Disclaimer: Gainax owns Neon Genesis Evangelion and all characters, places, and ideas created for it. Therefore, profiting from this work (one that features said characters, places, and ideas) would take way more effort and legal B.S.'ing than I, lazy guy that I am, am willing to expend. Despite that, if Gainax has a problem with this story's presence on the Internet, I will swiftly and cheerfully (well, OK... swiftly and with much grumbling) remove it at the earliest opportunity.
1 - Awakenings / Opening Gambit
Shinji Ikari spun through a dark void – a maelstrom of anguished thoughts, desperate dreams, and painful memories. There was no light, no color; only darkness. Somewhere beyond the vortex, Shinji reasoned, there must have been light. It had to be there; the darkness could not possibly go on forever. Shinji believed it to be so, and because of that it was true.
When he turned away from the darkness, the pull came not from the light, but from behind. It called, beckoned, sucked him inward. In an instant, Shinji understood. The light was not his place. This was where he belonged. In the darkness.
Shinji relinquished his hold on his mind and was pulled inward, into the center of the maelstrom.
Into the darkness.
The memories came unbidden; Shinji let them surround him, engulf him in their embrace.
Pilot! Whoever you are… I'm going to help you…But I don't know how! You tore Asuka and Rei apart so easily… No, not you. The Angel. Such power…
I'm… afraid… what if I hurt you? What if you kill me?
Wait… what's happening? What's going on? No! Stop this! Father, turn it off! You're killing him!
Touji?
Touji… maimed, a cripple… your fault. You destroyed him. If only you'd fought… If only you hadn't been so afraid…
What's happening up there? Father, let me go!
Asuka's screaming. Asuka! I can hear you! Can't you hear me? Help's coming. Just wait a little longer.
Asuka, listen to me!
…Asuka?
Couldn't help you. I wanted to so badly, but there was nothing I could do.
And now you're a wreck. You hate me.
I deserve it. I should have helped you…
Misato?
Misato's in the kitchen. What's she doing?
Tears? She's… crying?
Something's happened. Something's happened to Kaji.
Should go help her. Talk to her, hold her… something.
I can't… Gotta get away… Go to bed, shut the door, block her out…
You coward.
Ayanami! Oh God… I need to get that thing off her…But how?
Ayanami… what are you doing? Ayanami!
NO!
Too late…
What? She's…
It's impossible… but there she is, lying there… she's alive!
Rei? Don't you remember… anything? She's… oh God, she's just like she was when I first met her…
Ritsuko wants to talk. She's going to pieces too. She wants to talk… about…
So many Reis, all here… I look at her now, and I feel…
Betrayed.
The new pilot says he loves me. Not sure how to take that, but… God, I need a friend right now.
Kaoru gives me friendship. Asks for nothing in return. Is this… real?
We're under attack. I hope this is all over soon… Where's the target?
That's… this can't be right.
An Angel? Him?
Betrayed.
You're not getting away that easily. You're the enemy. I have to kill you. I will… kill…
He's looking up at me. He wants me to live.
What has he done? Why? Why must he die?
It's him or you. Choose!
It's so easy. Like crushing an insect.
So much pain. So much weakness. It follows me. It destroys those around me.
Is this life?
That's it. That's what you've been fighting for.
That's what you've been afraid of.
Despair.
The silence of the cage was abruptly shattered as Evangelion Unit-01 broke its jaw restraints and gave a low, keening wail.
The Eva had demonstrated its capacity for vocalization in the past; this was, therefore, not an entirely new experience for the technicians and staff of NERV. In the past, however, the Eva had not wailed so much as given a battle cry, a roar of rage and defiance. This was different. The bridge crew and NERV personnel, while preoccupied at the moment, would later remember with vivid clarity the sound of the monstrous weapon's voice: a cry of anguish and mourning that pierced the heart and soul of whoever heard it.
Makoto Hyuga, Shigeru Aoba, and Maya Ibuki shuddered as the sound reverberated throughout the testing cage. To them, this sound was... alien. Although they'd been given ample evidence that the Evangelions were more than they seemed, more than just simple machines, they'd continued to view their charges simply as weapons. EVA-01's previous outbursts had only served to underscore that assumption, as they had been expressions of anger, the emotion most characteristic of instruments of the battlefield. What could this sound mean? What did the machine have to feel sorrow for?
Major Misato Katsuragi heard the sound and believed she understood its meaning. During the week since Kaoru's death, Misato had watched Shinji slide further and further into a deep, brooding depression. The Seventeenth Angel had been destroyed, the war was over... but at what cost to Shinji Ikari, the cornerstone of their success? His friends had left him behind, his fellow pilots had been destroyed, and Shinji insisted on taking responsibility for Kaoru's death. The only bright spot in this was the fact that the war was, indeed, over. As if consciously denying his son even that small relief, Shinji's father, in what seemed nothing more than a calculated act of sadism, had demanded that the Third Child continue training in the Evangelion, the source of his pain. Misato understood what the Evangelion was trying to express, having felt it acutely herself in the past months: helplessness. Unable to protect Shinji, unable to provide him the comfort and understanding that he needed so desperately, Misato could only stand and watch as his situation grew steadily worse. It was the saddest sound that she had ever heard; it was even more so because Misato had nearly given the same cry herself with increasing frequency.
Gendo Ikari paused in mid-stride as he walked the endless corridors of Central Dogma, listening to the sound as it built in intensity, rising to an almost ear-splitting crescendo, then fell and died away completely. To him the scream carried a tone of accusation, demanding to know why Gendo had done nothing to solve his son's predicament, instead deliberately making it worse. The question plagued him now, as it had for nearly ten years. He gave it the only response that he could: "Wait for me, Yui. Soon, everything will be set right again. Have patience."
Rei Ayanami, standing unnoticed in one corner of the bridge, felt a twinge of emotion as the horrible keening washed over her. It manifested itself as what could only be described as an aching sensation. It was unexpected and unfamiliar. Rei felt as though she should understand what had occasioned it, but... the comprehension remained just beyond her reach. The second Rei Ayanami would have understood. The second Rei Ayanami would have known why, every time she watched the Third Child's steady downward spiral, she felt this inexplicable pain. The third Rei Ayanami did not know, and was left to piece together these unexplained surges of emotion as if assembling a jigsaw puzzle with only half its pieces. Perhaps more contact with Pilot Ikari will help me to understand, she thought, resolving to speak with Shinji after the test.
Only faint echoes of the wailing penetrated the walls of the NERV infirmary. Asuka Langley Soryu trembled slightly as the sound reached her ears. A tear ran slowly down her face and her lips parted briefly, although no sound came forth. A moment later the trembling ceased and her mouth closed, and she became, once more, unresponsive.
The Evangelion's wailing persisted for more than half a minute, after which it fell silent and slumped forward against the cage's restraints as if exhausted. The entry plug was ejected from the monster's back, although the bridge crew would later check the records and discover that no command had been issued to that effect.
After Shinji's removal from EVA-01's entry plug, he'd been put through the standard checkout procedures: Maya, still struggling to adjust to her new position as head of Project E, had asked him what had happened, if he had noticed anything strange while within his Evangelion. Shinji replied simply that he had not and politely asked if he could leave, as he was tired and wanted to go home. Surprised, Maya could only nod, realizing only after the Third Child had left that he'd shown no interest in his synch ratio... and that she had neglected to inform him that, during the incident, his rating had only been a few tenths of a point short of one hundred percent.
Misato had met up with him as he left the locker room, and had walked with him to the exit. Shinji didn't look at her; in fact, he'd given her no indication that he'd noticed her presence beyond a brief nod in response to her (forced) cheery hello. As he walked in step with her out of Central Dogma, his normally alert eyes remained fixed on the floor before him. In what was, in a way, a more startling occurrence than the EVA's screaming, he walked right past his father without even looking up. Misato looked back over her shoulder as the walked away from the Commander; he was walking in the other direction, looking as though he couldn't care less that he'd failed to elicit even fear or nervousness from his son. She reflected, with a faint sense of unease, that the resemblance between the Third Child and his father had begun to grow disturbingly close.
Now, having driven for over twenty minutes through the deserted streets of Tokyo-3 without a word passing between the two of them, Misato could no longer stand it and broke the silence.
"Shinji... are you okay?" Immediately she started berating herself for her stupidity. No, you idiot, of course he's not okay. He hasn't been "okay" for months and he sure as hell isn't okay now. I mean, look at him. Doesn't even look up when I talk. I knew you were thick, girl, but really. Are you so blind that you actually need to ask when the answer is obvious?
"I'm fine, Misato." As Misato had predicted, Shinji's face and voice remained devoid of emotion, his gaze remaining on his feet.
And any moron could have predicted that he'd deny having problems anyway. If you'd paid any attention to him for the past year even you would have realized that. Honestly... you are a real piece of work, you know that? Making yourself out to be taking care of Shinji, and you can't really help him to save his life. Or yours, for that matter. Briefly she entertained thoughts of flooring the accelerator and taking a few corners at 150 kph, the kind of stunt that would have had Shinji climbing the walls a few months back. Only you would think of that as a way to help someone. Jesus, Misato, they actually let you take care of kids?
"Um... Rei came up to me today, towards the end of your test. She said that she wanted to talk to you. And I, well, I didn't know if you'd really want to or not, so I told her I'd just let you know and you could get back to her, but I was wondering if you wanted to invite her over for dinner tonight and..."
Shinji mercifully interrupted her babbling. "No." Still staring blankly into space, Shinji could have passed for Rei himself.
No, he doesn't want to talk to Rei. You don't either, you stupid bitch. I mean, what the hell? You couldn't even look her straight in the eye when she came to talk to you about Shinji. Now that you know what she is, you can't even pay her the small respect of treating her like a human being. And you should've known better than to remind Shinji of her now. He was closer to her than you've ever been.
"I, uh, didn't know what to do about dinner tonight, so... well, I mean, I didn't want to make you cook, and I'm sure that you don't want me to make anything for you..." Misato sneaked a glance at Shinji, looking for some reaction, some sign that Shinji had noticed her feeble attempt at humor. She was disappointed, although not entirely surprised, when there was none. "And anyway, I was going to just get takeout, maybe a pizza or something, if that's all right with you..."
"I'll cook," Shinji said unexpectedly, although his words remained in the same dead tones he'd been using.
