Author's note: Hi everyone, thanks for looking at this story, hope you enjoy it!

This is the first thing I've written in a long time that isn't an academic paper, so apologies first of all if some parts seem pretty dense, I've been working on that as it goes on but the first few chapters will be pretty heavy on exposition/technical stuff. The idea for this story came about through musings over the wars following second impact we briefly hear about in NGE.

I figured my own country, being well endowed with resources and standing to benefit from a warmer climate, would probably have to defend itself, maybe even from former allies, and wondered about a scenario where it could do so successfully. Obviously a Canada that can put up any sort of serious fight against an invasion requires some tinkering with history, and the Canada in this timeline is one that continued to take national defence as seriously as it did in the 1940s-50s, and didn't make a certain foolish procurement decision that the Canada of our timeline did.

That led to thinking about a character that had survived that conflict and wound up in Tokyo-3 during the events of NGE, becoming someone Shinji and co. could turn to as some semblance of a positive role model, and how this might influence their stories. I eventually had to get it down on paper just to get it out of my head, and hadn't intended to share it until a friend read it and seemed to enjoy it, and suggested I post it here.

Anyways, hope you guys like it, it won't be a very traditional fic in that we won't see too much of the original cast until after our protagonist is established, but bear with me.

Prelude: September 13th, 2002

Vengeance is a Fool's Game

An odd thing happened on the second anniversary of second impact. Two people on opposite sides of the world, two complete strangers who had never met, thought the exact same thought at the same moment; a thought which would come to consume both of their young lives.

Aboard a research vessel sailing the blood-red waters near the south pole, a young girl sat with her knees drawn to her chest in a padded room. The expedition dragged her along on account of her being the only surviving eye witness to the cataclysmic events that had unfolded here two years ago.

She had seen the end of the world.

They hoped being at the south pole again might cure the muteness that had afflicted her ever since, and her testimony would no doubt be of great value to their research.

The scientists would be sorely disappointed if they expected her to talk. The bastards locked her away in this plush prison cell like they would a patient in an asylum, and regarded her through the small window in the door like she were an animal in a zoo.

The hell with them, she thought. She wasn't crazy.

They could never understand what she went through in this place, never understand the horror of the winged giant of light that rose from the Antarctic ice and took her father from her.

She'd told herself that she hated him, tearfully shouted those hurtful words at him after an argument on their last day together. He was never around when she and mom needed him, never there to hug her when she cried at night. His work was crucial to humanity, he had always said. There would time for them to be together later.

But later never came.

She teared up as she again thought about how his last act had been to sacrifice himself to save her. He had truly loved his daughter, and died believing that she hated him. She would never get the chance to tell him that he was wrong, that she wanted nothing more than to see him one more time.

All thanks to the giant of light.

She overheard the scientists say that what had happened in Antarctica was only the beginning. More beings like the one she had seen would come, and humanity had to be prepared for a fight when they did. She vowed that she would be a part of that fight, and a thought that would become her new creed raced through her tortured mind.

She would kill them all

She would have her revenge.

A little while earlier on that day, in a city in western Canada, a ragged young soldier had just returned from the front lines of the war that still raged on the other side of his country.

He was badly wounded there, and after a month in a hospital bed had been given a week's leave before he was to report back to his regiment. He talked his way onto a cargo flight headed west, and now looked forward to a few blissful days of eating home-cooked meals, sleeping in a warm bed, and gazing into a pair of azure eyes he had not seen in far too long.

He'd married the love of his life the day he returned from basic training, almost a year ago, and the young couple only had a week together before the regiment shipped out and they had to say another tearful farewell. The soldier had no choice but to leave her in the care of his parents. He got the news a few weeks later that she was pregnant, and from her frequent letters he knew that he was now the father of a healthy and strong baby boy.

The thought put a bounce into his gait; even as each step caused his not yet fully healed body to ache.

As he strode through the city streets, the boy was astonished to see just how untouched by the war this part of the country was. There had been no offensive in the west as of yet; both sides were throwing the balance of their strength into the bitter fighting in the east, particularly around the capital. Supply rationing was of course in effect, and uniformed soldiers and airmen were a frequent sight, but people still went about their business as though it were any ordinary Friday.

By contrast, what history would remember as one of its most dramatic battles had just unfolded in a city much like this one. For six hellish months, he and his comrades had been embroiled in a desperate struggle to defend every street, ruined building, and pile of rubble.

The people on the sidewalk gave him a wide berth. Unlike the other servicemen nearby, decked out in their finest uniforms as they made their ways to the bars and nightclubs, he was dressed in faded green combat fatigues that hung off his malnourished frame, and his features were gaunt and pale. The civilians were unnerved most of all, however, by his cold and distant eyes, which had seen enough horror to last a thousand lifetimes despite their owner being barely old enough to shave.

The hell with them, he thought. None of them could possibly understand what he had been through. But she would. Her embrace would make everything alright.

He was only a few minutes away from home when a familiar sound disturbed the still evening air, and fear's icy fingers closed over the young soldier's heart.

It was an air raid siren.

The eerie wailing began to echo across the city as other sirens took up the call. At first he thought it must have been a drill. The others on the street seemed to think likewise; they acted more annoyed than afraid when a group of police officers calmly began to herd people into the basement shelters.

The young soldier was the only one on the crowded sidewalk who bothered to look up.

The sky was still light enough to see a neat row of contrails high in the atmosphere, and he knew from bitter experience that if they were overhead, it was already too late. The bombs were on their way.

His only thoughts now were to get home, he had to be sure they were safe. He took off at a dead run, his brittle physical condition forgotten as he bowled his way through the crowd. Others had noticed him looking up, and pandemonium began as they noticed what he had. He soon left the panicked throng behind as he neared his old neighborhood. His home was just one block over, he was going to make it...

