RichardRahl—Oooh, bugger. Noooo! Stay away! Keep that spoon away! Clutches
legacyZero—Blood Royale? I'm going to have to find this. Yes, Makoto and Sam/Peter and Shigeru are Kensuke and Touji. They're here 'cause Eva just ain't the same without them. Oh well.
Karibanu—Shuriken is pleased that you like her ways. Of course, I'm absolutely terrified of you now.
Disclaimer: I do not condone or practice the below actions.
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Ocean Red
Chapter Nineteen: We Four...
A Neon Genesis Evangelion Fanfiction
By CrimsonNoble
-
"So…" Ye Olde Ancient One stared. "Why the hell did you bring them here?"
Shuriken puffed out her chest. This had the oh-so-very-close-to-interesting effect of proving that she had, in fact, cut her right breast off. Seeing as she was left handed, this confused several people she knew to no end. Her blue dreadlocks whipped feebly in the vague impression of wind from the fan.
"They knows 'bout Havok and shit."
"That's nice. Why do I care?"
"Shut up, 'Dachi."
From his folded position on the only chair in the room, the Ancient One tapped his knee. Oddly, it was not with the customary appendage, which would have been his left foot, but with his fingers, and moreover they weren't even on the usual side of his body. His posture was, as ever, perfect, though there was certainly more of a forward tilt at his waist than usual.
He's interested, Shuriken thought.
"How?"
"Shigeru-" she indicated the boy with glasses, and Nodachi interrupted.
"-Makoto!" Shinji objected.
She smacked him for the interruption. "Shut up, 'Dachi-hacked the DeForce comps."
Red eyes widened. "With what?"
Shuriken automatically reached out to hit the Ancient One too. Absently he caught her hand and cranked her wrist to the breaking point, holding it there for a second or two. "Like I'd remember?"
"You should."
"Why should I?" Shuriken demanded.
She received one of the hardest hits she'd ever felt in return. "I expect it."
From her position some twelve feet away, and through a wall, Shuriken replied: "Oh. I didn't ask anyway."
"Wake them up."
'Dachi grinned. "Do I get more fingers?"
The Ancient One stared at him for a long moment. And longer still. 'Dachi wilted under the stare. And wilted some more.
"Okay!" He hissed. "No fingers! I got it…"
"What?"
"Shut up, Shuri."
She smacked him again, across the back of his head. He retaliated in kind, and the force with which the strikes were delivered progressively increased until 'Dachi slammed face first into the floor. His nose broke, though he didn't notice this until he rammed his foot into Shuri's back, forcing himself into a headstand to do so. He only noticed it because his nasal cavity filled with blood, forcing him to sneeze it out.
Shuriken pounced on him as soon as she could, and from there it degenerated into a brawl across the floor.
Ordinarily, the Ancient One would have encouraged this. In fact, he would have tossed weapons to them, in an effort to make it more interesting. Then again, ordinarily he would have had the survival room at his disposal. As things stood, however, he wanted to know how the boy with glasses had hacked to that level of security in the JSSDF.
So he tossed a blade-indeed, it was just the blade-into the squirming mass that was Nodachi and Shuriken, with both alternately trying to ground and pound or pull the other into some sort of lock. The blade tore a chunk out of 'Dachi's left earlobe, and continued on to impale Shuriken's hand. Both swore, violently. This would have been startlingly impressive, as they dove through a dozen languages in as many seconds (not even the same dozen), if he had not been the one to teach them profanity in the first place.
'Dachi took the opportunity to ram Shuriken's face into the floor, before standing up. That wasn't fair, he wanted to say, and then thoroughly congratulate the Ancient One.
He kicked Shigeru-Makoto. When the boy didn't wake up, he did it again. And again. The fourth kick brought the sound of ribs breaking. The boy woke up. He screamed. Shinji pouted.
The Ancient One made a summoning motion with his toes. 'Dachi obeyed, trotting over like a puppy. The Ancient One grabbed him by the back of the head, and rammed his face into the floor. "Don't," he said by way of explanation. "Leave," he added after a moment.
-
Shinji tugged open the box he had appropriated as his mail.
He squealed with happiness. There, in his box, sat a nice, fat credit card taken out in the name of NERV.
"Shuri!" He roared up the stairs.
She struck him across the back of the head. "I'm over here, fuckface," she said.
"Look!"
"It's… a credit card."
"This is not just any credit card!" 'Dachi's arms whirled about, "This is the beginning of a guerilla war on NERV!"