"Shinji, don't feel like you have to," Misato said quickly, "it's really no problem for me to-"
"We already have vegetables in the refrigerator. If we don't use them, they'll go bad. We may as well not let them go to waste," Shinji cut her off, making his longest statement of the entire day.
"Uh... okay..."
Feeling utterly defeated, Misato steered the blue Renault into the empty lot of the apartment complex they called home. The two of them climbed the stairs to their home in silence. Upon reaching the door, Misato stopped and took another hard look at her roommate. Shinji's expression still hadn't changed; he continued looking blankly ahead as he waited for Misato to unlock the door. Talk to me, Shinji, she mentally begged him. You can't just bury everything inside yourself like this. No response. Come on, damn it. Say something. Anything. Please, Shinji?
"Is something wrong with your key?" Shinji asked, still looking ahead at the wall next to the door.
With a start Misato realized that she'd been standing there for nearly a minute with her key at the lock, staring at him. "No," she sighed, deflating, "no, nothing's wrong." Without another word, she unlocked the door and let them both in.
For the next half hour the apartment was silent except for the sounds of Shinji moving about the kitchen. After five minutes of standing in the doorway, unable to think of any way to break the silence, Misato gave up and began walking through the apartment.
So you've let it come to this, Misato, she thought darkly to herself as she paced the hallway. You're just going to let him go to pieces. As I recall, the first night he stayed here you grabbed him by the hair and chewed him out for not being assertive enough. What happened to all that fire you used to have, Misato?
"It's still there," she whispered, desperately trying to convince herself that the words were true.
Oh, really? Judging from that little 'conversation' you two had in the car, he's worse than ever, and you're starting to act just like he used to. Now you're Shinji and he's Rei. Can't wait until it starts getting even worse. I wonder what the next step down is?
Misato slid a door open and strode through.
Ah, I know. This is it, right here.
Without realizing it, she'd stepped into Asuka's room. Her hand groped for the light switch, but when hitting it made no difference Misato abruptly remembered that the lamp had been smashed against one wall and she'd never bothered to replace it. After a moment her eyes adjusted to the darkness and the wreckage of the redhead's room came into focus. The place looked as though several good-sized tornadoes had been through it, after which an N2 mine had been set off for good measure. Books had been pulled from their shelves; the torn and shredded pages were strewn about the room. The stereo lay smashed against one wall, although nothing in the room was heavy enough to have done it. Misato remembered Asuka's bleeding hands as she'd stalked from the room a month and a half ago. Here and there a large dent, streaked with reddish brown, marked where the girl had struck the wall in her fit of rage. The ripped remnants of Asuka's dresses and clothes were heaped in one corner. A few months ago Misato would have sworn that the girl would rather have died than allowed harm to come to her precious collection of clothing.
Rather would have died, eh? I suppose she remembered that as soon as you let her run away. And you called yourself her guardian. Great job, Misato. Well, at least Shinji hasn't tried to kill himself yet. On the other hand, considering what a bang-up job you're doing of taking care of him, that's probably not far off, either. Wonder what Asuka will do if Shinji succeeds at that, too? Beaten by him again, even at the last. The final insult.
"Misato? It's ready."
She turned to find Shinji standing at the door, giving no sign that he recognized the room that he was looking into. Without another word he turned and set off for the kitchen, without even waiting to see if Misato had understood him.
The pervasive silence continued throughout most of dinner. Shinji had simply made ramen - not that Misato was complaining, as it was good and, as Shinji had said, it helped to use up the remaining vegetables in the refrigerator. But Shinji seemed not to care about the quality of the food he had made; when Misato had complimented him after the first bite, his only response had been a simple, cheerless "thank you", one devoid of any happiness or pride in his work. Misato had shut up after that, and the quiet had settled over the table like a curtain.
Now the meal was almost done. If for no better reason than to assuage her guilty conscience, Misato decided to make one final attempt at getting a response from Shinji.
Attempts at polite or "normal" conversation had failed utterly, and so she decided at last on a direct attack.
"Shinji, why won't you talk to me?"
Infuriatingly, Shinji's eyes remained on his plate. "What do you want to talk about?" he asked, his tone indicating that he didn't really care one way or the other and would talk if it would prevent trouble.
Despite herself, Misato felt her frustration begin to overcome her. "You know what," she said, keeping her voice low and controlled, "so don't pretend that you're surprised when people keep asking about it. I know something's wrong with you, despite the fact that you don't seem to notice that I know you're lying when you deny it. I've got a good idea of what the problem is, too." Shinji sniffed, which may or may not have been a gesture of contempt. "But I need you to talk to me."
"There's no need," Shinji said, his eyes still facing downwards.
"Don't do that," Misato warned, "there is a need. I want to help you."
"No, you don't," Shinji countered. He pushed his chair back, stood, and walked out, leaving the rest of his dinner behind him.
"You're not walking away from this," Misato hissed, her voice rising as she jumped up and moved to cut him off. "Don't think that you know better than I do. That attitude is getting real annoying." Finding the route to his bedroom blocked, Shinji headed for the living room instead. Misato followed. "Now tell me how I can help you."
"If you try to help me, you'll just be hurt. Stop trying to bring pain to yourself for my sake. It doesn't suit you." The words issued mechanically from his mouth, as though they were part of a programmed response that Shinji had prepared for just this situation.
Misato stopped at the door and stared at him. "What are you talking about?" she demanded.
"You obviously don't understand." Shinji stood in the darkened room, his back to Misato. "Trying to help people... all that it's brought is pain. I keep seeing other people get hurt, because of me." He turned and, for the first time this day, he met her gaze, though his eyes remained empty. "Don't try to help me. I don't want you to be hurt anymore, Misato."
Misato's fists clenched. This was getting to be more than she could stand; all the barely-checked emotion of the past two months, coupled with the stubborn foolishness of the situation she was looking at now, all surged to the fore at once. She struggled to keep control. She was on the edge of tears, and her voice came out as a choked whisper. "Don't you understand anything? Do you really think acting like this is protecting you from pain?" She gave a hoarse laugh. "Then your reasoning must be royally messed up, because I don't think I've ever seen anybody so tortured in my life." Misato took a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. "I can't sit back and let you go on like this. Maybe you think you're doing me a favor by keeping me at a distance, but it's tearing me to pieces to sit by and watch you go through this. I have to help you, Shinji, because sitting by and doing nothing is going to kill me. Don't ask me not to help you."
Shinji looked at the floor. "Sorry," he muttered.
Misato exploded. "Don't fucking say that!" she screamed at him. Shinji's head jerked up again, his eyes wide with shock. "Don't you ever say that, damn it!" Suddenly the tears started flowing, but she held Shinji's astonished gaze even as they streamed down her face. "You think that you're the only one who's hurting? You actually believe that nobody else understands you? Do you think that you're the only person in this fucking city who's lost someone?" She took a step towards Shinji, who flinched visibly and began to back away. "I liked Rei too, God damn it! I liked Asuka too! Taking care of her was my responsibility, Shinji! Mine! Not yours! Do you know what it's like to learn that your best friend since college has been stabbing you in the back? How about having the man you love taken away just as you're finally realizing how important he is to you?" She put her face close to Shinji's; alarmed, he took another step back. "You think it's easy to have someone under your care attempt suicide? Or to watch someone, one of the best, most wonderful people in the world, continue to blame himself for all its problems?" Now she was hysterical. "Well, it's not! And if you think, Shinji, that I'm going to let you go on pulling this shit with me, then you've got something else coming! If you don't fucking snap out of it, I'm going to..."
Misato realized that she was jabbing a finger violently at her charge with every word. For his part, Shinji had run out of space to back up and was now pressed up against the wall, his eyes on Misato's finger as if he expected it to grow fangs and attack at any time. Suddenly losing her train of thought as she stared at Shinji's wide eyes, Misato trailed off uncertainly.
Christ, what am I doing? A fresh wave of tears blurred her vision as Shinji's gaze lifted to meet her own. Oh, shit... he's going to hate me. "Oh god... I'm sorry Shinji, I shouldn't have yelled at you, I've just been so frustrated lately. I mean, the war's over, and we're supposed to be done, but they're still making you do synch tests even though everybody knows how much you hate that machine and I know that can't be making it any easier for you on top of everything and whatever I try to do or say just makes it worse and..." She was losing coherence quickly, she knew, but she kept desperately pushing ahead. Please, Shinji, say something, tell me you understand, just don't close up on me again, please... "...and I just wanted to talk tonight, I just wanted to start over again like the past week hadn't happened so I'd have a chance to make things better, but then I blew it and you said 'sorry' and I thought of what Asuka would have said if she'd heard you say that and that just made it worse and..."
She trailed off again and blinked. Shinji was still looking her in the eyes. It took a moment for her to realize that he was crying too... although he was remaining much more composed than his guardian. On impulse Misato threw her arms around him and pulled him close. She could only sob in relief as she felt Shinji's arms encircle her as well.
Somehow they stumbled to the couch and collapsed onto it. Neither of them kept track of the time, but they would later guess that they must have remained there, holding each other silently, for at least twenty minutes.
Shinji finally whispered, "I just want things to be the way they were before."
"I know," Misato sniffed, "I do too." We just saved the world, for Christ's sake. Shouldn't things be getting better, not worse?
They fell asleep together on the couch shortly after that. Before she drifted off Misato realized that she still hadn't really gotten Shinji to talk to her, beyond that final couple of sentences. All she'd done was cry on him.
Despite that, she felt a little better for the first time in days.
In a darkened alleyway somewhere in Beijing, the first action of the new phase of the war was about to be made.
A small flame appeared in midair. It was a flickering orange fire, about three inches from base to tip, which seemed relatively unconcerned by the fact that there was no solid fuel for it to burn. A careful observer would note that the flame ignored several laws of physics; besides the fact that it floated four feet above the ground, it gave off no heat and shed no light upon the concrete walls of the alley. One would also quickly realize that the stench of human excrement and rotting garbage in the alley was almost unbearable. Bringing an open flame here would likely be a serious health hazard, but this specimen seemed unaffected by its surroundings.
There were no people in the alley this night, and so the flame remained unnoticed as it bobbed slightly in the air and began slowly to make its way about in the darkness, dipping briefly behind piles of trash and refuse and reappearing a few seconds later, as if disappointed.