The crumple of explosions began somewhere behind him, and seemed to follow him as he ran. It sounded like the standard mix of 500 pound bombs and incendiaries, with a few heavier 2000 pounders lending their deeper voices to the chorus of destruction. There was no cartoonish whistling sound as they fell like in the movies, just a sudden storm of fire and death. His pace quickened as he reached the end of his street, and he caught a glimpse of the small red brick house just as a blast lifted and tossed his body like a rag-doll. His vision went dark as he slammed into the cold concrete.

When the young soldier came to a short while later, he found himself lying flat on his back. He still saw only darkness as he opened his eyes, and for a panicked moment thought he was blind. Looking around, however, he realized that his vision was fine.

The sky was completely obscured by a wall of inky black smoke.

Every inch of his body ached, and he could hear nothing over the ringing in his ears. Other than that, he seemed to be alright, thinking as he stood on shaky legs and dusted himself off that he had certainly felt worse.

And then he remembered.

Please god no. He mouthed the words to himself as he limped down the street. Many of the trees that had lined the peaceful boulevard were shattered into kindling, while those that still stood were burning. A smoldering crater marked the spot where one house had stood; many others were consumed by raging infernos being battled by desperate fire crews. Charred and mangled bodies lined the sidewalks as rescuers pulled them from their ruined homes and lined them up for identification by their distraught loved ones. He recognized some of his neighbours, but none were his family. As he neared the far end of the street, he saw some houses still standing, and his heart lifted for a brief moment before his gaze settled on the pile of bricks that was once his home.

A 500 pounder had scored a direct hit on the house next door, the force of the blast vaporizing it and knocking over the neighbouring buildings as though they were made of toy building blocks. He was a man possessed as he joined the fire crew sifting through the rubble, his own pain forgotten as he tore through the piles of debris, tears carving through the dust and dried blood on his cheeks.

The first corpse they found was that of his father, and as they cleared away the rubble that covered him they also found his mother's underneath. It gave him some small comfort to know that dad's last act had been a noble one, trying in vain to protect mom from the falling wreckage of their home. There was no time to mourn, a shout from one of the rescuers drew him to another pile of debris. The woman claimed to have heard something from underneath the pile, and the entire crew worked with feverish intensity to clear it away.

She was still alive when they found her. The infant she held in her arms was not, though she stubbornly refused to release it from her protective embrace. Her lower body was crushed under a heavy wooden beam, and it was clear that she would not survive any attempt to move it.

She was too weak to lift her head, but her eyes still flickered with recognition when she saw him. She tried to say something, but all that escaped her lips was a small gurgle and a trickle of blood.

The assembled rescuers could do nothing but stand with their heads bowed as the young soldier tenderly cradled his wife's broken body in his arms. Between his anguished sobs he could only apologize again and again for not being there to protect her and their little son. He fell silent only after she mustered her remaining strength, and lifted her hand to lightly touch his tear-stained cheek. He remained in that position, gently stroking her auburn hair, long after the last flickers of life had faded from those beautiful blue eyes.

After giving his wife one last kiss, the young man closed her eyes and gently lay her head back down, removing his green jacket to serve as a pillow. He kissed the cold forehead of the son he would never get to know and ran a hand through his small shock of sandy blonde hair. Then, without a word, the soldier stood and disappeared into the night, ignoring the yells of the fire crew as they tried to call him back.

He wandered in a daze as a thousand other tragedies played out around him in the reeling city; the cost of total war. The cool night air dried his tears, and as he walked the rubble-strewn streets his pain and grief gradually gave way to an all-consuming anger. He had never before felt hatred towards the enemy. He knew the people trying to kill him on the eastern battlefields were really just boys like himself, far from home and trying their best to live another day, and he bore them no particular ill-will.

No longer.

They had taken everything from him. He had nothing and no one left. The only thing that kept him going, the one thing he had left to live and to fight for now, was a burning desire for vengeance.

He withdrew from his pocket a notice he had pulled from a bulletin board back at the hospital. The air force was desperately short of pilots, and was inviting enlisted personnel to apply for flight training, promising a commission to any who passed the selection exams. He'd grabbed the notice thinking it might be a slim chance to get out of having to go back to the front lines. Stuffing the paper back in his pocket, he set out in the direction of the airbase just outside of town. He would stop at nothing to go up and do battle with the people who had done this. His battered body carried him with renewed determination, and the thought that would become his new creed raced through his tortured mind.

He would kill them all.

He would have his revenge.

Chapter 1: Tokyo-3, Summer 2015

Welcome to NERV

A foreigner stood alone on the train platform, drawing many a curious glance from the commuters who passed him by. Tall, pale, sandy-haired and dressed in a gaudy blue and gold uniform, the only way he could have stood out more from the throngs of salarymen was if he were walking on stilts. It did not take long then, for the agents to spot him. The two black-suited men shouldered their way through the rush hour crowd and approached the stranger.

"Are you Major Bishop?" inquired one of the men in halting English.

Regarding them warily with a pair of cold grey eyes, the stranger replied in fluent, though heavily accented Japanese. "Last time I checked anyways, are you two with NERV?"

"Yes sir," answered the agent, relieved to not have to put his limited English skills to the test, "we're here to take you to headquarters, would you please follow us?"

Hefting his duffle bag, the tall foreigner matched the agents' brisk pace across the platform and down into the street, where an unmarked black sedan waited.

"May I take that sir?" One of the men asked politely, gesturing to his bag. Accepting the heavy green duffle, he locked it in the sedan's trunk, before opening one of the rear doors and stepping aside.

