Life Vs The Lifeless
By ArchangelUK

This story is rated 'R' for excessive pirateness. No, not really. This story is rated R for language, violence and sexual references. I do not own Neon Genesis Evangelion or it's characters, neither do I own any lyrics used in this story.

Pt 1: The Scar

"When was the last time you felt so happy, you had to give yourself a good pinch?
When did you ever feel one of life's highs without using stepladder or winch?
That's why the lifeless crave the past, 'cause they're the flogged. Stoned. Lynched.
They can watch the living fizzle out to nought. Without even moving one inch."

"Yes," The purple haired woman answered, "Speaking."

Of course it was her fool, it was a NERV phone and surprisingly few people had her number. Mainly because it was 'classified information' (although that had never meant that much to her to be honest). Just perhaps though it was because she was overly careful or maybe (perish the thought) she didn't have as many friends as she use to. There was speaking on the other end, a man, a professional man whose voice normally would be cold and heartless but then again that was part of the job. No emotions, little fuss, nothing to feel sorry for when you woke up in the morning. Just another day doing the job, another day as the silent guardians watching intently every move.

Today was not like any normal day.

The voice was urgent, almost pleading to some extent. The NERV major's face went through so many colour changes in the space of thirty seconds it would have made even the most adept chameleon distinctively impressed. It was red first, flushed with the petulance you would expect from the feisty female but then again it soon became white as her eyes widened and she yelled down the phone in blind panic. It then became a yellow (offset by a greenish hue) as her stomach's contents threatened to spill over the floor and her heart leap out of her chest. Finally she returned to white, a white and paleness seemingly beyond what artisans, teachers, philosophers, those in power and those in poverty had known as 'white' and defined as 'white' since time in memorial.

She was whiter than white.
Misato Katsuragi was on an all new level of terror.

Her charge was in trouble - big trouble, and they were unable to help him. Her brain was far too soggy from the adrenaline coursing though her to grasp the full extent of what he said. There was something about an accident the man was saying, an accident and they couldn't go. They were trapped and the nearest person was her that was able to do anything about it. And, they said, if she didn't move soon it might be too late.

Far too late.

The phone hit the floor, whether the Section 2 operative had hung up or not was neither here nor there. Asuka blinked as the major swept through the apartment with all the suddenness, power and devastative force of an F5 tornado.

"GUN!" She screamed, uncaring what those in the apartments above or below might have thought.

"Gun?"

"GUN YOU STUPID FUCKING GIRL! WHERE'S MY GUN!"

Asuka's normal response would have been a toss of the hair, a snort most likely and a swift 'go and look for it your fucking self.' Probably with a lecture thrown in about the importance of looking after your possessions especially ones that can kill. But, were those tears in Misato's eyes? What the hell was going on?

"There." She pointed in the direction of Misato's room, "On your dresser. What's going on Misato?"

Misato leapt over a 24 can pack of beer she had been moving when the phone rang and dived through her door - literally, all but destroying the lightweight paneling as it was ripped from it's sliding mechanism. She grabbed the gun and her keys and was gone before Asuka could ask again, but she could here her screaming as she sprinted down the stairs without any shoes on, "No! No, oh please God no!"

Something bad has happened, something very very bad.

The hand itself was surprisingly slender, bone structure clearly visible and the skin blemished only by a scar on the back of the third section of the index finger. The scar was approximately a centimetre in length he surmised and looked like an old burn, not from cooking he correctly assumed but from something much hotter and by the look of things smooth. Possibly glass. A glass tube such as a boiling tube maybe.

It was a nasty scar, it must've hurt like hell when the hand was injured - probably stayed like that for some time before it healed. It was almost like that little part of skin had been liquefied by the heat. Had this been any other time and his mind thought any other person he might have asked how it felt. The scar was moved closer, the skin tightening slightly to give a clearer view of it for which he was silently grateful - it gave him an insight into the person, something he might perversely manage to twist and justify later on. Something he might look back on and say, you know, maybe for someone to bare a scar like that he must've had a hard life. It wasn't his fault, it was the scar. A symbol of something though unlikely to anyone else, even its owner, but significant to him.

He turned his head slightly as the scar approached, why was he intent on looking at this again? It seemed his mind was a little cloudy today, there was something very important he was supposed to be doing he was sure of it. Something that was even more important than piloting the Evangelion. Something...

The scar moved closer, slowly, almost imperceptibly to him. As he tried to remember something other than the seemingly random information his brain flung at him. Now lets see, hmm, oh yes he had to get some soap for the girl... what was her name again? The red headed one. Her. Yes, she'd be upset if he didn't get her the strawberry scented soap and then there was something about fish.

Was that for the girl too?

No. Impossible, why would she need six herring? He almost laughed, then realised he could already hear laughter. Strange. He wasn't laughing.

