Chapter Two
"Third Brigade is out of action for now. I have orders from command to take over, sir." Colonel Itsusaki delivered the dossier he carried as he might deliver a resignation letter. The now former commanding officer of the JSSDF's Third Brigade stared at the bundle of documents, face tightened in a grimace.
The commanding officer dropped his face in his hands.
"Sir?" Itsusaki asked.
"Yes.. I know.." The commanding officer mumbled, keeping his eyes away. "I.. would you give me a moment?"
"Of course, Sir." Itsusaki left the documents on the desk and stepped out of the office. He waited in the adjacent room, a dreary storage area devoid of windows, and lit only by yellow fluorescent lightbulbs.
The death was palpable, lingering in the air like a thick dark soup. Itsusaki had heard the rumors. An entire brigade of men and equipment, all lost in a single routine rapid response deployment. Men with families, disappearing into the wool of obscurity.
No one really knew what happened, except for the commander he was to replace.
"Come in."
The commander officer's voice was almost inaudible.
When Itsusaki returned, he found a neatly organized pile of papers waiting for him, and a man with bloodshot eyes. "Everything is set. You are free to take over. I've alerted my remaining subordinates to the change in command," the man said, averting Itsusaki's eyes.
A man. Not an officer. Not a faithful servant of the military. Just a broken man.
Had it not been for years of strict military formality, Itsusaki would have heard the man weep outright.
"Colonel? Wasn't it?" The man said shakily.
"Yes, sir."
"I.. I should probably tell you this. Before you take command." Gesturing for Itsusaki to close the door, the man shuttered the blinds of the one window in the room.
"Commander? Is this about.."
"Please, call me Kuramoto." Kuramoto said, holding up a hand. "I'm no longer in command of the third brigade. You are."
"Very well, Kuramoto. You.. wanted to tell me something?" Itsusaki said.
"Yes.. and I would very much appreciate it if you were to keep every bit of this conversation in this room. Not for me, but for my men's sake."
"You have my word, Kuramoto. Nothing will leave this room."
"Let us begin then.."
By the light of the desk lamp, Kuramoto retold the story as he knew it, trying to reel his emotions in. He teared up anyway.
"It was a rapid response deployment. We had gotten a call that.. there had been a explosion. Higher ups thought it could be an Angel, so they sent us out to investigate. I deployed two of the three battalions here. By the time we arrived there was nothing more than a crater left.. but the target was moving. I.. I gave the order for them -the brigade- to take up defensive positions at a point on its projected path.. and.. I should've called for backup, ordered them to retreat. Nothing the JSSDF has can stand up to an Angel. But I didn't give the order. I might as well had killed them myself.."
"There was nothing you could have done." Itsusaki said softly. "Even if they were to relocate to a better position, the Angel still would have gotten through. They did their duty."
"But their lives could have been saved!" Kuramoto shouted, slamming his desk in fury. "I listened while they died! I heard their dying screams! It was my responsibility that day to make sure they came back alive.. and they didn't! Now I have the deaths of the entire brigade weighing on my shoulders, watching me, cursing me for the eternal hell I have subjected them to! And the families? God forbid! I could've called in an airstrike.. could've ordered the retreat.. could have…" The man broke down, quietly sobbing, self hatred draining away to nothing.
The curse of the armed forces. A brotherhood like no other. A cause like no other.
It always ended in tragedy, whether on the field of battle or in the room with a gun to the head.
Man against God.
Itsusaki wondered if he would someday face the same fate as Kuramoto, left to watch as his own soldiers died before him.
In the old days, commanders appealed their crimes through the ritual of seppuku, disembowling themselves for their dishonor. The old tradition died long before Itsusaki had taken his first oath of service, but he still thought of the punishment from time to time. Did it create better officers? Itsusaki wondered. Or did it make suicidal superiors who would freely throw their soldiers away to accomplish their objectives? All for their honor, however vain it was?
Am I ready for this?