Bishop cocked an amused eyebrow at the display of deference, before taking the proffered seat as the agent gently shut the door behind him. After the 12-hour plane ride in coach and the uncomfortably packed commuter train from Tokyo-2's airport, the VIP treatment was certainly a nice change. The sedan pulled away from the curb, and after several failed attempts to make conversation with his new companions, the foreign officer simply gazed out the window at the concrete and steel behemoths that made up Tokyo-3's skyline, wondering for the millionth time what exactly he was getting himself into.

"Major Robert MacLaren Bishop." Kōzō Fuyutsuki mumbled the name idly as he skimmed the file before him. He vaguely recalled having seen it before, but couldn't quite remember where. Raising his eyes from the paper, he addressed the small bespectacled man standing before his desk.

"Why him?"

Dr. Kaito Takao cleared his throat nervously before answering. "Well sir, he is extremely experienced on the airframe we have selected to deploy the weapon from, and flew it extensively in combat during the impact wars..."

Fuyutsuki suddenly remembered where he had seen the name. The newspaper stories about the bloody conflict in North America had often detailed the exploits of Canada's aviators, and he now recalled that particular name being frequently mentioned. He nodded in understanding as Takao continued.

"In addition, he spent some time after the war as an exchange officer with the JSSDF and speaks fluent Japanese, and perhaps most importantly for our purposes sir," the man paused to choose his words, "I have spoken to several former commanders and comrades, and they all say the same thing. In the air at least, he was brave, at times almost to point of being suicidal."

The old professor continued to nod slowly, turning to the other file open on his desk. "I suppose one would have to be to deploy this weapon you've devised. Why have I not heard about this before now?" the sub-commander inquired of his subordinate.

The small man was starting to sweat visibly. "W-well sir, the weapons development department always reported directly to Dr. Akagi. I approached her over a year ago with the proposal, and she gave us the go-ahead to construct a prototype, as well as to acquire an aircraft from the Canadians for the delivery vehicle. Did she never bring it up to you or the Commander?"

Fuyutsuki pondered that for a moment. "Perhaps she didn't think anything useful would come of it. You believe she is wrong doctor? You think this weapon of yours could seriously wound or even kill an angel with minimal collateral damage?"

Takao floundered for a moment, realizing he had placed himself in a very dangerous position by going over his direct superior's head like this.

He had of course gone to Akagi first. The poor showing by the JSSDF against the first Angel attack had convinced him of the potential importance of his invention, and he approached NERV's chief scientist to report the completion of the prototype and to request permission to begin testing. Busy dealing with the fallout of the Angel's rampage and the repair work on Unit-01, she had ordered him to shelve the project and brusquely instructed him to focus his future efforts on his department's original mandate of developing weapons for the Evas and for Tokyo-3's defence systems. He tried valiantly to argue the point, but had been chased from his boss's office by an absolutely withering glare.

Not ready to give up, however, he sidestepped Akagi to the next highest authority: NERV's chief of operations. Similarly busied with the aftermath of the attack, Captain Katsuragi at least had the heart to hear him out, and seemed intrigued by the tactical possibilities his invention presented. Certainly, anything able to even moderately damage an angel without destroying everything around it could prove useful to her. The only thing in the JSSDF's arsenal capable of hurting the monsters were N2 warheads, and their huge blast radius meant they could not be used in close support of the Evas in or around Tokyo-3.

She remembered those terrible few moments when the Angel had Unit-01 on the ropes, when the only thing that had prevented the human story from ending right then and there was the purple behemoth going berserk. How dearly she wished she could have done something, anything to take some of the pressure off of its terrified young pilot. She had promised to broach the subject with the commander, who had predictably delegated the matter to his second in command, leading to Takao's present predicament.

Well, he thought, I'm already in knee deep, may as well go the rest of the way. "Yes sir, I believe that in the hands of a skilled pilot, our prototype could be an effective anti-angel weapon. In fact, we've done the math to prove it can be. We based our calculations off of an Evangelion's AT field and armour strength, and we estimate that if delivered at sufficient velocity, it could potentially punch through a low to mid strength AT-field and penetrate the armour anywhere on the Eva's body, causing serious wounds. Against a target that does not have an AT field deployed or that has its field neutralized, a direct hit to the core would likely kill it outright."

Raising an eyebrow as he went over the calculations in the file with a practised eye, Fuyutsuki couldn't help but agree with the engineer's assessment. "Very well" he said, signing the order in Bishop's file and handing it back to Takao. "You shall have your pilot. How do you intend to get him here?"

"We've already contacted the Canadian government as well as Major Bishop himself through a channel in the UN, and and they have both agreed to his transfer. All we needed was yours or the commander's signature to make the order official. We can have him here in a few days."

Fuyutsuki was surprised by that "You've already contacted him? Surely you haven't actually told him what it is you want him for?" he eyed the engineer suspiciously. "I needn't remind you that sharing NERV secrets with unauthorized personnel carries a serious punishment, doctor."

Nervously tugging at his collar, Takao grinned as he replied.

"Of course not sir. All he needed to hear to agree was that he would get to fly."

Having passed through numerous security checkpoints and an impressive set of blast doors, the plain black sedan now sat on a car elevator descending into the earth. Bishop had inquired to his escorts as to the reason behind the tight security, and the massive steel doors, and the piles of rubble littering many of Tokyo-3's streets, and as to why there was what looked to him at one point like a series of giant footprints in the concrete. The best answer he had received thus far was "You'll find out soon enough sir."

Resigned to his ignorance for now, and having been informed that they had at least another half hour to go before reaching NERV headquarters, the weary pilot leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, reflecting on what little he did know about this new assignment.