Shuriken hit him again. Apparently she'd missed his off switch.
"Calm down and shut up."
He nodded. "Away!"
She hit him again.
-
A priest stepped out of the monorail. He wore a long jacket, the better to hide his army of Bibles from the wary public. His eyes glittered cobalt from beneath a pair of thick, bottle-bottom glasses. He wore a cross on his left ear, and his non-regulation length hair trailed down the left side of his face, hiding most of it from view. Beneath, his skin pebbled - as though from cold water. The only difference was the tan, lighter on his cheek. He donned gloves, white, so that he need not touch people with his skin.
Behind him trailed a sister, garbed in much the same manner. Her hair, what there was of it, hid beneath a hat of sorts. From the hat dangled crosses a brace of crosses. Her skirt swept around her ankles, and though she was short it made her seem taller.
The priest glanced toward the local derelicts and fingered his collar nervously.
"Japan," he whispered to his companion, "is a land in which seeds must be sown. This NERV is an obvious blasphemy."
"Yes Father," the sister replied in heavily accented Latin.
"It must be damaged in the public eye."
"Yes Father."
There was a whirring noise as the monorail departed.
"Now go forth, and do my bidding."
She went. She went to the bathroom.
So did he.
Minutes later he emerged, and squatted before one of the derelicts. He held out a hand, in which he squeezed two cards.
"Here, my son," he said calmly.
The derelict looked at him blearily. Immediately he knew he had made a good choice. Help, there would be.
"Take them," he said. "Use them well, but worry not about it. The Lord provides."
He dropped the cards on the derelict's lap. Then he left.
The derelict looked at the cards. One was an identification card, with his face on it. The other was a credit card.
He picked them up slowly.
-
He shrugged out of the stifling jacket, and split his collar open to cool off a bit.
Damn, if his 'suit didn't run hot.
He shed the gloves and the glasses. Then the rest of the uniform, leaving him clad in only the skintight, black 'suit. He pulled on a long sleeved, neon green shirt. Then a pair of offensively orchid pants, which he fastened with a violently violet belt. The priest uniform went in the trash.
After a moment's search, he located the duffle bag his partner had dropped off. He unzipped it, drew out the six cans of carbide and checked the seals.
Technically three of them were made of glass, but he called them cans. No, he didn't care if they were technically something else.
The seals held. Good. He replaced the cans, picked up the bag, and walked toward the T3A. It was but ten minutes away.
He walked through, looking for the bathroom closest to the aircraft. He entered calmly, glanced around to make sure it was empty, and went about his work.
There were eleven things inside the duffle bag. The six cans, a lighter, a pack of NERV-brand cigarettes, a screwdriver, a full can of NERV-brand Raid, and a box for it all. He rammed the screwdriver into the lids of all six cans, four times each. He lit a cigarette and placed it on a sink. He placed everything but the cans and the Raid in the duffle, shoved the gun into his pocket, and pulled the bag on.
He dropped the cans in each of the stalls. Then he left.
He walked away. Very quickly.
He mimed checking his watch, swore violently, and burst into a run.
The cross danced below his ear.
He was not two hundred feet from the bathroom when the makeshift explosive detonated.
-
She stood against the brick wall at the back of the alley, gazing innocently at her pursuers.
Please, police, she thought. Six inches closer.
Her hands were white, and held behind her. The long skirt had gone, having served its purpose. The hat had too. She was left in long, oversized cargoes, cinched at the waist with a length of rope, and something that was not, in fact, a shirt. It was a sort of plastic paint, sloshed on. It was also neon green. Her dreadlocks hung around her face.
Six inches.
One step.
The policeman took it. His flashlight beamed in her face, and he started to ask why she was there.
Her hands whipped out in front of her, and she pressed the button on the can down. The stream of insecticide took the man full in the face, and he dropped, screaming.
"Wha?" the next cop already had his gun aiming toward her, but she was already in his face, left fist buried in his gut.
And flex.
His body jerked, and her hand came away red to catch his gun. She reached back and snatched the first policeman's gun from where it lay, still spinning. The safeties were already off, she noted.
She stayed in the dying man's silhouette, propping him up with her knee as she shuffled back. She braced her arms on his back, and fired three times into the remaining two officers.
She dropped the guns, scrawled a message on the wall in blood, and walked away.
-
She shoved a gun against his temple. He knew this because it she told him. She told him because she wanted him pissing in his pants terrified. He was.
"NERV is not pleased with you."
He shivered.
