Disclaimer: I do not claim to own Evangelion. All rights to Hideaki Anno, Gainax, and the lot.
A frameshift mutation (also called a framing error or a reading frame shift) is a genetic mutation caused by indels (insertions or deletions) of a number of nucleotides in a DNA sequence that is not divisible by three. Due to the triplet nature of gene expression by codons, the insertion or deletion can change the reading frame (the grouping of the codons), resulting in a completely different translation from the original.
Chapter 1: Frameshift
Across lateral parallaxes of mind and soul, under the ocean where reefs sway gently with deep-water currents, I lay, dormant, waiting. The sensation of life creeps up my spine like insects, twisting, cutting, turning, melding into a new body as I uncurl from conception into the freshness of being. Black to white. Red to yellow. And, my eyes, little as they are, see. They see the life (life I will soon try to extinguish) and the rocks and pebbles of a place that was once home, but no longer is. Ripples of skin tremor like earthquakes across me. I yearn–yearn for my creator, for Adam to find me, to feel the sanctity of wholeness with my brethren, but deep below the sea, where the sun's rays cannot illuminate the sandy, forgotten floor, I am alone and afraid, shrouded in darkness. My spine tingles as I feel the cells divide and multiply, the ripping apart of my DNA flickering with orange light. There is a feeling, a need, a goal I must accomplish, but I am tired and I am weak. Weak to the light that shimmers above through the winding of waves, weak to the weapons of men. I need time. Time I hope not to waste, but time I require to gather strength.
Images scintillate against my mind like fire on a cave wall. There is a giant, purple being, twisting my arms as easily as seaweed. A screech erupts from me–howling with the intensity of a winter storm and I envelop myself around this monster. Then, all is dark, and I realize that I have just seen my death. My mind does not work like most, it exists in three realms of time: past, present, future. Only, the future comes in flashes, hazes of pain and absurdity, and then, once again, I am left alone with my thoughts, still a humble embryo, resting on the ocean bed. I hope to avoid this fate, so, just this once, I go against Adam. I alter my development.
I can feel the proteins below my skin slowing down, the inrush of coldness as all bodily functions cease, and, to keep myself in this cryogenic state, I use my AT field to manifest a box around me, a home. Rearranging patterns, shifting angles, giving pause to multiplied digits, mutations arise that prolong my eventual fate to reach the surface and destroy or be destroyed. I hope, naive as the thinking may be, that fate can be changed. Fate is an interesting concept to me, someone yet to truly live. It may make life seem futile, predetermined outcomes and all, but maybe fate is what gives it meaning. I wonder if it is my fate to perish, if what I saw is just one possible outcome or absolute truth. If that's the case, why did Adam create me? Just to die? The dwellers that come from above, that create concrete mazes and have sprawled across the Earth, do not understand us. I feel my fate is a weapon and only that. Regardless of how much I try, there will be nothing more of me. The thought fills me with despair. That must make my glimpses of the future cruel, divine mockery, inherent torture to my mind, impending doom riding waves that bring me towards tomorrow. Yet a wisp of hope screams in my soul. Maybe this is my duty, to my brethren, to Adam. Then there is purpose.
A pacific viperfish darts by, closing in on its prey, ready to devour it. Bubbles climb upwards, released as the world breaths beneath. More currents drift and bounce across my shell as I close my eyes for a prolonged hibernation.
They said God's Doorstep was the place where science lay just before the divine. The term had been coined after Second Impact, when the world realized there were entities far beyond the grasps of their predetermined notions. The phrase had come to fruition with the creation of Tokyo-03 and its Nerv branch. Shinji had never been. Maybe he had. He couldn't remember. All he did have were second hand accounts of a place where technology had allowed the city to thrive, despite the events of Second Impact. Streets lined with people, buildings that could be lowered underground – the tales were fascinating and distant. Yet, there it was – Tokyo-03 – the embodiment of God's Doorstep. That was today's lecture.
Shinji heard some of it, but his teacher's voice drowned into the background as he stared out the window and watched particles of dust dance in dry sunlight. The flakes drifted slowly onto the dirty windowsill, but sometimes would be swept up into the air when Yuna moved her arm quickly enough to send them scattering about. He found it easier to stare at them and ponder, than try and listen to his teacher and think. Visuals allowed his mind to wander, noise only conflicted with it. Maybe he was just used to silence or the familiar looping playlist on his S-DAT.