He had received the phone call out of the blue from a friend in the UN who claimed to have a hot tip on a job he might be interested in. Having had a bellyful of commanding a remote radar station in the arctic circle, he swallowed the bait and listened as his friend informed him that one of the UN military branches was looking for a pilot, someone with combat experience on the old Avro interceptors for some test work. Though he was not and never had been a test pilot, they would be hard pressed to find anyone better acquainted with the fighter he had flown so well in the war, though what the UN wanted with a 30-year-old aircraft that had long since been replaced in front line service he couldn't imagine.

The friend went on to explain that the organization, called NERV, was headquartered in Japan, and that taking the job would mean moving there indefinitely. His stint with the JSSDF and proficiency in Japanese made him the top candidate, and the position was his if he wanted it. He couldn't give up any more specific information than that, but assured the Major that he would be briefed in full when he arrived in Japan. Despite him not having any idea of what exactly he would be doing, the prospect of escaping his frozen slice of hell to fly again was too tantalizing to pass up.

Bishop signaled that he was interested, and upon asking for permission from the brass to take the assignment, they unsurprisingly gave it without hesitation. His frequent head-butting with his superiors had earned him his remote posting in the first place, and they were all too happy to see him shoved off to somewhere even further away. A week later, formal travel orders arrived along with a plane ticket to Tokyo-2. No information on this NERV place he was supposed to report to, or even where in Japan it was located. Only a set of instructions to board the southbound bullet train from Tokyo-2 airport, to get off at the last stop, and to wait there.

His musing was interrupted by the sensation of daylight on his face, and opening his eyes, the officer was astonished to see a pristine landscape stretching out before him. They were still descending on the car elevator, and looking up he realized they had emerged into a massive underground cavern, hosting what seemed to be its own ecosystem. Between the impossibly high walls were acres upon acres of lush pine forest, grassy meadows and even a sparking blue lake. In the centre of it all stood an immense steel and glass pyramid connected at one corner to a water reservoir built to look like the pyramid's shadow. Something told him this was the headquarters he had heard so much about.

One of the agents seated up front noticed their passenger's awe-struck expression and cracked a small smile. "The geofront tends to have that effect on people the first time they see it," he remarked.

The Canadian snapped out of his trance at sound of the agent's voice, amazed one of his companions had finally deigned to make conversation with him. "I've never seen anything like it. Is this a natural cavern, or did NERV build this?" he inquired.

"Neither sir. We didn't build it, and it was not naturally formed. Notice how the roof forms a perfect dome, that would never occur in nature. Our best guess is that some advanced civilization before humanity created it."

Shaking off for a moment the huge implications the nonchalant statement carried with it, Bishop let his gaze wander up the cavern's walls, noticing for the first time the perfectly smooth dome they formed over the picturesque scene below. Arrays of lights twinkled along the walls, trains and elevators running to and from the surface he assumed. At the dome's apex, columns of sunlight shone down through massive windows, and an entire inverted city of skyscrapers hung like glass and steel stalactites. Shaking his head in wonderment, his attention was returned to the front of the car as the elevator once again took them below ground, and the driver announced they would be arriving at headquarters shortly.

"Sir, Major Bishop has arrived."

The squawk of his secretary's voice from the intercom on his desk dragged the old man away from his thoughts. Fuyutsuki stood and straightened his uniform before answering. "Very well, send him in."

New employee orientation is a bit below my pay grade, he thought to himself with a wry smile. Takao had of course offered to handle the matter, but Fuyutsuki decided he wanted to meet this Canadian for himself. Partially because he held a fond place in his heart for the vast country, and would enjoy shooting the breeze with someone born there. Partially because, unlike his superior, he truly cared about the people he commanded, and especially the children he was forced to send into harm's way. He wanted to get the measure of this man who may one day, if Takao was proved right, fight alongside them.

A moment later, the heavy wooden door at the front of the cozy office swung open and the tall foreigner stepped through. Upon spotting Fuyutsuki, he snapped to attention and offered him a smart salute. Unsure over how to respond, not being terribly knowledgeable on military decorum, the old professor opted to instead step forward and offer his hand. The younger man seemed taken aback for a moment, before lowering his own hand and shaking Fuyutsuki's with a firm grip.

"Major Bishop I presume?" Fuyutsuki said with a small smile. "My name is Sub-Commander Kōzō Fuyutsuki, I am the second-in-command here at NERV. Please, be seated." He gestured to one of the chairs in front of his large polished oak desk, waiting for his guest to sit before taking his own place behind it.

"Pleased to meet you sir." the Canadian officer answered in an even voice, grey eyes locked onto the those of his older counterpart. Fuyutsuki regarded those eyes a moment. He reckoned he could tell a lot about a person from the look in their eyes, or at least trying to do so made for an interesting thought exercise.

Those he now regarded were eyes that had seen far too much. Too much death, too much horror. He had seen many like them in the aftermath of second impact. They were eyes hardened by war and tragedy. Cold, piercing, and weary far beyond their owner's years. And yet, for all they had seen, they still held a flicker of warmth, and sparkled with intelligence. Deciding he liked what he saw, the old man continued.

"Thank you for coming all this way Major, allow me to offer my apologies for the rather... spartan travel arrangements. The idea was to get you here as inconspicuously as possible. I must say, however, that your choice of attire has made that a bit of a moot point" he jested, raising a grey eyebrow.

The Canadian returned a sheepish smile at the remark. "Ah, sorry about that sir. It's a long-standing tradition in the service to always report to a new posting in full dress. The plane ride might have been a lot more comfortable had I known I could wear a T-shirt and jeans."