Thirty seconds after the arrival of the floating fire, a second appeared. This one was a deep blue in color, and immediately began gradually moving around in a tight circle, as if impatient.
After several minutes the orange flame was apparently satisfied with its inspection of the alley and returned to its azure counterpart. The two tiny lights circled each other briefly for a few seconds; then the blue flame backed away from the other into a corner. It hovered there for a moment, both it and its companion remaining still. The alley was silent but for the barking of a dog somewhere in the distance.
With a sound like the roar of a beast, the blue flame suddenly flared, growing in both directions until it burned at last from the ground, reaching nearly six feet in height. The intensity of the light grew until viewing it was painful and it began to throw off waves of white radiance, bathing the alley in light and causing the accumulated bags of garbage to cast long shadows against the crumbling pavement.
The fire imploded inwards, giving one last blinding pulse of light before going out entirely. In its place was left a small floating orb of flesh. It pulsated slightly and a ripple ran across its venous surface. The orange flame approached it slowly, haltingly, as if wary of disturbing a delicate procedure.
The orb quivered as the flame drew near and began to expand, emitting a wet sound of bubbling and popping. A bulge moved slowly along one of the veins as if something within was trying to escape. A quiet but piercing whine rose from the mass of flesh as the quivering grew more violent, with more bulges pressing against its surface. The orange flame came to a halt a few feet away and waited.
Abruptly the sphere exploded into a writhing mass of ropy tendrils, all twisting and lashing about wildly. They lengthened and grew thicker, binding together into larger tendrils, splitting apart, and changing in texture and color. Four masses of the squirming tissue erupted from the main body, two dragging loosely on the ground, two flopping about in the air. Something wet began to drip to the stones; soon the foul air was made still ranker by the metallic scent of blood.
Numbers of the dripping tentacles would periodically disengage themselves from the mass as though taking a brief break before returning to their task. In the gaps left by their absence could be seen the results of their handiwork. Here and there flashes of blood-streaked white bone were visible, and something that looked disturbingly like a human intestine was hanging loose below the thing. The four protruding bundles of the worm-like creatures no longer remained limp, but were now straight and jointed.
After two minutes the numbers of the tendrils began to diminish, revealing what was clearly a human being, albeit an incomplete one. Bare muscle was clearly visible, often indistinguishable from the bloody strands that swarmed about it. The arms and legs terminated in splaying fan-like clusters of the wriggling worms, which even now were beginning to twist together to form fingers and toes. Although largely defined, the face still lacked eyes, ears, or a mouth; where they would have been were instead empty holes, in which more of the things could be seen, hard at work at their grotesque task.
And now the tentacles themselves were beginning to grow smaller, to divide into tiny strands which wormed their way across the body of what was now definitely a man in his late thirties. They made their way to any location that was not yet complete, doing what could only be described as "detail work." They traveled to the edges of the growing patches of skin and went flat and smooth, forming what became a perfect, unbroken surface. They went to the scalp, arranged themselves, and ceased moving; when inspected, all that could be seen was a bed of spiky black hair. Several squirmed onto his eyeballs, which still lacked irises, and melted into the wet lens until a ring of dark brown, almost black, surrounded each pupil.
Just as the body was nearing completion, a few detached from the man's neck and chest, moving downwards, where they crawled into his navel and vanished from sight. Their erstwhile neighbors rebound themselves, leaving a puckered red scar where before there had been only smooth skin.
When it was done, a human being stood naked in a pool of blood in the alley, where before there had been nothing.
A voice, deep and cultured, emanated from the orange flame, which had not moved during this entire episode. "Interesting... although not as elegant as I would like."
The newly-created man rolled his eyes as he raised his hands above his head and stretched. "Well, excuse me if I'm not quite as up on this as you seraphim, Beelzebub. We bottom-rung angels have to make do with what we have, thank you." His joints popped audibly and he winced. "Haven't figured out how to stop that from happening yet."
Azazel's senior chuckled. "Fair enough." That brief moment of humor ended quickly, his tone once more becoming businesslike. "Now, Azazel, to your business."
Azazel waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Yeah, I know. Stop the meddlers from attacking NERV. I've never played savior before. Should be interesting."
"Don't be overconfident," Beelzebub warned, "this mission is important. You, as before, will bear our standard to the field of battle. If you underestimate your situation, the first move of this game may also be our last. If the First Man and Woman are reunited, we will not have a second chance."
"Don't worry, man! I've got this covered. You guys just sit tight and admire a pro at work."
"Azazel..."
"I know, I know. I'll be careful."
"See that you do." Beelzebub moved close to Azazel and hovered just before his abdomen. "What is this?" the Fallen lord asked, his voice tinged with concern.
"What? Oh, that!" Azazel slapped his stomach and laughed. "That's just an extra trick for the road. Just in case things go wrong, y'know?"
"Do not rely on such tactics, Azazel. We cannot afford to..."
"Hey, hey, easy! Easy!" Azazel raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. "I'm not planning on using this anytime soon."
A sigh rose from the flame. "See that you do not. Farewell." With that, Beelzebub winked out of existence.
"Same to you, old man," Azazel called to the empty alley. He looked about himself, noticing for the first time the state of the place he was in. "Yech! People actually live in this hole?" He cast a glance at himself. "So. Naked, covered in shit and soaked in blood. Welcome to China, yeah?" Shaking his head ruefully, he headed for the mouth of the alley to take a wary glance outside. Seeing no passersby at this time of night, he strolled out into the street, mentally running down a list of places where a naked man could find clothing without being noticed.
Shinji awakened the next morning with a stiff back that he could immediately tell was going to stick around for at least the first part of the day. At some point during the night he'd disentangled himself from Misato's embrace. His guardian now lay unceremoniously sprawled across the remaining three-fourths of the sofa, her mouth wide open, looking like she was in the process of sleeping off a hangover. Maybe, Shinji mused, her body had grown so accustomed to actually being intoxicated that it now always assumed this sleeping position reflexively. The thought made him laugh unexpectedly. Almost immediately he closed his mouth sheepishly, as if he'd been caught in the act of a childish prank; the sound had seemed out-of-place in the silent apartment. He looked warily at Misato, but she just muttered something unintelligible and rolled over onto her stomach.
What had happened in here last night? Misato had come to him, had wanted to help him. She'd said that she couldn't watch him any more, couldn't bear to see him walk the path he was on. She'd been trying to save him, to pull him from the mire of depression that he knew he was sinking into.
Was that it, though? She couldn't watch Shinji suffer. Watching Shinji suffer had caused her pain. She'd already been feeling considerable pain, after Asuka's attempted suicide, Kaji's death, the discovery of Ritsuko's betrayal, and everything else that had happened in the past months.
That wasn't all, then. She hadn't been helping him purely out of altruism. Inaction was hurting her, and so she took action instead, to spare herself the pain of being helpless. She'd spoken up last night as much for her own sake as for his.
And still, Shinji couldn't deny that he had let Misato come to him. He had shed tears too, last night, and they had not been merely for show; her words had connected with him and he'd felt as if there was a bond between them, a link of shared pain. "Misery loves company," the saying went. Perhaps there was some truth to the words after all. When she had pulled him close to her he had felt warmth. It had been a small measure of relief, of happiness.
Shinji realized now that this had been only the second time that Misato had openly expressed this kind of affection for him; it was only the second time that she'd tried to come close. Both instances had been brought about by pain, by despair.
After the attack of the Twelfth Angel, Misato had been desperate to reach him, to see that he was alive. He'd been trapped inside of the thing for hours and by the end she'd been clinging only to a tiny strand of hope that things would be all right. When the hope had materialized in front of her in the form of a Shinji barely conscious and hanging from a thread of life, she'd seized on it in relief, both physically and emotionally.
Last night she'd seen Shinji slipping away, imagined him headed for the same fate as Asuka: an attempted or, God forbid, a successful suicide, followed by confinement in the infirmary and conscious self-isolation from the outside world. The rest of Misato's relief and happiness having already been stripped from her, she'd tried to grab Shinji, her last remaining lifeline, in what she must have seen as her last chance to salvage part of her life.
Why had he allowed her to be close, then? Kindness? No, he decided, he'd been worse than Misato in this regard. She'd come to him in despair, seeking comfort. He'd provided it, but... had he felt any real joy in extending a hand to one in need? No, he decided, it had been nothing but selfishness. When he'd let Misato come close, he'd been giving her what she'd craved, but it had been a halfhearted form of assistance, like a wealthy man giving money to a bum on the street only because it was expected of him. His real intent had been, not to help, but to get personal satisfaction from seeing Misato's pain; to derive some sadistic pleasure from seeing another with nearly as many problems as himself.
Was this true, then? What kind of monster was he becoming? He was no longer simply bringing anguish to those around him; he was beginning to thrive on the pain he brought.
He should leave. He should run away. He should quit his job at NERV, leave everybody; only when Misato, Asuka, Rei, and his father were behind him could any of them hope for peace. Of those prospects, only that of leaving Gendo Ikari brought a small rush of happiness. Shinji didn't notice this, though; he was too preoccupied with what he thought of as his own dilemma.
It was simple, then. He would leave. If he was enjoying the pain of others now, how long would it be before he began to cause it intentionally? This had gone on for long enough.
So you think you don't care about the others anymore. Then why do you still care enough to leave? Why do you not simply stay and prolong their torment? Why?
"Shinji...?"
He realized that Misato was looking at him sleepily, forcing herself awkwardly into something resembling a sitting position. Her eyes and her utterance of Shinji's name both held a string of unspoken questions: "Is that you?" "Are you all right?" "Did you sleep well?" "You're not ashamed of me after that, are you?" and so forth.
"Good morning, Misato," Shinji said, in a tone that he hoped held more animation than he felt, "I was just about to wake you up, anyway."
"What time is it?"
He looked to the VCR, which thankfully had been reprogrammed since the last local blackout. "About a quarter after seven."
"You want to use the bathroom first? I should be able to make something for breakfast. Maybe toast; at least it's hard to screw up."
The conversation was utterly meaningless; any other day they would simply have settled into the morning routine without planning how it would be run. Shinji decided it wasn't worth mentioning, instead forcing his face into something that didn't feel at all like the smile it was supposed to be. "That's okay, Misato. You go ahead and go first. I should be able to make some eggs before you're done."