The bell rang. Shinji got up and packed his bag. Leaving the school he saw Yuna talking to her friends, hushed whispers of gossip he would never know. He tried to not pay it much mind, but he could barely remember that last time he spoke with someone other than his teacher. In fact, he didn't even know what day it was. Maybe it was Monday, or Tuesday, he couldn't tell at this point, they all blended together.
The cicadas were buzzing insistently when he reached the house, beads of sweat beginning to trickle down his face. Everyday here was dead hot. There was living heat and there was dying heat. Living heat was dripping sweat, labored breaths, and people walking about. Dying heat was sitting at home all day, flipping through books and magazines, feeling suffocated, but having nothing to do about it. Shinji knocked on the front door. Moments passed, no one answered. His teacher, Ryo, was probably still out for the day so Shinji slid his hand under the doormat and pulled out the extra key.
Inside wasn't much better. The old rickety floorboards and walls of the house captured the heat more, not letting it air out. Shinji went to his room and sat down at the desk, pulling out his schoolwork. It was a nice momentary pause from the mundanity of sitting around, watching wagtails flutter their wings on top of branches. After finishing, Ryo was still not home so Shinji went to the kitchen and fixed himself a meal. He stole a glimpse at the mail tray sitting next to the front door. Among the white envelopes a black one jutted out, blood red ink on its surface. Leaving the stove, Shinji moved over and picked it up. It was for him.
At the table, noodles steaming from a bowl, Shinji fiddled with the letter. Eventually, he opened it. His eyes scanned it. Once. Twice. He inhaled sharply and tore it to shreds. Holding his head in his hands, he stared down at his feet. Father called upon him. Ten years and nothing. Then a letter asking him to go to Tokyo-03. Not a sorry, not a hello. Just a summon. Shinji cleaned up the tattered remains of the letter and dumped it in the trash can in his room.
Ten years and nothing. It hit him again. There was nothing about Mother in it either. Shinji rolled over on his bed and put his earbuds in. He needed to sleep, but his mind wouldn't allow it. Sometimes he dreamt of his mother, of her arms around him, holding him, telling him things would be okay. Running to his dreams was his favorite part of the day anyway, getting away from everything. School. Teacher. Yuna and her giggling friends. His room, tan, where time never moved. Shinji closed his eyes.
The sound of his mother singing faded from a silhouetted face long forgotten to the hawking of a TV coming from the living room. Thirsty, Shinji got up and made for the refrigerator. Ryo was sitting at the table, forking a box of takeout food, staring at the television, the screen reflecting off his glasses.
He noticed Shinji when he opened the fridge door, "How's school?"
"Fine," Shinji said.
"Getting along?"
"A little."
"That's good."
Shinji uncapped the bottle of water and drank, while his teacher's eyes returned back to the TV.
"Why'd you tear the letter?" Ryo asked.
Shinji turned, "You know?"
"Saw it earlier. Was going to tell you about it, but it looks like you found it already."
Shinji nodded.
"So, why?"
"Don't know," Shinji said, "I just don't know."
Ryo frowned, "It was from your father."
"Yeah," Shinji sighed, a bit of frustration flaring across his face.
"Won't tell you what to do, but consider it."
Shinji looked up, "Isn't he paying you to look after me?"
Ryo shrugged, "Doesn't matter."
Shinji cringed. He held out hope that maybe the teacher had grown used to his presence. Indifference was unexpected.
With nothing more to say, Shinji went back to his room, and put his earbuds back in. He tried to imagine the feminine voice on the track was his mother's, but only in his dreams could he hear her, though her voice was always distorted, as if coming through a long tunnel of times forgotten and childhood innocence lost. Clutching his pillow tighter, his one uncovered eye hovered over the trashcan in the corner of his room. The house creaked, groans of wood echoing throughout his room. He found solace in the familiar buzzing of insects, carrying him off to his dreams.
Next morning, Ryo had already left for work. Shinji arrived a little early to school, enough to see Yuna once again talking with her posse. They passed by him while he sat on the curb, looking at the swaying cyprus trees. He wanted to say something, but figured it would be best if he kept quiet. They passed him without even darting a glance in his direction.