Am I ready to take on the charge of this brigade? Itsusaki asked himself.
There were others, there always were. But the quality of the soldier, the commander, tended vary to the point where it became a roll of the dice. A battle hardened unit might be paired with an incompetent command structure. The training and experience only mattered as much as the commander directing it. He could roll the dice, take the risk, let another have the position.
Kuramoto sat there, wallowing in his own misery.
Would I put the replacements of this brigade at risk? he thought.
The question lingered in Itsusaki's thoughts long after the exchange of command officially ended.
It followed him as he walked outside into the unforgiving night.
"I'm here to check up on the pilots."
The on-duty doctor sighed as she flipped through her clipboard for the fourth time. Finding the appropriate page, she initiated the ritual. "Visiting hours are from nine to six.. please come back at a later time," she recited in a robotic manner.
The visitor didn't move.
"Must I repeat myself?" she said, continuing to read off the clipboard.
Another long night.. and no shortage of bothersome visitors.
How do they even find the time to visit at the most obtrusive hours of the day?
"I have authorization," the visitor stated.
"Oh?" The doctor said. "Name?" She reached for a drink from a stained mug, anticipating a long and drawn out argument to ensue. If she rationed her sips, the coffee would last her until morning, meaning she could stay in her chair.. and let her spine waste away. Or just relax.
"Major Katsurgari."
The doctor nearly spat out her six hour old coffee in shock.
"M-major Katsurgari?"
"You got it." Misato leaned against the counter with a smirk, or the closest thing to a smirk. She had some trouble with the not-so inconspicuous bandages on her face.
"But.. you're still supposed to be in the intensive care ward!" The doctor cried out.
"I felt perfectly fine, to be honest with you, and the staff there said that it was alright for me to be discharged early from their care."
"Alright!? They said that it was-!"
"Yup. Now would you mind letting me through? I've some pilots to check up on."
"I can't," the doctor said automatically.
Misato's smirk disappeared. "Why not."
"Well.. they're asleep right now."
The truth, as authentic as it was, sounded pathetically weak as it came out of the doctor's mouth. Face to face with a certain Major Katsurgari, she anticipated nothing less than a disaster to happen. If even the Major lacked the sense to not come at two in the morning, who knew what else could happen?
"In that case, I suppose I'll wait." Misato said cheerfully, taking a seat at the waiting area. She swept up a few discarded magazines, dusting them off before glancing over their contents.
"You're going to wait here for the entire night?"
"It's not like I have anything better to do." After a long drawn out yawn, Misato leaned back and covered her eyes with a magazine. "Let me know when they're awake. Consider it an order."
"..Yes ma'am.." The doctor mumbled, but the Major had fallen asleep already.
Slumping back in her chair, she looked at the snoring form of the Major and then at the clock.
Another long night.. she thought again.
The same every time.
Blood. His hands dripped with it as they dug into flesh with a frivolous relish.
Like the stomach twisting displays of a butcher shop, he selected each piece, every slab, with the eagerness as customer would.
One side of him was disgusted, and paralyzed with fear at what he had done. The other side was.. more eager, and alien in its desire, dominating the balance between the two. Shinji had watched it unfold, half aware and unaware of what he did.
Asleep and screaming at the same time.
He vaguely remembered pulling at the controls, crying for it to stop, tears evaporating into the LCL around him. He cried out for his father, for Misato, or for just anyone to make it stop.
Anything to stop the barbaric slaughter he partook in against his own will.
The draining of the battery should have rendered his Eva inert, sealed his fate at the hands of the Angel. But it only seemed a nuisance to whatever was possessing it. It grew worse when Shinji realized that he could feel the Eva again, moving without his will.
Nothing terrified him more than losing control in the fullest sense. When his world flipped upside down on that fateful day, even he still had the choice to leave. His body was his, and his alone to control. His thoughts, contrary to how it seemed, scrutinized by his father's scornful eyes, were always hidden, private. A space where he could retreat to when the outside world became unbearable.