His guardian gave him a long, searching look. Finally she smiled and said, "Okay. See you in a few, then." She stood and headed for the bathroom.
As Shinji stood up, she stuck her head back in. "Oh, Shinji? Work should be pretty easy today, just so you know. You won't have any synch tests."
"That's good." At least his smile didn't feel faked this time.
"Pilot Ikari?"
Although most who had met her would not have guessed it, Rei Ayanami was quite adept at gauging other people's emotions. It was a talent, part acquired skill and part instinct, which had been cultivated over years of observing the exchanges between the Commander and his subordinates. As time had passed, Rei had learned to differentiate between the minute changes in Gendo Ikari's facial expressions. Now, after nearly fifteen years, Rei could hear a single word from the Commander's mouth, take one glance at his posture, and immediately tell if he was pleased, agitated, impatient, or amused.
Saying that the Commander was an impassive man would have been making an understatement. His son, on the other hand, was far less practiced at disguising his feelings. Before the greeting was even out of Rei's mouth, Shinji's shoulders slumped slightly and his face tilted to the floor, his body language shifting from "I'm bored" to "oh shit, it's you." The Third Child practically screamed "don't talk to me" without saying a word.
For a moment Rei considered the possibility that speaking with Shinji was a poorly conceived idea. Certainly, if he did not want to speak with her, Rei's chances of gaining useful insight from their conversation would be slim indeed. Rei felt a brief twinge of discomfort as she considered that she was making Shinji uncomfortable for her own gain. She forced these doubts down in a second, reasoning that the potential gains would ultimately outweigh any discomfort that the conversation caused.
"Pilot Ikari…" she repeated. Shinji turned about slowly to face her with the air of a man bracing himself for an inevitable punishment. Why does he not wish to speak to me? she wondered. Unwilling to let the thought deter her, Rei continued. "I wish to speak with you."
The corner of Shinji's mouth twitched, as though he was suppressing an urge to laugh. What was he laughing at? Was it her? Did he find her humorous? This is not characteristic of his behavior.
At last Shinji gave a slight inclination of his head, barely a nod. "Why else would you call me? What do you need?"
"I wish to know why I feel as I do about you. When I am around you, I… do not feel comfortable."
Again, Shinji's mouth quirked. "Well, I don't feel comfortable around you either… anymore." He blushed suddenly, his eyes going wide as he apparently realized he had spoken the last word aloud. "I mean, I…" He snuck a glance down the corridor as if looking for an escape route.
So, Rei considered, Shinji shared a similar condition. According to him, however, this was a recent development. "Ikari-kun… we have been near each other for a year. Why do you now-?"
The change was instantaneous and blatant. Shinji's hands clenched into fists and his eyes narrowed. When he spoke, though, his voice remained the sound of perfect calm. "No. We have not been near each other for a year. You have been near me, if you can call it that, for less than a month. She was near me for most of a year. She was my friend." His voice broke slightly, but when he spoke again his tone was once again even. "And in the end, it didn't even matter. She wasn't the person I thought she'd been. She wasn't even human."
Shinji smiled, but the expression lacked emotion; there was none of the warmth that Rei had come to associate with him. "They say sacrificing your life to save another is the greatest act of love that you can perform. What if you can't die, though? It takes the meaning away from your action, doesn't it?" Shinji's voice grew dull, the ironic tone fading away. "You should stay away from me, Ayanami. There won't be another you to take your place the next time my father needs you to save EVA-01." He turned on his heel and stalked off down the corridor, leaving Rei alone.
Rei stared after him even after he turned a corner and disappeared from sight. She reflected that the conversation had proven more informative than she had expected, although not in the way she had anticipated. For some reason, she felt no satisfaction from this.
During the average business day millions of people walked the streets of Beijing, transforming the city into a surreal pastiche of characters from all walks of life. Small children played on the sidewalks. Government workers and industrial managers traveled from meeting to meeting, too single-mindedly absorbed in their business to pay attention to those whom they passed. Thieves and pickpockets stalked said officials, their eyes always peeled for an easy mark. Vendors and traders hawked their wares in markets. Prostitutes offered company for the weary… or the unwary. And, always, there were the soldiers, standing post at street corners, patrolling neighborhoods, lumbering through the city in massive trucks, gliding over it in helicopters.
None of them were aware of the massive facility beneath their feet. If they had been, they would likely have had far more important matters on their minds than the trivialities that normally comprised their day-to-day activities. Even the staunchest, most loyal member of the People's Army would be hard pressed to hold his post if he knew that the intended instruments of his own destruction were stored beneath him.
It was amazing, Azazel thought with bitter amusement, that here, in the midst of millions of their fellow men, the council of puppeteers had been able to hollow out a cavern large enough to house several good-sized villages without any of them noticing. Azazel was unsure if the situation was a testament to SEELE's power to deceive others or to the general populace's power to deceive itself. Either way, it was a rather sad commentary on the human condition.
The fallen angel checked his watch – a gold Rolex according to the street vendor he'd purchased it from, although Azazel was certain it was neither. Only fifteen minutes until the shift change. Time to get a move on.
He crossed the street, slipping easily through the foot traffic. Tossing the newspaper he'd been reading into a trashcan as he passed by, Azazel quickly moved to the hotel and stepped inside, giving the doorman a friendly nod as he did so.
The hotel's lobby was extravagant and spacious, large enough to accommodate several small houses on the inside. Paying the architecture and gaudy decorations no heed, Azazel headed for the elevators.
"Fourteenth floor," he requested as the doors slid shut behind him.
The operator, a young man with neatly combed black hair and a smile that appeared to have been forcibly grafted onto his face, bowed and quickly complied. "Back from work, Mr. Harkov?"
Azazel smiled easily. "Don't I wish it. No, I just forgot something in my room. I actually start in about ten minutes. Looks like this one's going to be another all-nighter."
The operator winced sympathetically. "So sorry to hear that."
"Ah, well… it's a living, right?" With an appreciative laugh from the operator, silence settled over the elevator until it arrived at its destination. "See you in a few," Azazel called over his shoulder as he headed down the hallway.
The fourteenth floor of the hotel was occupied entirely by the staff members who operated the secret facility – a staging area in which the Mass Produced Evangelions were maintained and prepped prior to combat. Although all members of the staff were employees of SEELE, the official record stated that they were the technical engineers for a new United Nations project. As far as any member of the general populace knew, the occupants of the fourteenth floor were in Beijing to construct a revolutionary new air-purification system. Here, the system would eliminate industrial pollution; if the UN propaganda could be believed, a variant of the system would ultimately be implemented worldwide, gradually shifting Earth's climate back to the equilibrium it had enjoyed before the Second Impact.
Or at least, it would if any such system actually existed. If the machines that actually were stationed below Beijing functioned as expected, such concerns as global warming would become irrelevant – along with everything else. With all of humanity a single entity – the will of each individual wiped away in an instant – the only concerns that would matter would be those of the godlike SEELE members.
Pushing that unpleasant thought from his mind, Azazel reached the door he wanted and knocked. "Housekeeping," he called.
"Just a minute!" came the reply from within. Azazel waited patiently for the door to open.
Contrary to Beelzebub's concerns, Azazel had planned his mission with meticulous detail before he'd arrived on Earth. In order for his plan to succeed, he would need access to the 05-series Evangelions – and that required clearance that was only possessed by those who worked on them. To gain that clearance, Azazel needed to pose as an employee. Maintaining that charade would require not only duplicate identification, but also a duplicate body – one whose face, voice, DNA, and retinal patterns matched those of the actual employee. Azazel had kept this in mind when assembling his physical shell that morning.
Therefore, when Peter Harkov answered the knock on his door, he found himself face to face with his own mirror image.
As Azazel had predicted, the man's immediate reaction was to step back in shock. Before he had recovered sufficiently from his surprise to react in any way, Azazel had followed him into the room, one hand closing the door behind him, the other reaching forward to thumb a nerve in Harkov's neck. The SEELE technician was unconscious instantly.
Azazel eased Harkov's body gently to the floor, quickly found his identification, and moved to the closet. Grabbing one of Harkov's spare technician's uniforms, he quickly changed and stepped outside once again, leaving the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door as he left. The entire process had taken less than a minute.
The elevator operator with the plastic smile was still there when Azazel returned. The fallen angel mentally checked off phase one of his plan as he entered the lift. Now he needed to get into the facility.
At the time of Kaoru Nagisa's physical death, Tokyo-3 had become what could only be described as a city of corpses. The landscape, pockmarked with craters, recounted the history of the battles that had ravaged the city. Several of the craters showed signs of landscaping work and attempted reclamation; the damage done by the early Angels Sachiel and Ramiel had vanished completely. In some cases one had to look carefully to see where the Angels had fallen.
No effort had been made to hide the devastation of the battle with the Sixteenth, Armisael. The combined explosion of the Sixteenth Angel and Evangelion Unit-00 had done more damage than any of Armisael's predecessors. Now, several weeks later, the earth remained blackened and scorched; buildings near the edge of the blast remained toppled, with cracks and shattered windows plainly evident. It was as if, with only one Angel remaining, NERV had decided it was no longer worth the effort of reconstruction.
Reflecting a similar attitude, the mobile workers and civilians of the city had, with the Sixteenth's destruction, realized at last that remaining in Tokyo-3 would most certainly be fatal. After all, who was to know how much damage the Seventeenth would do? Unwilling to take the risk, a mass exodus of unnecessary personnel, encouraged in part by NERV itself, had left the city with only a shadow of its former vitality.
Yet, as in any emergency, there remained stragglers, those who, through pride, stubbornness, or suicidal impulse, refused to leave. Those who were fortunate enough still to have homes remained there; others set up camp in abandoned shops and offices. Lastly, there were those who, for whatever reason, remained on the streets, living in camps and makeshift villages in the city's alleyways.
It was these people who occupied the attention of the angel Tabris. In his millions of years of existence, Tabris had never been so intrigued by anything as by the human race. Owing perhaps to humanity's command of his element, free will, the angel was continually surprised and amused by the way men always failed to act as one expected them to. These people were no exception. A society that suddenly found itself without laws would normally undergo an explosion of anarchy; looting, vandalism, and drunken revelry would be commonplace. In the face of the kind of inevitable destruction represented by the Angels, these symptoms would be amplified; with nothing left to lose, even the most reprehensible behavior would suddenly seem perfectly reasonable. None of that happened here. Instead, Tabris observed a subdued, toughened society of individuals who were determined to face any hardship in the company of their allies. Regardless of whether they expected to ride the destruction out or to be killed, the attitude was the same: resignation.