Looking at the trees, he realized maybe he wasn't all too different from them. They simply were. Yet, they were living. It was a weird dichotomy for him. Alive, but rooted in place, meant to live out their lives dancing in the wind. He wondered if anyone even bothered to ever look at that batch of trees. Plenty of things in life were there, but that didn't mean they manifested in the minds of others. Brushing off his pants, Shinji got up and went to class.
It was the same as every other day. Boring, hazy, hot. Back at the house, there was a note left by Ryo.
Out late. Food's in the fridge.
Shinji crumpled it and threw it in the trash.
Click. Click. Click. The clock on the wall continued to tick away, gears shifting underneath, unknown, unseen. Shinji's fork clanked against the ceramic plate, impaling food underneath, his mind scattered, a million places at once, but far from the present. The trashcan appeared in his head, black webbing of cheap plastic extending and winding like a venomous web of false promises and hope. Click. Click. Click.
Shinji balled his fists, the metal of his fork digging into his palm. A screech reverberated across the walls as the tips scraped against the plate. Gritting his teeth he jolted up. He grabbed the plate and hurled it at the wall. It shattered into tiny bits, creating a mine field of jutting ceramic. He kicked the chair over, breaking the arm rest on the side. Panting, he stood amongst the wreckage, a broken boy with broken things. Click. Click. Click. The clock kept ticking.
Shinji fled to his room and pulled out his green duffle bag, long abandoned and collecting dust. He emptied the torn pieces of the letter onto his bed and used the tape from his desk drawer to stitch it back together. Standing in the kitchen he contemplated at least cleaning up the mess, maybe even leaving Ryo a letter. Instead, Shinji moved to the door and exited the house. It was night and still the crickets and cicadas were alive as ever. He checked his watch, he could still catch a train to the city if he was quick enough. Shinji stepped off the Ryo's property for the last time. In his peripheral vision he caught a faint glimpse of blue. He jerked around to see a girl standing there, half her body hidden behind a shrub. Shinji blinked. She was gone. Shaking his head, he walked away. The boughs of trees groaned behind him, leaves whispering, mocking his choice in swaying silence.
The sun reflected light off the glass of half sunken structures, water shimmering in the dry heat of day. Some buildings still stood tall, others were skewed at awkwards angles. A few poked just above the water, barely visible, drowning ruins of the city center of Old Tokyo. From above, the VTOL buzzed, whirring muted by the armored walls of the helicraft.
"Hard to believe this was once a bustling metropolis," Misato said, face staring out towards the cluster of abandoned skyscrapers.
Ritsuko peeked a quick glance from her data pad, "We're there."
On the perimeter of the city, one of the few places which was not flooded, stood the Old Tokyo testing site. A few other heli crafts sat on a large elliptical dome.
"Why here?" Misato asked.
Ritsuko continued to stare at the tablet.
"Is the SSDF involved?"
"No."
"That explains it."
"What?"
"How they're getting away with building that thing."
Ritsuko nodded.
When the VTOL touched down on the roof of the enclosure, Misato and Ritsuko exited and walked towards the elevator. They stood in silence and watched the buttons periodically move downward, making their way closer to the ground level.
"How's living with the girl?" Ritsuko asked.
"Fine," Misato said.
"Just fine?"
"Yeah."
The elevator cables groaned.
Misato backed against her wall and lifted her eyes to the ringed light on the ceiling, "Any news on the Third Child?"
Ritsuko inspected her nails, "The Commander sent a letter a few days ago. Haven't heard back."
"I hope they don't come," Misato said, "It's quite awful just thinking about it."
"That's funny coming from you."
"Yeah, I guess it is."
"If it's bugging you, just don't think about it."
"Really helpful," Misato scoffed.
Ritsuko shrugged, "View them as tools, weapons, take your pick."
"You're cold."
"I know."
The elevator dinged as it came to a stop, the doors parting to a large room adorned with red tapestries, round tables with white cloths, and spectators. Misato sifted through the crowd, finding the empty table with her name card. Ritsuko sat next to her. On a large stage stood a man at a podium. Over time, the other guests took their seats, though a few were forced to stand.