Fuyutsuki gave a slight chuckle as he examined the garment more closely. It was impeccably clean and pressed despite the long journey, and much like the sub-commander's own its wearer clearly took great pride in it. It was old-fashioned compared to those worn by the JSSDF and especially NERV, clearly meant to hearken back to a fallen empire's glory days.

The tunic was dark blue-grey, with a single row of gold buttons leading to a standing collar heavily embroidered with gold oak leaves. On the left breast were a pair of pilot's wings bearing the letters RCAF in the centre, and a row of colourful medal ribbons immediately below them. Each shoulder bore a black semi-circular patch with the word CANADA stitched in gold thread, and the bottom of each sleeve bore three gold stripes; two wide and one narrow, presumably denoting the wearer's rank. Around the Tunic's waist sat a blue and gold embroidered sword belt with a gold buckle bearing the image of a maple leaf. The peaked cap, removed after entering the room and now sitting in the man's lap, was the same colour as the tunic, a bore a gold badge featuring a crowned eagle. Not exactly typical travel wear.

Fuyutsuki held up a dismissive hand. "No apology is necessary. We should have been clearer in our instructions to you." The old professor leaned back in his chair and continued in perfect English. "Your Japanese is excellent, Major. My compliments. However, it's been ages since I've been able to practice my English, would you mind indulging a nostalgic old man? I find nothing sharpens the mind quite like conversing in a second language."

Bishop let out a let out a slightly relived breath before answering in his native tongue. "It would be my pleasure sir. My Japanese is still a bit rusty, and my brain could certainly use a rest." He thought for a moment on the latter part of the old man's last remark. "Pardon my asking, but what about speaking English makes you nostalgic?"

"Ah" the old man answered with a growing smile "I was hoping you'd ask. I spent several years at the University of British Columbia as an exchange student while studying for my master's, back in the nineteen seventies. I have very fond memories of my time in your beautiful country. A young lover of nature could not ask for better surroundings, and friendlier people I have not found anywhere else." His gaze lifted to the ceiling as he recalled the many hiking and mountaineering expeditions in the Rockies, sailing trips in the gulf islands, skiing in whistler, and late nights at the library with a certain Canadian girl. "I would dearly like to go back some day" he said wistfully.

The Canadian listened with a genuine smile as the Professor shared more fond memories of his homeland, and the two continued their discussion for some time as the pilot related his own experiences growing up on the other side of the Rockies. It seemed that he shared the old man's deep fondness for those wild and majestic mountain ranges. When the topic of the war was broached, however, his guest's smile disappeared and his voice became wooden. Fuyutsuki could see that discussion of his country's more recent woes would bring the younger man no joy, so he decided to press on to the matter at hand.

"Anyways, I'm sure you've heard enough of an old man's rambling, on to our first order of business." He opened the folder on the desk in front of him and withdrew a document, setting it front of his counterpart and handing him a pen.

"I know you have many questions Major, and I will have answers for you, but first I must ask you to read and sign this document. It essentially swears you to secrecy regarding anything you see, hear, say or do here. NERV's work is paramount to humanity's survival, and any action on your part that may compromise our work will be met with punishment under the UN penal code up to and including..."

"...The termination of my life." Bishop finished the sentence as his eyes skimmed down the wordy page. Continuing to read for a moment more, he scribbled his signature in the indicated place as casually as if he were signing for a package.

No fear of death. Fuyutsuki recalled a comment to that effect in his personnel file. As he handed the document back, it seemed the Canadian's patience for small talk had come to an end. "Now, forgive my bluntness sir," he said carefully, "but can you please tell me why exactly I'm here?"

The old man's small smile returned. "That," he replied, "will take some explaining."

A million questions still swirled through Bishop's mind as he followed his new companion through the veritable labyrinth of corridors, tunnels and escalators that made up the underground portion of NERV HQ.

Just a few short hours ago, he was sure of many things he now knew to be false. He was sure that Mankind was alone in the universe as sentient life. He was sure that giant monsters only existed in cheesy horror films. He was sure that the atom bomb was the most destructive and terrifying weapon that humanity had ever devised. How he envied his innocent self of just a few short hours ago.

Innocent. Maybe that isn't the right word, he pondered as he stood beside his diminutive counterpart descending on a seemingly infinite escalator. How could someone who had seen the things he had seen, done what he had done be innocent? Maybe ignorant was a better word.

Fuyutsuki had begun his explanation of NERV, Angels and Evangelions by simply showing the ignorant Bishop footage of the battle that had raged in Tokyo-3's streets shortly prior to his arrival. Of all the things he had expected to see here, a fist fight between a giant alien monster and an equally giant purple robot was not one of them.

Now he knew that man was not alone in the universe. Something else was out there. Correction, he thought, something else is here.

Those somethings were creatures that Fuyutsuki had called Angels: giant sentient beings of terrifying power whose sole purpose seemed to be the extermination of humanity. These beings could generate an AT field; a type of force field, Fuyutsuki explained, that made attacks by almost all of mankind's weapons pointless. The old man had gone on to state that NERV's purpose was to do battle with these monsters, and their weapons of choice were the massive humanoid robots he referred to as Evangelions. The 80-meter-tall armoured beasts could generate their own AT fields which neutralized those of the Angels when the two collided, allowing the massive machines to engage and destroy the Angels in melee combat or with immensely powerful projectile weapons, succeeding where mankind's most powerful conventional weapons had failed.

He vividly recalled the image of the Angel still standing after a hundred kiloton N2 mine detonated under its feet. Deciding he had been adequately brought up to speed at that point, Fuyutsuki handed him a blue dossier and told him to read it at his earliest convenience, promising it would fill him in on the details. He then went on to explain that Bishop's expertise on the plane he had flown in the war was needed to test a prototype anti-angel weapon that would be deployed from the aircraft, something they hoped could at least hurt an Angel with far more precision than an N2 blast.