After choosing to flee the Host rather than rejoin it, Tabris had settled into the only place he found to have importance at the moment: the city of his death. For the past few days he'd been watching the people in the streets, observing silently, walking among them without being noticed. He marveled at their resilience, was amused and strangely cheered by their defiance of the Angels who had tried their utmost to destroy them… and was wracked by indecision over his own response to their situation.
Mankind was hurtling towards a crossroads; that much, at least, was certain. What was to be done? SEELE would take the fate of humanity in its hand and steer its course, taking humanity's future out of the hands of the only men and women who had fought to preserve it. The injustice, the sense of being helpless, being manipulated, was uncomfortable. Something within Tabris yearned to step forward and do something. But what could he do?
"You look like you have something on your mind."
As he heard the voice, Tabris became aware of another angel's presence. As the newcomer's power washed over him, his eyes widened with the realization of just who had come to see him.
"R-Raphael…" Tabris stammered unconsciously as he gave an awkward bow. For here was the seraph Raphael, an archangel of the first order and one of the mightiest of his kind. The highest of the seraphim had remained loyal during Lucifer's rebellion and stood at the forefront of the battle against the fallen. In many issues, the will of the seraphim could be interpreted as that of the will of the Creator Himself. Each individual seraph had thousands of lesser angels as personal attendants. For Raphael to come to speak with Tabris personally was a high honor indeed.
Or an ominous foreshadowing, depending on one's point of view.
Raphael waved away Tabris' attempt at a respectful greeting. "Don't trouble yourself. It was I who came to see you, after all."
"Of… of course. What do you need from me?"
Raphael laughed. "I never said I needed anything. Observing humans happens to be one of my favored pastimes as well. I simply noticed you were in the area." The seraph turned and gestured towards an old man who was sitting on the sidewalk, oblivious to Raphael's presence, humming to himself. "They are amazing people, are they not?" Already off-guard, Tabris could only nod dumbly as Raphael continued. "The most powerful weapon in existence could rise up and kill one of them without warning at any moment, and yet they continue living their lives, unwilling to let that even that threat deter them."
These words, so closely resembling his own thoughts, brought Tabris up short. "Then… tell me, Raphael… what do you think of what the Throne of Souls is planning?"
"Men like gods…" Raphael mused, chuckling. "How ironic…"
"Raphael?" Tabris asked, confused, but the seraph seemed not to be listening.
"Ten thousand years ago," the other began, "the Creator made the First Man and Woman. They were perfect in every way, their minds innocent and unblemished. For ages they lived together in perfect harmony and grace under His will. Then came Lucifer, who opened their eyes to the truth, giving them the knowledge of God, a knowledge he believed they were destined to inherit."
"I know this story, Raphael."
"Bear with me, Tabris," Raphael continued with a smile. "By opening their eyes, the Morningstar had stolen their innocence. When the Creator saw that His children had been corrupted in this way, he cast them down from their state of grace and into the coldness of the world. Godlike knowledge was theirs. All that remained for them to achieve was godlike power, and they would truly be able to challenge the Lord himself." The seraph turned to Tabris and met his gaze. "What is godlike power, Tabris?"
Tabris thought for a moment; when convinced that he had arrived at the correct answer, he said, "Eternal life."
Raphael nodded. "But that is merely part of the whole. Power is used to bring personal satisfaction and fulfillment. Truly godlike power, then, is the ability to always bring happiness to oneself, and to bring it to others if necessary."
"Instrumentality," Tabris breathed, comprehension dawning.
Raphael nodded again, grinning. "You're quite perceptive."
This was making less and less sense, Tabris thought inwardly, unable to rid himself of the feeling that he was being led in circles by Raphael solely for the seraph's amusement. "But our Lord cast the First Man and Woman down to prevent them from obtaining His power!" he protested. "Why would He make it possible for these men to do so?"
"Why indeed…" The seraph watched the old man. It was beginning to rain, and he had backed up into an alleyway for shelter. As they watched, two other people, a young man and woman, joined him. They seemed nervous, but he merely smiled and beckoned them closer.
"Raphael… tell me," Tabris entreated, "I have to know what will happen! What does He plan to do?"
To Tabris' irritation, Raphael abruptly changed the subject. "You caused quite a stir when you failed to rejoin the Host, Tabris."
Tabris sighed. He didn't want to talk about this. "What do you mean?"
"Many of the angels were not sure what to do about you. Some were ready to interpret your actions as the start of an insurrection. There was a brief rumor that you were planning to join the Fallen." Raphael's expression was grim. "It was suggested that you be cast down before the corruption could spread to others of the Host."
"Let them."
"Carefully, Tabris; you're the angel of free will, not rash action," the seraph sternly reprimanded him. Raphael's features softened as he regarded Tabris. "The suggestion died quickly when Gabriel and I reminded them that free will is your domain, and you were merely acting in accordance with your nature."
"Thank you," Tabris said sullenly.
"You wish to know what He plans, Tabris? Very well. Nothing."
Tabris whirled to face Raphael, his eyes wide with surprised anger. "What?"
"Nothing at all. He will take no action. The Host will continue to function as is."
"What is He thinking?" Tabris demanded, "How can He simply leave them to…?"
"Why does this bother you so, Tabris?" Raphael asked, folding his muscular arms over his chest.
"Because it's not fair!" Tabris shouted. "All of humanity except for those twelve, their free will stripped away, turned into playthings! How can He desire that?" Fed up already with the seraph's company, Tabris stalked into the alley. Halfway through, he realized it was a dead end and sat down heavily against the wall.
"There are others taking action," Raphael said quietly.
Tabris looked up in surprise. "What?"
"Just this morning, one of the Fallen, probably Azazel or Moloch, manifested in the city of Beijing. We aren't sure exactly what he's planning; whenever observers came close to him, they felt a strong force compelling them to stay away. That would suggest that he's under the protection of a more powerful fallen angel."
"That implies organized action," Tabris observed.
"Exactly."
Tabris put his head in his hands. What was going on? The existing situation was bad enough, but now the Fallen were involved. Fallen angels were unpredictable at best, and their motivations would probably be uncertain until it was too late to do anything about it. On top of that, Raphael himself had come here to tell him about it. Why? What was the purpose, if the Host was expected to do nothing? Had Raphael merely intended to warn him against trying to interfere?
No. There was something else at work here.
What can you do? Tabris asked himself. What should you do?
The place of the angels is with the Host, he reasoned.
But I am not like them. My Lord created me differently.
How can I serve him?
It kept coming back to one thing.
"As I left the Host, the Creator had just given us a message," Tabris spoke up at last.
"Oh? Which one was that?" Raphael asked, raising an eyebrow. His tone suggested that he already knew what Tabris would say and was merely waiting to hear him say it.
The angel decided to indulge him. "He said we were to reassume our places. He trusted us to know what they were."
"Where is your place, Tabris?" Raphael looked at him appraisingly as he asked the question.
"I am the angel of free will. I go wherever my will leads me." Tabris stood and met the seraph's gaze. "My place is here."
Raphael grinned. "I thought you would decide that eventually."
Of course you did. It was Tabris' turn to raise an eyebrow. "Oh? And you came here just to give me that extra little push?"
"Think what you like, Tabris. If you've truly made up your mind, there's no need to be wasting time here. I'm sure you have much to do." Raphael turned to go. "Would you like me to bring the Host a message?" he called over his shoulder. "I can play the part of errand boy from time to time."
"Tell them I will not be returning for a while. At least one of us must continue to fight for the side of good."
"Fair enough. Good luck, Tabris. I'm sure we'll talk again before this is over." Raphael faded from sight as he walked away, exiting Earth's plane of existence entirely.
Tabris stared after the seraph for a moment, then turned back to the three people in the alley. Raphael was right. There was work to be done.
Those in the alley observed a flash of light, which they assumed to be lightning. Their conversation was interrupted when the younger of the two men gave an involuntary yelp and jumped back. His two companions followed his gaze and saw a man in his early twenties with pale skin and unruly silver hair.
Tabris smiled at them reassuringly. "Sorry if I startled you. It's a habit I have. Most people don't notice me when I pass them."
After recovering from his shock, the old man quickly stood and extended a hand. "It's no problem, young man. None at all. In fact, you can share our little shelter here, if you like." The other two nodded agreement.
The angel accepted the other's handshake. "I would like that, thank you."
As Tabris took a seat, the woman asked, "What are you doing still in the city?"
"Just waiting for the end of the world," he answered, as matter-of-factly as if he'd been talking about the weather.
The old man laughed. "Ha! Aren't we all, friend? Well, this city's ridden out worse. We're just along for the ride."
The young man Tabris had initially startled spoke up. "What's your name, stranger?"
"Kaoru Nagisa."
Tabris smiled inwardly. No, he was no longer Tabris. He had been Tabris as the Seventeenth Angel, doing the work of the Lord. He had used Kaoru's name as a shield, a defense against the suspicion of his human foes. Now that he was fighting humanity's cause, the human name seemed more appropriate.
Kaoru Nagisa lived again.
Asuka looked like hell; there was no other way to describe it. Her time on the run and in the infirmary had clearly not improved her condition at all; her skin was starting to look pale and waxy and her formerly lustrous hair had lost its sheen. Were it not for the nearly imperceptible rise and fall of her chest and the metronomic beep-beep-beep of the ECG by the bed, one could not have been blamed for mistaking her for a corpse on a mortuary slab.
"You're not looking very good today, Asuka," Shinji remarked in a conversational tone. Asuka remained silent, her eyes closed, apparently sleeping peacefully. Undeterred, and indeed seemingly oblivious to this fact, Shinji continued speaking. "You know, if you could see yourself right now, you'd probably scream and shut yourself in the bathroom so that nobody could look at you."
The infirmary was thankfully empty at this time; Asuka was the only patient and the nurse was taking a short break, on Shinji's assurances that he would remain in the room until she returned. Shinji didn't know what an onlooker's response would have been to seeing Shinji carrying on a conversation with a catatonic patient, although at the moment he didn't care.