"The Japan Heavy and Chemical Industries Consortium thanks you for attending this demonstration," he began, "You will all be able to view from the control room. If anyone has questions, I'll be happy to answer them."
Ritsuko raised her hand. Misato sighed.
"Doctor Akagi," he nodded.
"I have a few questions."
"Ask away."
"Your unit has an internal nuclear engine, correct?"
"Yes. It can operate continuously for 150 days."
"Installing a reactor inside a ground combat weapon meant for close quarters-combat poses a great safety risk."
"More useful than a weapon that can only run for five minutes."
"Remote operation poses issues when faced with emergencies."
"More humane than using pilots."
"You're making a scene," Misato said.
Ritsuko darted a glare in her direction.
"Your weapons are based on hypothetical sciences and have yet to see any actual use in combat, let alone proper demonstration," the man said, "And your pilots are simply two children."
The audience chuckled at the last remark. Misato saw Ritsuko's grip tense on the microphone.
The man continued, "And if your unit were to lose control, would you be able to shut it down at a moment's notice? A weapon that can't be controlled is nonsense. It's like hysterical women. No reasoning with them."
Laughter erupted from the crowd. Misato bit her lip.
"That's why we have pilots," Ritsuko said.
"You think those kids can keep a weapon like that under control? I know you're not so naive."
"They can and they have."
"What, in tests? What about a combat scenario? The reliance on something as nebulous as the human heart is unpredictable and lacks scientific merit."
Ritsuko's eyebrow twitched. She sat down and looked at the ground.
"Shouldn't have made a scene," Misato said.
"Quiet," Ritsuko snapped.
After the gathering in the hall was over, Ritsuko and Misato fled to their guest room. Misato crumpled and threw the pamphlet into the trash can, "What a jerk."
"Oh, so now you're angry?" Ritsuko asked.
"I'm professional. I won't lose my composure in front of others."
Ritsuko scoffed, "What a pathetic little man."
"How did he know that information regarding the Evas?"
"Our secrets are probably leaking."
"The Intelligence Department needs to do it's damn job."
The air vent buzzed as it turned on and coolness seeped into the room. Misato fixed her dress in the mirror while Ritsuko pulled out her data pad.
"Ready to go?" Misato asked.
Ritsuko nodded.
The observation deck had a view of the entire air strip. A couple thousand meters away stood the giant hangar where the weapon was stored. The doors parted and the activation began. Misato peered through a pair of binoculars at the mech.
"Well, they got it to walk."
Ritsuko remained silent, staring at the wall.
The mech took a few steps forward, giant arms swaying like titanic tree branches in the wind. Indents in the ground appeared where its feet cracked the concrete beneath. It continued its path towards the elliptical observation center.
A voice echoed over the comms system, "Pressure inside the reactor is climbing. Pump outputs aren't rising either!"
Misato lowered the binoculars, "Is it-"
"Power it down!" Another voice sounded.
"Shutdown signal sent!"
"Signal not received!"
The mech continued to barrel towards them. Misato grabbed Ritsuko by the wrist and made her way under the doorway. The ceiling crashed as its foot broke through.
The elevator had just breached the outer crust of the Geofront. Below, the ground opened to a large enclosure, the size of a city, with lush fertile trees and a shimmering lake that reflected rays of artificial light off its surface. Shinji looked out the window silently. So this is what his teacher had always meant. He spotted the blue pyramid where the elevator was descending to, the blood red insignia that was stamped onto the envelope appearing on one of its faces. The two men in black suits whispered over the radio. Shinji couldn't discern what they were saying.
When he arrived in Tokyo-03 a few hours earlier he was surprised how desolate the city was. A few other people got off the train with him, but the scientific hub he had always envisioned bustling with people was home to empty streets echoing with the sounds of distant horns and industrial noise. Before he even needed to pick up a phone, the two men pulled up to the sidewalk to take him in. First, he would be shown the Geofront, to meet with his father. Then it was off to his living quarters.
Shinji tore his gaze from the underground lake to the two men, "When do I see my father?"
"Soon," one of the men said. Silence returned. Eventually, with a jerk and a loud clang, the elevator stopped.