So there was fish and they were for someone else, possibly something else he wasn't sure. Perhaps he should think about this some more. Then again at this precise time he couldn't even imagine what she would need lemon soap for. STRAWBERRY, he corrected himself, strawberry soap. I wonder, he mused, I wonder if it tastes of lemons. Do strawberries taste of lemons?

What WAS her name? He knew it well; he called it out often enough, when she was in trouble - the redhead. She was a redhead wasn't she? Why would he associate trouble with her? Maybe he held some kind of stigma against redheads that they were dangerous, but why would that be and why WAS he asking so many questions and getting pitifully few answers?

The scar moved closer and the laughter seemed to fade away until it was all but silent, time seemed to stop and allowed him to think some more. For that he was thankful, after all he couldn't start giving her the strawberry herring and the other the lemon soap if he didn't know their names. Wait... something about that was wrong.

Something about the name set off little sparks in his mind, little flashes, the colour red was important and more to do with her hair. Anger. Anger was red and so was the girl and so were the strawberries, although technically he could say the strawberries were strawberry coloured.

His jaw ached dully.

Curious.

Red. The Evangelion was red, she was a pilot of the Evangelion. What was her name? She was very important, he knew her name well. He whispered it often of a night when he... well...

He coughed mentally as the image flickered into his conciousness along with images of the girl perhaps associated with his... thermal expansion, forced friction generation and subsequent hydraulic pressure release.

What was her name?

His was Shinji Ikari. Ah, that was right! Now how did that conversation go, the one he seemed to always have with the girl. Um...

Baka Shinji! Why have(n't) you done something/said something/existed in the first place!

I'm sorry Asuka.

ASUKA! YES!

Alright her name was Asuka now he was getting somewhere, so the girl was called Asuka she was the second child but she wasn't here right now and for some reason he was glad but he wasn't sure why. It was a very important reason though and something to do with the scar.

He blinked and for some reason this caused him pain.

There was another girl, also very important to him and her name was Aya... Aya... something. She was the opposite of Asuka her name was Aya...

She was close.
She didn't live close.
Was she here?
Was she nearby.
Was that her that laughed.

No.

No that wasn't her that laughed, she never laughed. Though she did smile, she smiled at him and him alone, no him and him alone. The dark man, the man who caused him pain and who sent him away.

Who is bad? Father is.
Father is? Yes father is.
Why is father bad?

Because he uses us.

Left us.

Abandoned us.

Was it he who was laughing? Was he close? Was he nearby? No he was never close, not if he could help it. He never laughed, Shinji wasn't sure if the man had ever laughed except at another's misfortune. He wasn't here either, though some part of him suspected or perhaps hoped that he would be soon. But he hated his father, yes that was right - he hated him.

Why would he want him here now?

Things were coming thick and fast now, images, places and people memories of conversations past and wishes for the future. Of things that were and he hoped would be. Hope. Hope was important, to have hope was to stay strong and he needed strength now. If at any other time in his life he NEEDED strength to do what must be done. He was Shinji Ikari, pilot of the Evangelion Unit number 01 the purple test type. He must be strong for himself, for Asuka, for M-Mis...Misato and for the girl, the girl with blue hair.

The scar began to move again, slowly.

He had to do something, something important. Yes. Something important that showed strength, he would not hide, he would not flee. He would... what was he to do? Pleading to someone or anyone for guidance, a force unknown whispered determinedly in the back of his mind one pleading word.

Duck.

He couldn't though.

All of a sudden everything clicked into place, time returned to normal and the scar rocketed towards him.

The fist smashed off his head just above his right eye that was already well on the way to being closed with the horrible black and red swelling above and below it. Another punch, this time a left uppercut caught Shinji under his chin and opened the cut on his lip even more. The boy fell backwards onto his rear, gasping and grunting in pain. A kick square to the temple knocking his head back into the filing cabinet but not knocking him out.

He would stay awake - he must stay awake. Even though unconciousness called him to her, the siren like voice coxing him to embrace her. To embrace the darkness and end it all now.

He must be strong. Strong for the girl on the torn bed - strong for her above all else, the rest didn't matter. She was all that mattered.

She was Rei Ayanami.

What vision he had swam in a haze of pain. Shinji made his way to his feet again, clawing against the cabinet to do so, the process knocking off a glass beaker which exploded upon impact with the cold and dirty appartment floor. Blood trickled down his face sprung from one of the many wounds on his head, the contours turning the flow left and right in multiple directions until the blood formed a red river delta across his features

Yet, despite what he knew would happen he allowed himself a small smile, after all it had been a very pleasant day...

To Be Concluded...
Comments, suggestions et all welcome.

ArchangelUK 0:o)