Thus Dr. Kaito Takao had been summoned to Fuyutsuki's office. The head of NERV's weapons development division was a short, skinny, balding middle-aged man who wore thick glasses and a lab coat that looked about two sizes too big. He excitedly shook Bishop's hand, before immediately launching into a rapid explanation of his idea.

The concept originated from the '50s, when American defence engineers had dreamed up the infamous 'rods from god': telephone pole sized tungsten rods which would be dropped from orbit to strike a target on earth using kinetic energy. The concept had proven too impractical to ever proceed beyond the drawing board, and as Dr. Takao explained, it remained impractical as an anti-angel weapon due to the impossibility of guiding the projectiles onto a moving target. However, he continued, the idea of striking the Angels from above with immense amounts of kinetic energy remained promising.

Before Takao could continue, however, Fuyutsuki's office phone had rung, and after answering the old man gave the engineer a pointed look. Seeing he had overstayed his welcome, Takao offered to take Bishop down to his department for a detailed briefing. It was early evening by this point, and the only sleep Bishop had in the last few days were a couple of fitful hours on the flight. Hoping his day would be over by this point, he of course had no choice but to graciously accept and follow to the diminutive doctor down to his lair.

As they neared the bottom of the immense escalator and entered yet another maze of tunnels, a thought occurred to Bishop, and he spoke for the first time in a while to his companion. "Say, doctor" he said, once again having to rely on his rusty Japanese. "Shouldn't I be going through some sort of security clearance before seeing any of this stuff? I mean, all I had to do was sign that waiver, and now I seem to know to some pretty serious secrets. It all just seems a bit... well, casual."

The bespectacled man smirked as he replied. "Rest assured Major, the fact that you have been allowed to set foot in headquarters means you have already been very thoroughly vetted. The formalities of your security clearance are being completed as we speak, and you will be issued with an ID card such as this one before the end of the day." Coming to a set of large steel doors, Takao withdrew the plastic card from his lab coat and showed it to his companion before swiping it in a terminal beside the doors. With a hiss, the heavy doors parted, and the two men stepped through.

Bishop had expected the weapons development department to be sterile and hospital-ish like some of the lab complexes they passed on the way down. Instead, the cavernous space that stretched before him reminded him of a busy aircraft hangar. They stood on a catwalk several stories above the grey concrete floor, where an eclectic collection of gigantic weaponry was arrayed, being serviced by a small army of workers. Directly below them, sparks flew as a welder stood on a scaffold working on an assault rifle the size of a house. Further away, a crew of technicians worked with grinders, putting a razor's edge onto the blade of a knife longer than a city bus. On the opposite wall from them stood what looked like the armoury of some giant's medieval castle, with a rack of various swords, axes, and spears being inspected by workers on scissor lifts.

As he surveyed the many similar scenes playing out across the workshop floor, Bishop supposed he should be impressed and awe-stricken, but compared to some of the other things he had seen today the giant weapons seemed almost pedestrian by comparison.

Takao cleared his throat to regain his companion's attention. "This, as you may have guessed, is where we design and manufacture weapons for use by the Evangelion units. We have another workshop for the munitions used by Tokyo-3's defence systems, that is where the prototype is housed." He then motioned for Bishop to follow him along the catwalk. They walked in silence for several minutes, heading towards a row of windows that ran along one wall of the workshop at the same level as the catwalk. Passing through a door into a block of offices and labs, Takao spoke up.

"You've been assigned an office in this sector Major, I can take you there now so you can drop off your papers if you'd like." He gestured to the blue dossier Bishop still carried after receiving it from Fuyutsuki. "After that, we'll head over the other workshop for our briefing." Bishop nodded his assent and followed the engineer down a busy corridor, his uniform drawing many a look from the scientists and technicians going about business.

Turning off the main corridor, the two continued down another, this one lined with windows looking into small offices occupied by various NERV personnel working away at their computer terminals. Coming to one about midway down the row with the window dark and no name plate on the door, Takao pressed a button on the wall and gestured for his companion to enter as the door slid open.

The space was small, but not unreasonably so, Bishop supposed. It was furnished with a plain metal desk facing the window that looked into the hall, a small filing cabinet, a few chairs in front of the desk, and a few coat hooks on the wall beside the door. It could do with some decoration, but the officer had certainly endured worse working conditions.

Takao waited by the door as the Major surveyed his new digs, plopping his papers down onto the desk. He noticed for the first time the weariness on the foreigner's face; no doubt he was running on fumes after his long trip. He felt the taller man's pain, being a frequent victim of overwork himself, and decided that their briefing could wait a few minutes longer

"Say Major," the little engineer asked with a sympathetic smile, "can I buy you a coffee?"

Refreshed from a can of the cold sweetened stuff the Japanese seemed to prefer to real coffee, Bishop took a breath and straightened his cap as he followed his companion through into the second workshop. His heart quickened slightly when he saw it in the centre of the vast floor. Like an old boxer who'd left retirement to defend his title, the delta winged interceptor looked dated among the more modern weaponry arrayed around it, but no less dangerous. It had shed its standard matte grey and green camouflage and now wore a shiny bare metal finish, with Canada's red maple leaf replaced by NERV's fig leaf emblem on the wings and fuselage.