It opened to a large cylindrical shaft with multiple walkways both above and below. The two men lead Shinji. Most of the place was stark in appearance, numbers and letters lining rooms and walls, everything a drab shade of light green with a red line cutting through. The only noise was their footsteps on the ground and the buzzing of the hazy lights overhead. As they walked the halls slowly became darker until they reached a large black door that stood like an imposing monolith.
One of the men motioned with his arm, "Go in."
Shinji nodded, sweat trickling down his back. He pressed the button on the side and the door hissed open.
The chamber was bathed in a maroon glow that seemed to have no apparent source. The walls, reflective, gave the feeling that the place had no end, just an infinite plane of red haze and the black ceiling that held symbols that were unrecognizable to Shinji. The shadow of the desk stretched to the side, covering a piece of the circular inscription beneath Shinji's feet. Shinji exhaled sharply seeing the hunched posture of his father. He couldn't tell if the cold prick down his spine was from the room or himself. The door hissed closed behind him.
"You came," Gendo said.
Shinji closed his fist, "Why did you ask for me? I thought you didn't need me."
"I do now."
The man's dark shades hid any sense of emotion or familiarity that Shinji might've expected during their reunion, but slowly the realization hit him. His father didn't need to hide anything, he was as cold and stoic as ever. His chest was buzzing now, the blood in his head dizzying him and making him feel nauseous.
Finally, Shinji spoke: "Why?"
"You are the Third Child, pilot of Unit 01. I don't have time to inform you on everything. There will be others for that."
"You brought me here to be a pilot? Pilot for what?"
Gendo sat silently, his mind wandering into the pits and tunnels of itself, ignoring the boy in front of him.
"Tell me!" Shinji stomped a few feet forward.
"You're acting like a child," Gendo said, "I don't have time for your tantrums. You will do it."
Shinji wanted to turn and run, but the man's unflinching gaze held him in place, but that was not all. There was something else, rooted deep in the back of Shinji's mind that wouldn't let him, something much stronger than the cold expression of his father and he found himself paralyzed and hating the thought of even having turning down his fathers offer, even if it was just in his mind.
Gendo lowered his hands so that his mouth was visible and rested them on the table, "I need confirmation."
Shinji looked at the floor and made out his reflection in the chrome like material, small and distorted like his vision had been clouded by tears.
"Okay then," Gendo moved his hand towards a black phone seated to his left on his desk.
"Wait-" Shinji said, "I'll do it."
Gendo froze, retracted his hand, and returned to his motionless posture "We're done here. Section 2 will escort you to your quarters."
His father broke his gaze with him and returned to a file that sat on his desk, for once seeming interested in the task at hand as he flipped open the folder. The door opened again, light from the hallway spilling onto the ground. Shinji gritted his teeth and turned on his heels, and walked out.
One of the men waiting outside turned to Shinji, "Follow us."
They took a different route this time. A few people in tan Nerv uniforms passed by, holding folders underneath their arms. They turned a few more corners, rode a few more elevators, and eventually came to a large room filled with a pink liquid. Submerged within the liquid, and attached to supports sat a giant face with two yellow eyes. Shinji stepped back.
"What is that?"
"It's an Evangelion," came a voice from a speaker.
Shinji turned to see a woman with blonde hair in a white lab coat standing in the observation box, "That's Unit 01. Your unit."
"I'm supposed to pilot this?"
"Yes," the woman said, "My name is Dr. Akagi. I'll be helping you with your tests. Excuse me for not being down there, we just got back."
There were muffled shouts coming from behind the door on the other end of the walkway. A woman, tall, at least to Shinji, and wearing a small black hat and dress walked through, followed by a girl with red hair wearing a crimson latex like suit.
"If you do something reckless like that again you'll get yourself killed," the girl said, stretching one arm over her head.
"You forgot that I saved the day."
"Not without my help. Plus, that wasn't even a job for Unit 02."
"Sometimes the scalpel is needed more than the hammer," the woman said.
"Whatever," the girl huffed.
The woman spotted Shinji and stopped walking, "Who are you?"
Before Shinji could speak, Dr. Akagi sounded through the speakers, "The Third Child."
"Shinji," he muttered.
The woman put her hand out, "I'm Captain Katsuragi. You can call me Misato-"
"This is the Third Child?" The girl said, looking Shinji up and down, "Where were you just now? We had a possible crisis and you're here?"