The Eva?
The Angel?
Both?
Or none?
It violated the space, sifting through and uprooting, and presenting its findings as it would to a curious crowd of onlookers. His secrets, his hopes, pinned and displayed like a fine preserved specimen in a glass case.
There were no more secrets. All of them were laid bare.
Under the wilting starless night, Shinji withdrew into what few refuges remained, only for the presence to unearth and force him to take part.
The end waited in front of him, an alluring escape, universal to every nightmare. But just out of reach, it would be snatched away, and Shinji would wake up drenched in sweat, his chest heaving with exertion.
No entry plug, no sea of blood for him to wallow in, just the sterilized white of a hospital. The rhythmic sounds of machinery, the chill that ran up his arm, it all served to reaffirm him that the dream was over.
Alone in the room, with machines for company,
Shinji felt like something had been taken, and the thought of the nightmare returned.
No longer drowning but.. now desiccated. An emptiness.
A hunger?..
It can't be that… he thought, fear creeping up his spine.
I don't WANT to go back. Why am I.. no.. NO..!
It's in my head isn't it!? The Angel!?
Get out..! GET OUT! he screamed.
The machines by his side beeped furiously, aghast with panic.
Shinji's flailing arms battered and flipped anything remotely close to them. An IV stand toppled with a resounding crash of plastic. A cart of machinery skidded away to the corner. And the sheets holding him down to the bed slipped free.
Shinji knew a split second of freedom. Never had the touch of crisp cool air been more relieving. And then he landed shoulder first on the merciless floor tiles. The bruises and various contusions that had made themselves scarce until now, renounced their presence with an single overwhelming explosion of agony.
Someone bursted into the room and gasped at the sight of him on the floor. They shouted out into the corridor outside before kneeling down and lifting him up by the arms, whispering comforting words.
After returning Shinji to the sweat soaked confines of his bed, the stranger -a nurse- went into a frenzy as she rushed to rearrange everything.
Did nurses wear red..?
His neck ached with a throbbing crescendo as he struggled to get a better look.
Or have.. purple hair?..
"M-misato?" Shinji stammered.
In an instant, arms wrapped around him in a rib snapping hug.
"Shinji! You're finally awake!" Misato cried, pulling him in even harder.
The hugs were nice.
The hugs with bruised ribs? Not so much.
Misato transitioned from gleefully embracing Shinji to hastily apologizing for hurting him.
"Oh my god.. I'm so sorry.. Shinji! I should have.." She started to back off.
Shinji held her in place, wincing in pain. "It's.. alright, Misato.." he said.
"Are you sure? I.. heard things didn't go too well," Misato shied away, keeping her the bandaged parts of her face in the shadows. "..I should have been there for you, for.. everyone.." she said, holding his wrist.
"..It's fine.." Shinji mumbled. He looked at her hands. "What happened? Are you okay?"
Misato laughed. "Of course, I am. Just a few little burns." she said, lowering her hands where Shinji could not see them.
Shinji had really wanted to ask if she was okay in the head, but that just would have been rude.. would it?
After what he had gone through, was he the only one who had.. Shinji didn't finish that thought, as Misato was checking his pulse.
Misato's fingertips were free of the coarse bandages and they now rubbed over his wrist in search of a pulse.
Her skin is.. warmer than I thought it would be. Shinji shuddered, unsure of how he should respond. Never had they been this.. intimate? Was that too extreme of a word?
"Your heart rate is pretty fast. Something wrong?"
I should tell her. Right now. No excuses. Just.. be straight..
"N-no.. its all good."
..forward?..
Misato looked pointedly at him, raising an eyebrow.
"Are you sure?" She said, suspicion spreading across her face.
Shinji's heart sunk. He was never good at lying in the first place. Why couldn't he just be honest with Misato? It wasn't like he didn't trust her. And if anyone knew what to do when concerning nightmarish dream loops, it would probably be her.