The Avro CF-110 Avenger was born out of an American requirement for an aircraft to match the Soviet Union's mach 3 MiG interceptors that made their appearance in the mid '70s. With Avro's own Arrow interceptor nearing the end of its service life, the company saw a potentially lucrative opportunity to both supply the MiG killer the USAF wanted, and to provide a replacement for the Arrow in Canadian service. Their original '50s design was already easily capable of exceeding Mach 2, and Avro was confident that with some aerodynamic enhancements and modern engines their airframe could match or exceed the new Soviet fighters in performance. Equipped with the newest and best radar and missiles, their upgraded Arrow would have every advantage over its Russian counterparts in a fight should one ever occur, and at a fraction of the cost of developing a new design from scratch.

So, Avro set their engineers to the task, and soon they found that the job would not be quite as simple as the higher-ups had hoped. No engines available had the required thrust to propel the huge aircraft to the desired speeds and altitudes, so new ones needed to be designed. Those engines were too big for the original airframe, so the fuselage had to be widened and lengthened. To accommodate the Phoenix missiles that were to be the new fighter's primary armament, the internal weapons bay also needed to be expanded. The new radar, the most powerful then fitted to a fighter, required a redesigned nosecone. The Americans stipulated that all designs submitted must feature an internal gun, and everything in the nose needed to be shuffled around to make room for a pair of 30mm Oerlikon cannons and their ammunition. Provision for four under wing and two wingtip hardpoints for additional missiles, bombs or fuel tanks meant the wings needed to be significantly strengthened without making them any thicker, leading to an entirely new internal structure making extensive use of titanium alloys to keep the massive aircraft's weight down. The original triangular cockpit windows, infamous among the Arrow's pilots for providing them with next to no visibility, had to be replaced, and a more modern bubble canopy was designed from scratch.

The list went on, the tantalizing dream of a lucrative American contract keeping the project alive despite a snowballing budget and ever-growing list of engineering challenges. The aircraft that emerged from Avro's skunkworks in 1981 bore little more than a superficial resemblance to its older brother. It was effectively an entirely new airframe, sharing only the original Arrow's general layout; the delta wing, twin engines, large weapons bay, and wing-mounted landing gear.

There the similarities ended. The Arrow II, as the prototype was then known, had a fuselage that was wider, longer and lower than that of its predecessor, giving it much improved aerodynamic properties and an altogether more predatory look. The sharp lines of the original Arrow had been softened and the wings better blended into the fuselage, a result of extensive testing in the wind tunnel. Also a result of wind tunnel testing were the new smaller twin tail fins, which offered both a smaller radar cross-section over the original's massive single fin, and better controllability with their twin rudders. The intakes were widened and swept back, resembling those on the Russian MiGs, and featured a complex system of internal flaps and vents which regulated the flow of air into the engine, preventing damage to the huge turbofans from air being rammed in at supersonic speeds. The wings had a shorter span and were modified to a cranked arrow shape, with the sweep angle of the leading edge becoming less steep on the outboard portion of the wings. Forward of the wings on sides of the intakes, a pair of canards were added, dramatically improving the heavy fighter's manoeuvrability. Finally, the pilot and radar operator now sat under a clear canopy with good all-around visibility.

By the time the prototype took to the skies, however, the scare around the mach 3 MiG's had more or less abated. Testing on captured examples had shown that, while having impressive speed and climb performance, the soviet jets were terrifying to fly, couldn't dogfight worth a damn, and had radars, avionics and missiles that were an entire generation behind their western counterparts. American enthusiasm for the Canadian fighter waned, even after initial flight testing proved extremely promising. Deciding their new F-15 and F-16 fighters sufficiently met their needs, the USAF requirement was cancelled and no further foreign interest was shown in the aircraft. Thankfully, the Canadian government remained interested, and agreed to rescue the nearly bankrupt company and fund the project to its completion.

They were rewarded with an interceptor that could fly faster, higher, and carry a bigger payload than any fighter in the US arsenal, or that of any other nation for that matter. It could engage targets at ranges only rivaled by the US Navy's F-14 tomcat, which shared its radar system and missile armament. The bespoke Orenda engines, delivering 37,000 pounds of thrust each could handily push the massive aircraft to speeds well in excess of Mach 3, and to record breaking altitudes. A typical payload would consist of four long range phoenix missiles in the weapons bay, four medium range sparrow or skyflash missiles on twin launchers on the outboard under-wing pylons, with either an additional four missiles or two external fuel tanks carried inboard. For close-in work, a pair of AIM-9 sidewinders were generally carried on the wingtips, along with the twin cannon with 200 rounds per gun.

Before entering production, the higher-ups at Avro decided to change the name, Arrow II being deemed inappropriate since the new aircraft shared so little with its older brother. After much deliberation and appeals to the public for suggestions, the name Avenger was chosen, both to keep up the tradition established by the Arrow of alliterative names, and to pay homage to a long-forgotten Avro fighter from the 1930s.

The name would prove more appropriate than anyone at the time could imagine.

The Avenger was, of course, not without its problems. The blistering performance came with a hefty dollar value, both in terms of sticker price and costs per flight hour. The massive engines proved finicky in front line service and required careful maintenance by highly trained technicians. The immense amounts of thrust needed a deft hand on the throttle to control, and combined with a terrifyingly high landing speed made for an aircraft that could prove deadly to a pilot not made of the right stuff. Fighter designs of other nations at the time were trending towards manoeuvrability over speed, a result of the American experience in Vietnam. Avro had not altogether neglected dogfighting ability in the Avenger as they had in the Arrow; the canards and cranked-arrow wing, along with the sheer amount of thrust on tap lent the big interceptor a surprising turn of agility in a skilled pilot's hands, especially in the vertical arena. Nevertheless, it was not up to the task of tangling with smaller and nimbler opponents at close range.