"I just arrived," Shinji said.
"Figures. Wouldn't have been able to sync with your unit anyway, loser."
She walked past him, bumping his shoulder and exited through the other door, leaving him and the woman on the platform.
"What's her problem?" Shinji asked.
"That's Asuka, pilot of Unit 02."
Shinji looked down, "I don't get it. Why did Father call on me?"
The question had been bugging him ever since he arrived. He was holding out hope that maybe, even if his father didn't show it, he wanted him. Wanted to accept him. Come back into his life and-
"You're the only one who can do it. It's impossible for anyone else." Misato looked up to Unit 01.
Shinji's hope crumbled like a pillar of salt, tiny grains shattering across the pit of his beaten mind. His shoulders slouched and he lowered his head. The buzzing had returned to his chest, along with the aching in his head.
"Everything all right?" Misato asked.
"Why?" Shinji said, looking at the static pink liquid surrounding Unit 01.
"Don't know. That's just the way these things work," Misato turned to him, "Tomorrow you'll have your first test. I'll see you then."
She walked off the platform behind Shinji, following through the door Asuka had went through, heels echoing in the distance. Shinji returned his gaze to the behemoth head before him, yellow eyes still scrutinizing him in silent contempt. Maybe it was his imagination. Everything in Nerv HQ had been so mechanical yet as those yellow eyes bored into him he felt a strange sense as if the thing was really looking at him. There was a subtle movement in the liquid near the right shoulder of the submerged Evangelion. Shinji jumped. It couldn't have moved, it was turned off, right? He looked up to the observation box, but Dr. Akagi's back was turned to the glass, chatting away with some of the technicians. There was another pair of footsteps, heavy, approaching him.
"We're going to your quarters," said one of the men who had escorted him earlier.
The trip back to the surface was long, the hallways twisting into a maze until they eventually came back to the elevator that brought them up to the initial entryway. The stars were out by the time they pulled up to the apartment complex. They walked up the stairs and motioned with a hand.
"Here," the man said, "Captain Katsuragi is down the hall. She'll take you to the test tomorrow."
The two men turned and left Shinji with his backpack and duffle bag standing alone in front of the door. He sighed and opened it. The place was smaller than Ryo's, but he didn't mind. It felt strange being alone, but then again, it wasn't that different from where he had been. He wondered what Ryo would think about him leaving, if he was sad or simply shrugged it off and continued on. Too tired to unpack all of his things, Shinji collapsed onto his bed, pulled out his SDAT and stared at the moon outside as he dozed off. As he lay there, he couldn't decide if he made the right choice. Click. Click. Click. The clock on the wall bled through the music he was listening to. He turned up the volume, but even then he still heard it in his head. Click. Click. Click. He closed his eyes, seeking comfort in the music player, but his thoughts were always accented by the idea of the impending perpetual enslavement of waking up the next morning. At least now it would be car horns to shake him out of his sleep rather than the front door slamming as Ryo left the house to go to work for the day. Click. Click. Click.
Asuka sat with Misato at the Shibuya noodle stand. Unlike most, this one actually featured seats, but they were flat and barely cushioned causing Asuka to twist in place uncomfortably every few minutes. She tried to eat, but found herself often stopping and staring at a small cupboard in the back absently, her mind drifting to other thoughts. Normally, she would celebrate a successful mission, but now, in the desolate city block, she could only think about one thing. The Third Child. Her grip on the chopsticks tightened, threatening to snap the brittle wood beneath her fingertips. He was nothing, just a dud, a blank fire for the weapon that was an Evangelion. She didn't have to worry, he would have nothing on her. Right?
Misato's bowl clanked next to Asuka and she pushed it forward, leaning on her hands and lowering her head to them, rocking slightly back and forth. Asuka eyed her, then pushed her bowl forward.
"You're in a depressive mood," Asuka said.
"Just tired," Misato sighed, picking up her drink and taking a sip.
"I know you when you're tired," Asuka squinted her eyes, "Something's up."
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not. Stop treating me like a child and tell me already," Asuka turned on the stool to face Misato.
Misato frowned, "I'm your superior. I don't have to tell you anything."