"So, you see, I'm here." The gun wandered around his skull as she circled. "I don't like you." Her clothes were hideous. Hot pink on white. "And my employers don't like you." A flower on the back, La Vie en Rose above it. "But more importantly, the Mother doesn't like you."
"Who's the mother?" He croaked out.
"The Mother is the Mother. But see, NERV don't want you dead. And this is upsetting. So, be very careful, because my fingers don't like staying still."
It was the worst threat he'd ever heard. It was also the only threat that had ever been directed at him. He nearly defecated on himself.
"But because they don't want you dead, I'm going to give you some very, very specific instructions. Don't bother nodding." He stopped. "First, you are going to tell everyone about this little incident. Everything. Or I will kill your family.
"Then you are going to publicly accuse NERV of trying to kill you. You are going to do everything possible to investigate NERV, and bring charges against them in humanitarian interest."
He started to nod.
"I said don't nod.
"And you are going to begin within a week. I do so hope we understand each other."
Then she struck him across the back of his head, knocking him out.
-
The Ancient One sat; everything perfectly in place. To his left, a bottle of orders. To his right, a laptop computer.
"It's been a while," he said.
"That it has." She sat in front of him, fingertips held less than a centimeter apart and above her knees. "You haven't changed."
"Everyone changes."
"You don't." She laughed.
"True enough. You haven't changed either.
"Please, Six. We were freaks."
"Shut it, Twelve." If the Ancient One was Six, and the woman was Twelve, the man was Three. He watched the other three warily, with what attention was not focused on the computer in his lap.
"Get an ulcer, Three."
"Get a new haircut, Twelve."
"How did it go, Nine?"
The second woman shrugged. "They're questionable."
"Twelve?"
She smiled contentedly. "Reliable."
"Three?"
He tapped his laptop. "They're good. When they want."
"We all know about mine, non?"
"Know and wish. They're good for their age."
"They're good, Twelve, because I made them that way. Have you been negligent?"
"Six, yours are the easiest to pass on."
"Mine are half complete."
"No one cares, Nine."
And almost at the same time: "Which half?"
"Their bodies are complete," and a glare for Three, "and their minds are weak."
"How so?"
"No restraint, even when it should serve them best."
"Ah."
"Where are yours?"
And a shrug from Six, the Ancient One. "Returning."
Puzzled: "From?"
"Blaming NERV. I believe they have one of yours, Twelve."
She frowned. "How?"
"I have jewels."
"Hate those things."
And promptly, the door opened. Three stood in it, teenagers, and one seemed to be hanging from the edge of the above floor.
"Oh." Nodachi, "Fuck."
"What happened to the other two?" Shuriken demanded, brushing past her brother-half.
"Old age caught them," Three.
"That's right…" she leaned over him. Standing, he would have been taller by some ten inches. "You're runners, aren't you? Oh no! There's old age! Quick-away!"
He stood, impossibly fast. It took the Ancient One's breath away as it had the first time. Three moved, and Shuriken was pinned to the wall, hand around her neck. The three other seniors did nothing.
'Dachi, however, moving with all the speed of an augmented Saevrok, had his hand at Three's ribs less than half a second later.
"Don't underestimate the 'suit," he offered. "You can't risk letting time catch up."
He glared back, and moved. 'Dachi's action came a moment too late.
Then he was in a hammerlock, his palm against the runner's abdomen. Shuriken's hand almost immediately pressed against the runner's face.
"Don't underestimate the 'suit," 'Dachi repeated, and tore his arm away from the man.
"They're good," Three acknowledged.
"It's the suits."
"Suits?"
"DF tech. Show him, 'Dachi."
The boy struck a theatric pose as the door closed behind him. He drew a hand down his face, tightened his fingers as they reached his collar, and the material parted smoothly as his hand approached his groin.
Shuriken rolled her eyes and struck him across the back of the head. Only the presence of the four seniors held Nodachi back from turning it into a brawl.
The material beneath his shirt was matte black, and looked to be made of thick fibers. Over his pectoral muscles they ran from his sternum to his arms, over his shoulders they drew lines from his neck to his biceps, and so on, following the direction that the muscle beneath would flex.
"Interesting…" Nine moved to inspect the 'suit. "How do they work?"
"Something with implants. The fibers contract. I'm not the technician."
Shuriken, however, knew. She knew so that she could bore anyone who asked about the 'suits to death.
So the next few minutes were hell on earth for everyone present but Nine.
END CHAPTER'D
Sure. Slap someone. OBEY!