himself. He felt something under his right hand, resting beneath the sheets. He glanced underneath, even while a part of him was screaming at him not to do so. It was one of Asuka's plug suits. It was folded neatly, almost as if it had just been removed from its package. Almost, because in the center left chest, precisely between the formed cup for her left breast, and the black lettering of "02", was an incision. It was about three and a half centimeters long, and about a half centimeter in width. The outer edges were straight for about a centimeter, and then they angled down to a point. The top edge of the incision was slightly jagged. He realized that it was the profile of a combat knife like the progressive knife his Unit-01 had. The incision was placed such that had Asuka been wearing her suit, the blade would have pierced her heart, and it seemed to have penetrated a bit into the plastic heating/cooling unit on the back; that was also what held suit batteries and the vacuum pump that allowed the suit to hug the body as tightly as it did. The suit was now useless.

He could feel the shape of the knife inside of the suit; he reached in and carefully pulled it out, almost expecting to see blood on it. It was clean, he realized as he inspected it, but it looked sharp enough to have easily cut through bone. He got up and looked around for the sheath. Upon finding it, he carefully sheathed the knife, setting it on the nightstand beside her dresser. Then he sat on the edge of her bed, gingerly clutching her now useless plug suit and the magazine article to his chest. "Why?" he whispered, his voice almost inaudible, even to himself. He fell to his side, his head next to her pillow, as tears tried to force their way past his now tightly closed eyelids. He rolled onto his back, and drew in a slow, deep breath, and held the breath for a moment. He was trying, one last time, to stem the tide of emotions that were welling up inside of him from his simple question. It was a futile battle, considering all that had hit him in the last few minutes.

"WHY, ASUKA?" he shrieked, an anguished, lonely sound, as heart wrenching as a lost soul's call. "Why?" he asked again, his voice dropping from a pain-filled shriek to a more hushed tone. "Why couldn't you have said anything? Why did you think you had to die? I'm the scum, the one who killed his friend! The one who couldn't save you when you needed to be saved. You didn't do anything wrong, Asuka." He thought of all the times she had hurt his feelings, and even the few times she had done so physically. His voice had softened slightly when he spoke. "Not anything wrong enough to die for." He no longer cared if anyone, or anything for that matter, heard his plaintive cries.

He opened his eyes and stared at her ceiling as few tears flowed down his cheeks, and grief choked his voice. "I'd have forgiven you... All you had to do was ask..." his voice became small, like a young boy who was lost and had no where to turn. "I… I'd have forgiven you, even… Even if you ha-… Hadn't asked…" Then his voice dropped to the barest of whispers. "I… I do forg… Forgive you, Asuk… Asuka… I forgive you…" Finally, the tears came to him in full force, his body shaking as he cried. He laid like that for over an hour, at first crying aloud, then silently as his voice became strained. He was holding the plugsuit and the magazine article as if they were Asuka's very heart and soul.

Slowly, though, the sobs faded, and then ended altogether. He sat slowly, and gently laid the plug suit and the magazine article on her dresser. He looked around at the once orderly room. He slowly moved through it, and started to clean it up. He put dirty clothing into the hamper in the bathroom, and clean clothing in her dresser. He cleaned the trash up, and emptied the trash bin. He changed the bedding. He then folded the plugsuit, as perfectly as she had, but without the knife. He placed the article from the magazine on her pillow, and the ruined plugsuit directly below her pillow. He looked at the room, and he made a decision to see Asuka later in the morning. Though he knew about her condition, he still had not gone to see her at the hospital. Maybe she'll wake up... Even if it's to hit me or call me an idiot… I don't really care, as long as she comes back from wherever she is in her mind… He thought, feeling hopeful.

Looking about one more time, he noticed a few SDAT tapes he had moved while tidying up her dresser top. Curious, he picked one and random, slid it out of its case, and put it into his SDAT player. He was surprised that it was a heavy sounding industrial group. He looked at the name of the band, and the album title. "Rammstein: Herzelied". He listened to it for a few minutes, and was surprised to find himself liking it. It was very different, and much louder than the jazz, classical, and pop music he normally listened to. The heavy, sometimes depressed, sometimes angry sounds matched his mood, but seemed to keep him from falling deeper into his own miserable mood. They also seemed to help calm him a bit, so he decided to take it with him when he visited her later in the morning.

He went back to his room, to try to sleep for an hour or two before he went to visit her. I need some time to think, so I'll be leaving at around four... I'd better leave a note, since Misato did… he thought idly, lying down and preparing to sleep. After a few minutes of listening to the music, he started to drift off; as sleep started to finally overcome him, he thought of the course of the song currently playing, track four. It was a fast paced song, with a driving bass line and fairly intense guitars, but it was not as dark as the other songs he had heard so far. He glanced at the display on his SDAT to get the track number, noticing that the batteries had only a few more hours of playtime left. I'm going to have to get new batteries soon… He thought idly, and then looked at the track's title on the album case. "Asche zu Asche"… I wonder what that means, anyway… He pondered this as he finally succumbed to sleep. Oh, well… At least the song sounds good…

Shinji's sleep was troubled by wispy, unmemorable dreams, but not nightmares such as the one he had experienced earlier that morning. Had he known the translation of the album was "Heartache", or that song was "Ashes to Ashes", or had he known of the song's content, he might have had a much more troubled sleep...