Asuka crossed her arms and held her chin up while Misato returned to her former contemplation. Despite the woman's otherwise reckless nature this was a side Asuka had seen very little. Her long hair, no longer hidden beneath her hat, cascaded down her back, frizzled and rippling outward like crashing waves of a long exhausted sea current. Her shoulders were slumped and her back arched.
Misato spoke: "It's the boy."
"The Third Child," Asuka rolled her eyes, "That's what's got you worked up?"
"You might not understand this, but not everyone wants to be a pilot."
"How do you know? Maybe he's excited, he was just hiding it. Maybe he wants to be the best-"
Misato cut her off, "I know. He's no idea what he's getting into."
Asuka sipped the water from her cup, "Last name Ikari, right?"
"Yeah."
"So he's The Commander's son."
Misato's gaze grew distant as she looked past the bar, to something indistinguishable and unknown to Asuka, "Yeah, I guess so…"
"Can you stop being so down?" Asuka asked, "It's annoying me."
"Sure it's just-" Misato paused, "I find it all pointless."
"What's that?"
"We bring him on board, for what? To do something he doesn't want to do and fight for a cause he knows nothing about, against threats he knows nothing about?" Misato leaned back in her chair.
"Spoken like a true existentialist," Asuka scoffed.
"I'm not an existentialist," Misato said.
"No?"
"No. Existentialists are just sad people with too much time on their hands."
"And that's not you?"
"I've got too much work for that to be me," Misato looked at Asuka, "You ready to head back?"
Asuka nodded. Misato paid, They left.
In the car ride back to the apartment complex Asuka looked quietly outside the car window seeing Tokyo-03 blur by a mesh of grey concrete that looked like basalt in the darkness of night. In her Evangelion everything looked so tiny, at least, in the simulations, but here, down on the ground and outside of Unit 02, she was but another infinitesimal blip in a metropolis that was soon to be dwarfed by an otherworldly threat. She bit her lip and tapped on the window slightly, tracing a face in her mind. She stopped, suddenly, alarmed, and shook her head.
"The First Child will be exiting the hospital in two days," Misato said.
"So?" Asuka huffed.
"Thought I'd let you know."
"Great, thanks," Asuka rolled her eyes, "And where's Kaji?"
"Don't know," Misato said.
"You expect me to believe that? You hang out with him all the time. What's with you two?"
"None of your business," Misato said.
"Stop treating me-"
"It's personal. Drop it."
"Fine. Shut up and drive then."
A few minutes later the car pulled up to the tan apartment complex. Just like usual, there were barely any lights on, a perpetual sign that even a place that had only been constructed a few years back was still suffering from the reason for its creation. In fact, all of Tokyo-03 did. For such a sprawling city, it was oddly desolate, and besides occasional distant horns, the city felt dead, or rather, like a wounded animal breathing its last breaths in a forgotten grove.
Their apartment wasn't anything special, it didn't even have a couch. There was a TV on a small stand in the living room, a few pillows Asuka had used to lay on scattered on the ground. The kitchen was adorned with a basic hardwood table set and beige cupboards. Her room was filled with her belongings from Germany and, since the utility closet was completely empty, she was able to fill it with more of her things. Misato slipped her shoes off, opened the fridge, grabbed a drink and walked off to her quarters. No goodnights were exchanged. It was funny how that worked. They had stopped a nuclear meltdown earlier using their combined efforts and now headed off without so much as a goodbye. Asuka spun and opened the sliding door to her room.
Staring at her wall where the moonlight stretched shadows across like jutting mountains edges of darkness, Asuka lay huddled together on her bed. It had been her first real deployment that day, but not against any of the proclaimed "Angels" she would have to fight in the future. Simply a manmade construct that had gone rogue. Asuka clenched the bed sheet. She wasn't an errand girl. Part of her wondered what her mother would think about how she did that day. Would she be happy? Would she-
Asuka shook her head again, trying to erase the thoughts. She couldn't face that just yet, she never really could. Pushing it away was always the best choice. Instead, she let her mind drift towards her new competition. For now, it would be easier to focus on the Third Child. Just be angry at the boy, she thought. Maybe then, sleep would come.
TBC
AN: I'm new to this. Leave reviews, I need to know what you think.