"I didn't think I'd ever say it, but it's honestly starting to seem a little lonely back at home without you," he went on. "While you've been gone, I've had a lot of time to think about a few things: life, love, humanity, you know – and I've arrived at a few conclusions."
He reached out and took Asuka's hand. It felt cold. "First I thought you were crazy for wanting to kill yourself. I couldn't understand why you'd want to do such a thing. My only interest was staying alive until the war was over. That changed when the Fifth Child got here.
"It's too bad you never met him, Asuka. He was a fascinating person – somebody I could talk to and be comfortable around. With you and Ayanami and Touji gone, that was what I really needed. I think you might have liked him, although you'd probably argue a lot. Kinda like the way you argued with me.
"Trouble was, he was thinking about life too, all the time. Eventually he arrived at a conclusion of his own. He wanted to die, but he couldn't do it by himself. I had to help him."
Shinji began stroking her hair, faintly disgusted, yet saddened by its straw-like texture. "I could help you too, you know. It wouldn't take much; all I'd have to do is take the pillow and lean on your face with it. It'd all be over, just like that." Abruptly he straightened, releasing her. "But I keep forgetting, you don't want anybody's help. Except for that one time."
Leaning close, Shinji whispered in her ear, "Misato's not taking any of this very well. Last night she was crying all over me. Can you really imagine it? I've only seen her do it one other time. When I got here, she seemed so strong, just like you. I guess everybody has a breaking point." A tear started to roll down his face; angrily, he cuffed it away. "Just come back to us, okay? I don't know how much more of this any of us can take by ourselves."
Voices from the hall outside made him turn away from Asuka. The door was slightly ajar, and so he could hear them clearly. They were familiar.
"…sorry, Rei, I don't think Shinji wants to be interrupted right now."
"I came to speak to you, Major Katsuragi."
"Me? Uh…" Misato seemed a little flustered, but swiftly regained her composure. "Um… sure, what do you need?"
"I wish to know how I can speak to Pilot Ikari," Rei said simply.
"Shinji? Can't you talk to him during work?" From her tone, Misato was unsure what Rei was asking. Actually, Shinji was sure that she knew exactly what Rei was asking, and was merely trying to change the subject. "I'd think it'd be easy to…"
"I do have opportunities to speak with Ikari," came Rei's even reply. "What I do not know is what to say to him."
"What to say to him?" Misato was decidedly uncomfortable by now. "Ah, well…"
"Why does Pilot Ikari not wish to speak to me?" Rei pressed. "Today he said that he feels uncomfortable around me. I do not see why the fact that I saved…"
Shinji had heard enough. Pushing the door open, he called, "I'm ready, Misato," loudly enough that Rei spun to face him, startled.
"Pilot Ikari…" she said, almost too softly to be heard. The surprised expression on her face was immediately replaced with her usual emotionless mask; with a bow and an "excuse me," she walked away so quickly that Shinji felt slightly dizzy.
Shinji watched her go. When Rei had left his sight, he turned back to Misato and found her looking at the floor with a troubled expression on her face. "Misato?"
"I shouldn't feel like this," his guardian said, without looking up. "I shouldn't feel relieved that you scared her away like that. She was asking a perfectly honest question… but every time I see her I think of those… those things in the tank and…" She shook her head, as if struggling to clear it, and, looking up, seemed to see Shinji for the first time. "Let's go," she said abruptly, and started off down the hall, leaving a startled Shinji to run after her.
Their conversation remained on hold until they reached Misato's car, but by the time the Renault had hit the streets, Misato seemed ready to continue. "You shouldn't have treated Rei like you did."
"I… what?" Shinji stammered, surprised by the unexpected angle to the conversation.
"Rei told me she made you uncomfortable," the Major replied, "but I'm sure that's not all that there is to the story, is there? You scared her, got angry at her, something to make her nervous – otherwise she would have tried to talk to you again instead of trying to go through me first." Her eyes transfixed him. "What happened?"
Misato took a corner at least twenty mph too fast, still with her eyes on him; Shinji's grip tightened on the door handle as she did so. "I… I don't know," he muttered. "I just can't look at her like I looked at the old Rei."
"Are you going to treat her like she's not good enough for you, then?" Misato countered, whipping around another corner.
"That's not the problem!" Shinji protested, hanging on for dear life. "Rei's dead! But she doesn't seem to realize it, and so she keeps trying to act like she's still the original! She acts as though I hadn't noticed that she died, like she can fool me into believing that the fight with the Sixteenth hadn't happened!"
Misato slowed down to a more reasonable speed as they neared the apartment. Shinji continued, "I used to be annoyed with Asuka whenever she called Rei a 'doll'. But now it seems like that's the only word that fits! Father's little doll got broken up into pieces, and now I'm supposed to put it back together again. Why? So that it can throw itself off another cliff the next time he wants it to!"
The car screeched to a halt before the apartments, and Misato looked at Shinji again, her expression unreadable. "Are you angry at Rei, or at your father?" she asked.
"I don't know," Shinji confessed. "What's the point of being angry at a… a tool?"
Misato cocked her head as she pulled the keys from the ignition and pocketed them. "And those months that you spent with Rei, being the only one who really talked to her, who tried to befriend her? What about them?"
"I don't know," he said for a third time. "I wish I could believe they were real, but I can't. Not after she threw her life away like that. Whenever I think about talking to her, I remember that any relationship I build with her will come in second to her devotion to my father. It means nothing if she'll throw it away without question just because he orders her to." Shinji looked at Misato sadly. "When she died, I was horrified, but I was also… joyful, somewhere inside. I was happy that she cared enough about me to give her life for mine. But then I realized that the sacrifice hadn't mattered, and everything we'd been through together suddenly became meaningless." With a shake of his head, he opened the door and got out. "I'm sorry, Misato, I was trying to be less depressing today."
Misato got out as well, still giving him the same unreadable look. What was she thinking? Shinji wondered, hoping faintly that she wouldn't start shouting at him again. To his relief, she waved a hand and said, "You did fine. C'mon, let's go inside. I'm sure we can find a movie or something to keep us occupied."
Shinji smiled. "That sounds good."
"…and the other day my wife told me she didn't think it was fair that the Japanese had to fight this entire war by themselves. I told her I didn't think it was fair that they got to have all the fun!"
As President Schroeder waited for the laughter to die down, Jason Lee fought to keep from yawning. Between the warm sunlight and the anemic pace of the proceedings, the last-minute press conference was taxing his concentration to the limit.
Mark Dillinger, Operations Director for NERV's First American Branch, noticed his discomfort and grinned. "Keep your shirt on," he whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "It'll be over soon."
"Why do these things always take so long?" Jason muttered. "They're politicians, they're busy people! I'd think they'd have better things to do than bore me to death." Feeling another yawn coming on, he struggled to conceal it while still appearing interested in what was happening on the dais.
"Special service," Dillinger replied, chuckling quietly. "They want to pull out all the stops for you; it makes the entire affair seem even more important. You know the Vice-President's always big on saving face in front of the world. They just wouldn't feel right if they didn't do something like this. Now look sharp, you're supposed to look like you're raring to go save the planet."
Schroeder, meanwhile, was continuing his speech. "It is with the greatest pride and respect for our duty that the United States of America send Evangelion Unit-06 to Japan. In this, the most important war that humanity has ever fought, it is of critical importance that all those involved contribute to the common defense."
"Love the way he didn't mention sending me over there," Jason remarked. "Makes it sound like I'm expendable."
The speech went on, and Jason's attention began to waver again. He looked out over the crowd in the audience. Press reporters from every major newspaper in America, Time, and Newsweek, VIPs from major corporations that NERV had contracted for the EVA-06 project, and various foreign dignitaries all comprised the sea of faces before him. Most of them wore sunglasses. Jason didn't like it when people wore shades; they made it impossible to tell what one was thinking, or even what they were looking at. He preferred to look people in the eye.
His eyes fell upon Rachel, seated in the front row. She wasn't wearing sunglasses, opting instead for a battered old Yankees baseball cap that shaded her face. That didn't bother Jason as much; in any case, he didn't need to see Rachel's eyes to guess what she was thinking. It was one of those emotional links that one develops with one's friends and intimates.
Rachel met his gaze, laughed, and stuck out her tongue. Jason realized that his boredom must have been apparent even from the audience. As he watched, Rachel crossed her eyes and began making faces at him. He was about to give her the finger when he remembered that he was on live TV. Rachel knew this too, of course, and was enjoying being able to bug him while he was unable to retaliate. He made a mental note to come up with a suitably unpleasant way of getting back at her for this – then abruptly realized that he wouldn't have a chance for a long time. This revelation caused an unpleasant twinge in Jason's stomach, and suddenly the idea didn't seem so funny anymore.
President Schroeder had finished his speech and stepped down from the podium, to the effusive applause of the onlookers. A moment later the Vice-President, Andrew Kowalski, replaced him. While the President was tall, reserved, and gave a grandfatherly impression to everybody who talked to him, Kowalski was perpetually joking and giggling, in addition to being a strong contender for the title of Fattest Man On Earth. As he laboriously climbed to the podium, the impression he gave was more comical than anything.
"I had a nice long speech prepared for today, but I decided that it wouldn't be good form to bore you anymore," Kowalski began. There was more laughter from the audience as Jason silently worshipped the Vice-President for this benevolent act. "And so, without further ado, I think it's time that we introduced you to the pilot of Evangelion Unit-06, Sixth Child Jason Lee!" He turned and beckoned to Jason, as though he were a talk-show host inviting a volunteer from the audience.
"Heeeeeeeere's Jason," Jason muttered as he stood and walked to the podium.
The President's speechwriter had given a couple of tips on what to say before the ceremony had begun. "Just relax," she'd advised, "and try to be yourself. They're not expecting you to recite the Gettysburg Address or anything, so just get up there and be brief – in the end it'll be easier on both you and your audience. The prevailing message of this ceremony is that we aren't going to let the fighting of this war be left up to the Japanese, so just show a little pride for your nation and you should be fine."