Tokyo 3, June 3, 2015; 2:29 A.M. Detention Center, Isolation Block

That bastard! The woman lying on her back cursed to herself. She was in a dark, simply adorned cell. She felt quite uncomfortable on the simple, cold metal bench, even with the thin pad that covered it. Of course, it did not help that she had only had about three hours of sleep in the prior fifty-three. The metal bench was anchored to the wall by bolts. It was held up by bars that angled out from the wall, attaching to the outer edges of the bench's head and foot. The only other adornment in the cell was the NERV logo on the wall, its red fig leaf and lettering barely visible in the dim light that filtered through the grating covering the cell's view port. I can't believe him, even after nearly a month he still has me stuck in here. Doctor Ritsuko Akagi made a fist and slammed it futilely to the mat underneath her. Why? Why the hell am I still here? Are you still angry with me for getting rid of all your other dolls? She laughed bitterly, attracting the attention of a nearby guard, who made his way over to look into her cell. He should thank me for destroying all of those lifeless husks, she thought, bitterly. Now he has to give a damn. But I bet you won't give a damn, will you, Gendou?

"Hey in there; calm down!" The guard ordered. "Your fate is being decided by the commanders. You can laugh or scream or whatever the hell you want to then. But until then, keep it down, got it?" He looked in on the woman in the cell. She had not reacted to his statements, and appeared to be asleep. As such, he had a fairly unobstructed view of her shapely, attractive body. He looked upon her in her simple dress pants and blouse, mentally stripping her clothing off her. He let his gaze linger for a moment longer than he realized, and the woman in the cell snorted a laugh at him.

"You know," she said, without looking his way, her voice surprisingly sensual as she spoke to him. "If you take a picture, it'll last a lot longer." She sat up, and turned to face him. Her face was annoyed, but also bore an edge of hatred as cold as liquid helium. When she spoke, her voice held a note of almost amused indifference. "If you're going to get horny and fantasize about a woman you're watching in a cell, I would suggest keeping your breathing down." Her voice took on a note of enthusiastic sarcasm, sounding almost innocently sincere. "That way, you may actually get a promotion. Then you can watch them from the comfort of the monitoring booth."

"Bitch!" he spat, "Show some respect, or I'll…" He flinched involuntarily as she erupted to her feet and rushed the cell door, almost spitting through the grating as she slammed her palms on either side of the port.

"Do absolutely nothing!" she shot back, an angry, almost maddened tone in her voice. "I may be here in this cell, but I might still be needed." She gave him an innocent smile, her eyes widened in seeming shock, her voice going soft and innocently seductive, "And what would happen if I got hurt, or taken advantage of while in my cell and I couldn't do my duties if I'm needed again…" Her face took an amused, hateful set, her voice turning angry, dripping with venomous, intense loathing. "What would happen to the guard on duty when they found me, and found out that he was the one who had done it? I would honestly hope, if I were in your place and something like that were to happen, that they would just kill me and dump my body someplace…"

The guard had never seen such venom or hatred in someone's eyes before. He backed away from the cell, stammering an apology. Ritsuko turned, walked calmly back to her bench, and sat down, a small, satisfied smile on her face. Looks like we do share some talents, eh Gendou? Maybe that's why we were so good in the sack together. Her face fell back into the vaguely angry, yet generally neutral expression that she had been wearing when the confrontation with the guard started. But that's all I was to you, wasn't I. Just a convenient place to get rid of the physical needs you had so you weren't distracted from your work… She laid back, crossed her arms behind her head, and closed her eyes. Or from Rei... Slowly, as she let her thoughts wander randomly, a calm, dreamless sleep overtook her.

***************

So, how did you like it? Please feel free to review it! Although I prefer honest and/or constructive criticism to outright flames, I can take either, so… In case you're curious about the inspiration of this fic, the song that inspired this is Ozzy Osbourne's "Mr. Crowley" (from his "Blizzard of Ozz" album, if you're curious.). I noticed the similarity that the song's subject, the late British diabolist, Aleister Crowley, and NGE's resident megalomaniacal widower, Gendou Ikari have to each other. Thus, this fic was originally going to be a songfic. Soon after I started to write it, a friend of mine asked the question "What if there had been another angel, or if Shinji had met a girl, or had a girlfriend, would he have been the same way at the end?". I wondered that as well, and thus, this fic was born! I know, I know, old concept, but hopefully a somewhat new twist on it with my fic... ^_^

Anyway, I will be putting the chapters up as fast as I can, basically as time and work permit! I have to thank my pre-readers, Alnilam, lepermessiah1113, and Arucard the Rogue Vampire. Also my former pre-reader, Pyper, who had to stop because of a bad case of Real Life! ^_^ He's the one who initially gave me the inspiration that took this from a 2500 word song-fic to the monster of writing that it's become!

Well, enough rambling from me! Have a good one, everybody!

-Ciao for now!
Kriegsherr