"I.." he started.
"Yes?" Misato said. "Go on."
"..had a.. bad dream."
Though some progress had been made, Shinji wanted to slap himself.
"So.. nightmares?" Misato tried, looking helpless. "Sorry.. I don't really have too much experience with treating ailments of the subconscious."
"…did you just take the last line from that movie that Asuka was watch-"
"Hey!" Misato held up her arms in surrender. "I didn't know what else to say! Besides, the movie has some salvageable things, like.. the script, maybe?" She didn't sound too sure about the last part.
In reality, the movie had received a one star rating from the onset, but that didn't stop Asuka from watching it.. after forcing him and Misato to join her. The two hours of poorly dubbed Japanese still grated at his ears every time he thought back to it. But what he would give to be back there, crammed together on the couch with his housemates, doing something other than fighting with each other or Angels.
"How is.. Rei?.." Shinji asked, his throat suddenly too dry to squeeze words through. The images of an armless Unit-00 and an ocean of blood appeared in his mind.. and the monster. His stomach twisted at the thought of seeing Rei helpless before the Angel.
"She's.. recovering," Misato said, sharing in Shinji's revulsion. The pressure on Shinji's wrist increased, as if Misato feared that he would disappear before her very eyes. "I read the reports and I'm just.. lost for words."
"Yeah.. and Asuka? Is she.. alright?"
Shinji had never seen what happened to Unit-02 during the battle. Asuka's pod was said to have ejected, but really happened remained a mystery to him. It couldn't have been too bad.. right? God, he hoped so. One of them was already bad enough. To have another..
"Asuka is fine, mostly. I hear that the doctors are going to check her out early, no 'major' injuries according to them, aside from pride, I suppose." Misato released Shinji and stood. "I'm going to go see if we can get you out tonight as well," she said.
"But what about Rei?"
He couldn't just leave her here, all by herself. What if she.. needed something? After all that had happened.. he felt like he owed to her, for all of the pain she went through.
If I was faster.. maybe.. maybe things could have been turned out better..
His vision blurred with tears.
"It wasn't your fault Shinji," Misato gripped his shoulders. "Don't you dare blame yourself for this."
"Okay.." Shinji mumbled, head drooping.
Misato shook him gently. "Look me in the eyes and say it."
"It.. wasn't my fault.." He still couldn't say it loud enough. The guilt lodged itself firmly in his gullet, refusing to let a single coherent word pass.
"Again."
"It wasn't.. my fault," Shinji said again, finally managing to meet Misato's concerned eyes.
He still didn't believe it, not even the words out of his own mouth.
"Good enough.." She whispered, letting go of him.
It was a losing battle to keep his head up as Misato hurried off to find a nurse.
When Misato's footsteps could no longer be heard, Shinji flopped back onto his bed and buried his head in the damp bedsheets.
All because of me..
The guilt lurked over Shinji, diving in and tearing away at him like a flock of starving vultures.
Slamming the fridge shut, much to the indignant squawks of a certain penguin, Misato wasted no time in cracking open a beer. Never mind that it was past midnight or that her medical release papers had specifically warned against drinking alcohol, she needed something to soothe her frayed nerves. The ride home had been bad enough already, with Asuka still seething from the previous battle and Shinji cowering like he sat next to a ticking bomb.
A few gulps and the can was empty. Misato stared at it in disappointment.
Flippers slapped at her legs.
"Yes, Pen Pen?" She said without looking. Another beer can't hurt.. right?
It wasn't like a head splitting hangover would be waiting for her tomorrow if she drunk another.
But then there was her work at NERV.. and god knew how bad it would be with her brain attempting to implode in on itself.
Misato groaned, resting her head on the fridge.
Pen Pen squawked again.
"You can get a can by yourself.." Misato grumbled.