Of course, now that Jason was standing before an actual audience, those few words seemed less and less distinct. Every eye was on him, even the ones behind sunglasses, and Jason suddenly found himself at a loss for words. Silence settled over the assembly for a few seconds; when Jason finally spoke, the voice seemed to be coming from somebody else's mouth. "I'd just like to say what an honor it is to have been selected for this duty. Umm… When I was a kid I'd always dreamed of saving the world from aliens, and now I'm actually going to be able to do it!" Ah, hell, he thought, might as well go for it… "I, ah, I know we've all been waiting for a chance to see somebody unleash some good old-fashioned American justice on those things, and I just want you all to know that I'm gonna be kicking ass for every one of you!"
The crowd erupted into laughter and cheers as Jason finished. He snuck a glance to the side, half-expecting there to be people holding up Applause signs. Seeing none, he felt a little better.
Kowalski took the microphone from him. "NERV is on a tight schedule, but we should have time for a couple of questions, if anybody would like to ask the Sixth Child something."
The sea of faces suddenly transformed into a sea of waving hands. "Just point," Kowalski whispered in Jason's ear, "and they'll take care of the rest. You're doing good so far; keep it up."
Jason nodded, took a deep breath, and pointed. "You, over there."
He couldn't even tell to whom he was pointing, but the audience apparently could, because only one voice responded. "How long have you been a pilot?"
Thank God, an easy question. "I've been training with EVA-06 for almost a year now; NERV selected me only a couple of days after the war began."
"How do you feel about piloting the Evangelion?"
Jason shrugged. "It's a weapon. Honestly, I don't think it's too much different from a tank or a fighter jet. It's actually easier; you have to learn how to fly a jet or drive a tank, but with an EVA, all you do is think about fighting." He laughed. "'Course, there is a little nervousness involved in piloting the most powerful weapon on the planet, but I think I can handle it, y'know?"
"Do you think you're prepared to travel to Japan? What do you think it'll be like, being a newcomer amongst pilots who've been fighting this war for a year?"
"My only real concern right now is the language, but I'm thankful to say I had an excellent tutor, so I think I'll be able to communicate without embarrassing myself too much." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rachel shaking her head and rolling her eyes. She'd asked him to avoid mentioning her. Well, he hadn't done it – at least not by name. So there, Jason thought, chuckling inwardly. "As for working with experienced pilots… I think they'll realize that I can carry my own weight." That was an out-and-out lie; all Jason could do at this point was hope that the pilots wouldn't take an immediate dislike to him. There was no point in worrying about it now, though.
"Is your sister… available?"
Jason blinked. Where the hell do they come up with these questions? He snuck a glance at Rachel; apparently realizing that every camera was likely pointed at her now, she was doing her best to look amused rather than annoyed. "Uh… I wouldn't want to speak for Rachel, so you'd have to ask her yourself," he said into the microphone, "but I wouldn't recommend it to anybody who values his continued breathing." No longer concerned with the cameras, Rachel smiled broadly and gave Jason the finger as the audience laughed. "Oh, and she's not my sister."
"What is your opinion of the recent buildup of UN troops related to allegations that NERV is planning to use the Evangelions in conventional war?"
"Uh…" I knew the hard questions would star sooner or later, Jason thought dismally. "I just want it to be made clear that I'm going over to Tokyo-3 to fight the aliens, not humans."
"And if the UN were to attack you while you were there?" the reporter pressed. "What would you do?"
I'd fight back, of course, he thought, realizing as he did so that that was one of the worst answers he could give. Shit, now what do I do?
He was saved as Vice-President Kowalski smoothly cut in. "I'm afraid that we're out of time right now. The plane will be leaving shortly; just rest assured that all of your lives are safe in the hands of this boy." With that, he steered Jason away from the podium and to the back of the stage.
"Aren't they going to be suspicious about you cutting them off like that?" Jason asked as they walked down the stairs and onto the pavement.
"That was a loaded question, I was just cutting our losses," Kowalski responded. "Anyway, that was a great job you did up there. I especially loved that part about Rachel. No speech is really complete without a little bit of humor, right?" He chuckled.
"Right," Jason answered, but the mention of Rachel had set off alarm bells in his mind. "Uh, Vice-President Kowalski…"
"Yeah?" The fat man stopped and looked at him, his eyes holding a questioning look.
"Could I talk to Rachel for a minute? I know we're on a schedule, but…"
Kowalski smiled warmly. "Already been taken care of," he said, gesturing ahead.
Jason followed his gaze across the tarmac. A maintenance vehicle was pulling into position before the sleek black EVA carrier, and he saw Rachel's blond head (still wearing the old blue cap) among the figures that climbed out of it.
The Vice-President checked his watch. "Still, as you say, we are on a schedule. What do you say we step it up a notch, eh?"
The two of them jogged the rest of the way to the carrier, Kowalski having slightly more difficulty than Jason.
"We've got five minutes until takeoff, Mr. Kowalski," a crewman informed the Vice-President as they arrived.
Jason ignored the rest of them and went straight for Rachel – who took off her cap and promptly smacked him with it. "You bastard! What are you doing, telling them to ask me if I had a boyfriend?"
"Hey, hey!" Jason protested. "I thought you could take care of yourself!" He rubbed his head where she'd hit him. "And watch it already, that hurt!"
"Good, serves you right," she said in mock anger.
Jason's heart sank as he considered what was coming; nevertheless, he could only grit his teeth and get on with it. "So, this is it…" he tried.
"What's this, Jason? You getting all sentimental on me?" Rachel chided.
Jason's smile was halfhearted. "Well, I am leaving, you know…"
Rachel's expression softened as she regarded him. A moment later, though, she brightened again. "Right, you're leaving. And soon you'll be serving up 'American justice', and I'll hear about all your exploits and tell my friends 'I live with that guy!'"
"Lived," Jason corrected. "I'm gonna be on the other side of the planet, remember?"
"Don't be like that." Rachel stepped close and put her arms around him. "When you come back, I'll still be there."
Jason returned the embrace. "Yeah, but…"
"And don't even think about getting killed over there." Rachel interrupted without looking at him.
Jason sighed. "Christ, you think of everything, don't you?"
"I know you too well," Rachel laughed. They held each other in silence for a moment; finally she whispered, "I'll miss you. You know that, don't you?"
"I know," Jason responded. "I'll miss you, too." He looked at her face and saw that she, like him, had tears in her eyes. Without another word he kissed her and held her more tightly.
That moment seemed to slow down the way romantic moments always did in the movies, but it eventually ended.
There was a light tap on Jason's shoulder, and Dillinger said gently, "Jason, it's time." The two broke away, each wiping their eyes and apologizing for the delay. The Operations Director waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry, it's no problem at all."
Jason looked at Rachel, but she'd already turned away. Finally he sighed and said, "Alright, let's go."
The two turned and walked to the ramp. At its base, Dillinger stopped Jason and handed him a small folder. "This has some information about the people you'll be working with, and some data on the enemies they've fought so far. You've got a long flight ahead of you, so you may as well read it over."
"Got it."
The Vice-President saw they were ready and came over. "Jason, I just want you to know that if there's anything you need, you can let me know. I'll see that you get it."
"Yes, Mr. Vice-President."
Kowalski rolled his eyes. "Just call me Andrew, Jason. All my friends do."
"If you say so, Mr. – Andrew," Jason responded dully.
The VP noticed his look. "Ah, and don't worry about Rachel. We'll see she's taken care of."
"I wasn't lying before. She can take care of herself."
"Self-reliance, eh?" Kowalski laughed heartily. "I respect that." He leaned close and asked confidentially, "So, how does she keep that figure? Can you share with me any of her secret weight-loss tips?"
Dillinger interrupted Kowalski's attempt to lighten Jason's mood. "Andrew, we do have to get going."
The Vice-President snapped back to reality. "Well, I'll just have to ask her myself, then!" With a broad smile at Jason, he said, "Take care of yourself – and remember what I said. Anything you need." With that, he turned and strode back towards the milling reporters.
Dillinger clapped Jason on the back. "Good luck out there, kid. When you meet her, tell Major Katsuragi I said hello."
As he climbed the ramp, Jason took one last look back at Rachel. She was looking at him now, and seemed back to her usual cheerful self. Waving enthusiastically, she shouted, "Bye, Jason! Kick some ass for me, will you?" The sight raised Jason's spirits.
"I'll send you a souvenir for every monster I kill," he promised.
Jason stepped into the carrier. The ramp rose into place and the door slammed shut; Jason was left alone with the hum of the craft's engine as it prepared to bear him away from the only home he knew.
Gaining entry to the SEELE facility had proven to be easier than Azazel had expected. Retinal scans, ID checks, and urinalyses all had gone off without a hitch. None had questioned his identity, and, so far at least, no friends of Peter Harkov had attempted to strike up a personal conversation. There was no indication that anyone suspected that the technician was anything other than who and what he claimed to be. It had seemed almost too easy.
Not one to let a little uncertainty deter him, Azazel had simply set about performing Harkov's duties as technician. The task currently at hand, he discovered, involved making final combat adjustments to the Mass Production Series. His current job was to oversee the welding of the Evangelions' white, fibrous armor to their bodies.
It was unsettling to work on the gargantuan beasts. The knowledge that any one of the EVAs could single-handedly lay waste to the entire cavern and much of the city above was nearly as disturbing as the fact that the weapons, the machines, were composed of living, breathing flesh. Even NERV's Evangelions were hideous, but there was something that seemed even more wrong about these things. Azazel supposed it was their faces. The unnaturally lengthened heads were devoid of recognizable humanoid features of any kind, save for the perpetually leering mouths that, with nothing else to lend them emotion, gave the impression of a sadist tormenting his victim.
After six hours of toiling under their eyeless gaze, the fallen angel began to wonder about the mental state of SEELE's long-term employees. Detached from the situation though he was, Azazel nevertheless could not shake the pervading sense of wrongness. These abominations had been modeled on Adam's image, but the First Man's spark of divinity had been denied to them. Soulless, they were nothing more than mindless engines of destruction.
Stretching, Azazel allowed himself a small smile. That would soon change.
"All right, good work, people," he congratulated Harkov's crew. "Double-check this plating for me, will you? I'm going to go ahead and check on the last monster."
One of the other techs laughed. "Right, we don't want to be delayed if Biotech screwed up." Chuckling, he turned to one of his coworkers and went on, "Remember that time we stripped the armor off of MP-06 and found all these little tentacles growing underneath it? Poor Anders nearly lost his…"
The crew
erupted into laughter as Azazel walked away.