None of this was an issue for the RCAF of the day. The service was flush with cash due to the looming threat of the Soviet Union, and its pilots were some of the world's best. The relative lack of manoeuvrability was not considered an issue, as Canada already had an exceptional dogfighter in its arsenal, the Canadair CF-20 Tigershark. In the event of war with the eastern bloc, the small, short-ranged Tigershark would engage in battlefield air superiority and close air support missions with NATO in Europe, a task that required dealing with soviet fighters, against whom its incredible agility gave it the edge. Meanwhile the bigger, faster, and longer-legged Avenger would be tasked with the air defence of north America, where its heavy long-range missile armament was expected to stop any soviet nuclear attack dead in its tracks, and where its lack of maneuverability was a non-issue.

However, the Eastern bloc collapsed in 1991, and military budgets fell along with the red banner. The penny-pinching governments of the '90s cut the Avenger fleet down to the bone, and pressed the air force to find a multirole replacement for both of its fighters. Spurning the options available from their southern neighbours, Canada instead signed on to the Eurofighter project, which promised a brand new aircraft capable of performing any of the roles done by its aging workhorses, though it was heavily criticized as still being a downgrade as an interceptor from the beloved Avenger. Still, the decision was made final in the late '90s; the Avenger and Tigershark would be retired and replaced with the Eurofighter starting in the early 2000's.

It was right about then that the world ended.

In the brutal war that soon followed, the big fighter earned its name many times over. The new government threw fiscal concerns to the wind and rapidly expanded and rearmed their neglected forces as the threat of invasion loomed. Any serviceable Avengers were taken out of storage, and the assembly lines were hastily reactivated to build more. The sight of the delta-winged warriors rocketing into the clouds to do battle with the bombers that leveled their cities bolstered the morale of a war-ravaged people, forever earning the Avengers and all who flew them a fond place the hearts of their countrymen.

Such a shame then, Bishop reflected, that after serving their country so well these magnificent machines once again either rotted away in storage or gathered dust in museums. They were officially retired from service in 2010, replaced with a motley assortment of cheaper but decidedly less capable European airframes. Just one more victim of the UN demanding ever larger portions of its members' budgets to fund its 'collective security' programs.

It occurred to him then that all along 'collective security' had been bureaucrat-speak for 'giant robots'.

Well, he thought wryly to himself, If I'd known that back then, maybe I wouldn't have torpedoed my career mouthing off about it. Newly appointed to command of a crack fighter squadron, and still riding high on his celebrity ace status in the heady post-war days of the late 2000's, a younger Bishop had loudly criticized the decision to once again gut the armed services in order to free up more funds to the rapidly expanding and militarizing world government.

No amount of fame could save him from the wrath of the UN and its all-powerful bureaucracy. The brass all but forced him to leave his glamorous new post and, by way of exiling him, accept an exchange assignment with the JSSDF as an instructor. Upon returning 2 years later, they shoved him around from posting to posting in a bare attempt to get him to quit the service, giving him obscure commands such as his radar station in the high arctic that kept him well out of the public eye. He was passed over for promotion time and time again, many of his comrades from the war having achieved a general's rank while he remained a mere Major.

Why he stayed in when they so clearly wanted him out, Bishop couldn't really say. Maybe because of some stubborn sense of duty, maybe out of spite for those who wanted him gone. Maybe because he had nothing else.

At least the UN didn't seem to hold a grudge. After all, they'd been kind enough to pull him from storage, just like the aircraft he now strode towards across the workshop floor, while the diminutive Takao struggled to keep pace alongside. He could tell right away that this Avenger was no museum relic; it was in fighting shape. Examining it while Takao conversed with a technician who came running up to him with some urgent matter, Bishop reached up and unconsciously ran a hand along the side of the black nose cone. He noted, peering into the gunports, that it retained its cannon armament. Odd for a test aircraft.

Continuing his inspection, he stooped slightly to pass under the cavernous intake and stood below the open weapons bay. It seemed as though the missile racks had been removed; their place was taken by a single tube that sat centreline and took up the entire length of the bay. It was closed at the rear and open at the front, about 15 inches in diameter, and made of thick metal. It reminded him of a section of a battleship's gun barrel, and seemed to be mounted on a stout rig that could extend to lower the tube clear of the bay. Bishop reasoned that it would hold this new weapon, though why it would be housed in this tube and not carried like a regular bomb or missile he couldn't figure.

Once again stooping to exit the bay, he continued his inspection, proceeding down the Avenger's silver flank towards the tail. With a well-practised eye, he peered into various open panels and stood on tip-toe to see up into the landing gear wells, observing that the aircraft was impeccably clean and maintained inside and out. Arriving at the tail, he noted the presence of thrust reversers mounted to the engines. He recalled that provision for the two panels that folded over the tailpipes to direct the exhaust forward were part of the original design, intended to shorten the runway space required for landing the massive jet. However, he had never seen them fitted in active service before, a drag chute doing the same job while weighing much less. Perhaps the runway they intended to fly from was too short even with the chute fitted, a thought which did not fill him with confidence.

Nonetheless satisfied from his cursory examination that the aircraft would be airworthy for whatever testing these people wanted, he began to walk back towards the nose, where he saw that Takao had now been joined by two rather fetching women. One had short blonde hair and wore a white lab coat over a blue shirt and black skirt. The other had long dark hair that shone almost purple in the harsh light of workshop, and wore a short red jacket over a tight black dress. The three were standing around a long rectangular metal container on a trolley that was being decoupled from an aircraft tug, the two women facing away from him in conversation with each other. Takao seemed to be looking around for him, and upon spotting the pilot shouted his name and waved him over. Something told the Canadian he was finally going to find out what exactly he and his silver clad friend were here for.