It was clearly not the right answer, as Misato received another slap. This time it was hard enough to make her wince. "What in the world is wrong with you, Pen Pen!" Misato yelped, hurriedly dropping the empty can and massaging the throbbing bruise. As Misato glared at Pen Pen, so did the penguin do the same to her.
The genetically modified penguin, with a deft application of its delicate flippers, swept up the discarded can and launched it into the trash can. During the entire display, Pen Pen never took his eyes off Misato. His displeasure was clear, even if he could not say it aloud. Pen Pen pointed at the clock, his head held high. The message was clear: there would be no drinking past the twelfth mark.
Angels could rip through Tokyo-3, the toilets could all back up simultaneously, she could almost get crushed, and Pen Pen still wouldn't allow her a single drink.
If Misato wanted a beer, she would have to battle Pen Pen for it, and fighting an enraged penguin was not on her to-do list.
After a prolonged stand off between woman and penguin, Misato stormed off to her room. She almost slammed the door when it occurred to her that there were two children sleeping in the same apartment.
Probably.. not a great idea.. Misato sighed, closing the door as quietly as she could.
Sitting down at her desk, she scanned the backlog of forms and paperwork piled high. The promotion to Major had come with few benefits, and an astronomical increase in bureaucracy for her to navigate. Dinner being the exception, she spent less and less time with Shinji and Asuka, and more on her work.
Kaji wasn't around as he used to be, which meant there was no one around to forbade her against drinking copious amounts of instant coffee.
Misato attributed his extended absence to her promotion. The increase in work had probably pulled at Kaji's heartstrings. The many sleepless nights she pulled, fueled only by caffeine and workaholism..
She now wondered if it was something else entirely.
Misato's eyelids drooped as she sifted through the papers. She vowed to get at least halfway through before the end of the night.
Choosing a page at random and smoothing out the creases, Misato got to work.
God.. I really could use a beer right now..
Empty hanger after hanger. Miles upon miles of unoccupied concrete.
Itsusaki took one last puff of his cigarette before crushing it beneath his boot. Almost immediately did he reach for another one from the pack in his coat pocket. Smoking was prohibited under military regulation and he would have been cited, had there been anyone left to cite him.
Dead soldiers. Dead men.
Tire and tread marks shared the space, stretching from one end of the base to the other.
They hinted at the countless number of military exercises the men had preformed before their passing.
All of it had turned out to be for nought in the end.
All of the training, the discipline, the comradeship.
It never made a difference at all. Maybe nothing could.
Lighting his next cheap cigarette with the aid of a flimsy plastic lighter, Itsusaki watched the wisps of smoke drift away into the pale moonlight. Seeing these things left him with a deep ache of longing for the past.
Twelve short years.
Itsusaki imagined his old unit by his side in the cold lonely night, smoking and bickering with each other in the middle of nowhere. He saw their smiling faces disappear one after the other, replaced by grim bloodied husks as the light of day came, and the barrage resumed.
A cycle of sorts. Death and horror in the day, happiness and naivety in the night.
The only difference was that with each cycle, a face would not be there in the next.
Nobody ever thought it could happen to them, and then it did.
They were gone, just like that. A snap of the finger, a pull of the trigger, and then nothing else.
Never for a moment, did Itsusaki think that he would live this long.
An omen perhaps?
He laughed to himself. Destiny and fate were for fools and the naive.
There was no predetermined order in this world. No law that would punish the 'wrong' and reward the 'right'.
No, he thought.
There were only those who acted and those who didn't.
The Second Impact helped in that regard, waking many up to the reality they lived in.
And so man survived the Angels, he thought.
Through him recognizing his own mortality, and through the lack of regard for life itself.
Replacements for the Third Brigade were scheduled to arrived in a few days. 'Hastily assembled' was the part that stood out in the bible sized pile that the old commanding officer had given him. The equipment would arrive not too long after. It was Plenty of time to get the brigade back up to full strength before the next attack.
Soon Itsusaki would have better things to do than squander his life away on cigarettes and late night walks, and he looked forward to it.