The Fallen allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. Joking would keep them occupied for a while
longer than he had anticipated. He
would have all the time he needed to carry out his plan.
The hulking form of MP-EVA-09 loomed above Azazel as he approached on the
chest-level walkway. Most of the
Evangelion's armor was already in place; only the chest and abdomen plates
still needed to be installed. In the
harsh light of the cavernous facility, its grotesquely perfect white teeth
seemed to be set in an even wider grin than that of the others. Azazel could almost feel its gaze on
him, mocking his arrogance. Come,
it seemed to say. Do your worst, I
do not fear you.
"I accept your challenge," Azazel told it as he arrived at the EVA's torso, "but I believe you have underestimated your opposition."
The weapon's body was a wall of glistening pink flesh, rippling periodically with involuntary twitches of the creature's massive muscles. Barely visible, a network of blue veins pulsated just below the surface of the flesh. Although the Evangelions were immobile without the activation of their S2 engines, here in the facility they looked like nothing so much as caged beasts, the combined efforts of SEELE's engineers barely restraining them from launching into a rampage of destruction and death. Soon they would know what it was like to have their beasts slip their bonds.
Azazel removed one of his latex technician's gloves and, without hesitation, placed his palm against the undulating surface. Mere physical contact, he knew, would not be enough to serve his purpose, and so he willed his mind into a state of calm, tuning out the outside world and focusing only upon himself and the being that he touched.
His perception of himself as a physical being began to fade, leaving in its place an increased awareness of his soul, of the being that was Azazel; he saw himself as a contradiction, a being as proud of his individuality as he was to carry the standard of a group. Azazel saw this, and accepted it as truth.
Other technicians would have observed Azazel's bare hand gradually growing faint and incorporeal. With a faint hum, the fallen angel's ghost-hand pressed into the Evangelion's body, gloving itself to the elbow in the creature's flesh.
Azazel detected the Evangelion's presence, not as another being, but as a void. Rather than being a conscious soul, MP-EVA-09 was a black hole, a vortex of nothingness, existing only to draw outside material into itself. Azazel felt the EVA's pull on his consciousness, an inexorable tugging sensation, calling him to spiral into the void. He knew the dangers of giving in to the call. Although surrender would not destroy him, as he spun into the vortex he would lose himself, becoming less and less his own being and progressively more a part of the Evangelion.
That was Azazel's plan, and the riskiest part of his operation. To give a part of himself to the abominations while retaining most of his soul for himself; that was his goal. He was close, he knew, as he felt the vortex pull more insistently at his being. Attempting briefly to withdraw, to become himself again, he noted with grim satisfaction that the vortex held him trapped in limbo between itself and the world outside. There was only one thing left to do.
Making an escape, trapped as he was, was impossible; the Evangelion's grip on his soul was too strong. And so Azazel's soul began to stretch and tear, like an ensnared animal gnawing off its own leg to ensure its own escape. As the small portion of himself gave way, excruciating mental agony seared through Azazel. Past, present, future, and memory warped and distorted, then snapped back into place, sending miniature shockwaves through his mind. Somewhere, the fallen angel's soul was screaming…
…and then he was lying on the maintenance catwalk, his hand solid and outside of the monster's body once again. The sound of pounding footsteps came ever closer, and as they did, the confused jumble of thoughts in Azazel's mind struggled to reorder itself. Get up, stand, act normal, a voice desperately warned, and so, without knowing why, Azazel complied. Men were all around him, concern clearly written on their faces, asking if he was all right. Must get out, he realized. Faintly he heard a voice say, "I think I need some air," and understood that it was his own. The men parted, giving him room to leave. His feet acted of their own accord, bearing him out of the facility and onto the street above.
Three blocks away he finally collapsed against the side of a McDonald's. The searing pain had begun to abate, and with its passing Azazel found himself able to think more clearly. The soulless Evangelions were a vacuum. The fragment of Azazel's soul that had been ripped away now resided within MP-EVA-09. It would remain dormant until the creature was awakened, at which point it would diffuse into the dummy plug, and, through it, into the other eight Evangelions.
Although it would take time to observe the results of his labor, Azazel's mission had been successful. The Mass Produced Evangelions had been corrupted.
Tokyo-3, the voice piped up once again. Azazel understood what it meant. Resolution written in his eyes, he pulled himself to his feet once again and began to walk, leaving SEELE's maintenance facility far behind him.
It was a number of factors, Subcommander Kozo Fuyutsuki had decided, that made the Commander's office seem so intimidating. For one, it was the length of the room. The office was at least twice as long as it needed to be. Entering the office at one end, visitors had to walk nearly its full length to reach Gendo Ikari's desk. All the while, they knew that the Commander's gaze was on them, measuring them as they approached. Their view, on the other hand, was incomplete, as the windows silhouetted the Commander. The red tinted glass made his form hazy and indistinct, making him seem ghostly and ethereal, somehow more than human. Then there was the Tree of Life etched upon the ceiling. Those who did not know its meaning saw it merely as a vaguely disturbing occult symbol. Those who did also knew what they were doing by following its path: walking from Earth to Heaven, becoming divine.
Although Fuyutsuki knew his former student never allowed such insignificant things to affect his judgment, he was fully aware that Commander Ikari knew well their effects on others. Fuyutsuki was accustomed to the environment by now, but, even after the years of working with the Commander, he still felt that faint discomfort around him.
Fuyutsuki pushed the minor concern from his mind as he moved a bishop into position to strike Gendo's king. Right now he had larger problems on his mind.
"The United Nations and SDF forces will strike soon," he warned. "Tomorrow morning, at the earliest, two days from now at the latest. The Sixth Child will be arriving tomorrow; they'll want us out of the way before we can use EVA-06 against them."
Gendo gave no indication that he'd heard his subordinate, instead merely moving a pawn to block the bishop's assault. This also revealed a discovered attack in which Gendo's queen could eliminate Fuyutsuki's remaining rook.
Unfazed, Fuyutsuki continued with his assessment of the situation. "The combined land and air power of the SDF will be easily sufficient to break through our stationary defenses; there will be nothing we can do to forestall their advance. Our emergency security measures will prevent immediate penetration of the Geofront and the upper levels of HQ, but those will be only a temporary measure. An N2 mine will suffice to break through the armor plating and into the Geofront, and we have no defense against that manner of attack." Fuyutsuki moved the rook out of the way, placing the king, once again, in check.
Gendo grunted, although whether it was in response to the game or Fuyutsuki's report was unclear. Immediately the king was moved to safety, placing the queen directly in the rook's line of fire.
Fuyutsuki took the queen, his elation at his success tempered by a sense of foreboding. "SEELE's forces need EVA-01 on the surface to implement their plan. That means either launching it or penetrating into Central Dogma. Naoko's countermeasure will prevent them from using the Magi to launch it remotely, although a manual launch is still possible from within. We are prepared to place it under lockdown to prevent such an eventuality. However, that does nothing to account for the 05-Series, which will be able to enter the cages in the same manner employed by the Fourteenth Angel, albeit slower." He regarded Gendo grimly. "The defense is hopeless."
"Have a little faith, Kozo," Gendo spoke at last. As he did so, he moved a knight to fork-attack the Subcommander's king and bishop. "We need only delay the attackers."
The Subcommander resignedly moved the king and watched glumly as Gendo took the bishop. "We still need time. What are you waiting for, Gendo? You have all that you need to achieve instrumentality now!" He punctuated this by slamming the rook onto the board hard enough that the pieces jumped. Gendo was once again in check.
"Patience," the Commander chided. "It would not do to seize victory without allowing them to think that they've secured it, would it?" He moved the king once again; another discovered attack from his bishop pinned the offending rook to Fuyutsuki's own king.
Fuyutsuki slid the king out of harm's way. "Be sure that that doesn't go both ways, Gendo."
The Commander's other knight captured a pawn. "Call the Third Child in to NERV tomorrow morning. When the attack begins, launch Unit 01 to intercept."
"What?" Fuyutsuki stared in disbelief. "Ikari, you're handing their weapon to them! What will Shinji do against the 05-series? Even he can't stand against them all!"
"Yui will protect him."
"You can't count on that!" Standing, Fuyutsuki began to pace the room. "And what of Shinji himself? After what he's been through, do you think he'll simply say 'yes, sir' and use that thing in combat again? Against other people, no less?"
The Commander rose to his feet as well, looking his onetime teacher squarely in the eye. "He will fight, if he sees what will happen when he refuses." He looked down at the chessboard. "Checkmate," he observed.
Fuyutsuki saw that Gendo spoke the truth and swore. "Take care that your arrogance doesn't get us all killed, Gendo."
The other laughed and, in an all-too-familiar gesture, pushed his tinted glasses back into position. "When the scenario is fulfilled, my arrogance will harm no one. Nothing will prevent that from happening."
Author's Notes
Hello, readers. I'd like you to meet this guy I know named Shinji. Shinji, these are the readers. Shinji, readers; readers, Shinji. Oh, so you know each other already? Good! Well, now that the introductions are out of the way, we've been able to actually get the ball rolling on the story.
This marks my first attempt at interaction between canon characters of an anime series (except for some crappy DBZ thing that I scribbled out back when I was young and intellectually vulnerable and thought DBZ was cool). I'd like to think that I got the dialogue and development to flow pretty naturally, given everything that Misato and Shinji have been through. Actually, the first scene with both characters was one of the easiest to write; I got it out in a little over an hour. Maybe I just thrive off of others' pain…
A hearty "thank ya kindly" to Akodo Tim and Hiryu, who both pointed out the inconsistencies that would have confused the lot of you. If you're all still following the story so far without too much head-scratching, it means they're doing their job. If not… that probably means I shouldn't have decided that I knew better than them. -_-
Same drill applies now as before; read, review, and be helpful. Or read, rave mindlessly, and be ignored; it's your choice, after all. Thanks to those who have reviewed so far… (what? No complaints? Damn, this is going to go to my head real fast…)
Chapter 2 preview: The first intricacies of the Fallen plan begin to come fully into play, leaving both NERV and SEELE reeling. Azazel and Kaoru meet face-to-face and "discuss" the recent turn of events, while Shinji finds himself once more thrust into the battlefield, unaware of the cosmic struggle that is once again unfolding around him…
Until next time.
