Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Some of you have commented on Shinji's OOCness and the relative shortness of my chapters. I had to decide between frequency of updates versus chapter length, and thought the former would keep my story more alive. Also, when I finish a chapter, it's done. Adding more would detract from the character of the chapter itself. As for Shinji's behavior – Shinji doesn't normally think this way, true. But I'll give you a hint – which one of Shinji's relatives is prone to spouting off philosophical statements, literary quotations, and muses about the behavior of humanity in general? Sorry about the dividers, they were removed when I submitted to this site and will be included in this and future chapters.

Connecting all

The rains of May

The swift Mogami River.

-Basho

There it was, again.

He wasn't quite sure that he had seen it last time, but now that slightest of ripples was clearly evident to his trained (mechanized?) eye. A hollow, dripping susurration accompanied it – but why would water act that way? Striding across the bay at 5:00 in the morning, his tired eye roamed across the vast expanse of water onto the cityscape. All around him, rain fell in its endless dance, the condescencion of Heaven onto earth. Something was up, and he would have to Revert soon. Not an ideal situation.

The Plug was heating up again; wisps of idle steam emerged slowly from cooling vents on his shoulders, attempting to alleviate the metabolic discharge. Nonetheless, the thick laminate felt – unnatural – against his skin. In the distance, the steady beat of construction pylons clanged through the damp air, a metronome for the heart of the city.

The rain would help, up to a point.

Shinji tugged irritably at the neck of his jet-black Combat Plug. It had been five hours already and time was not on his side. Still, he was filled with a weary sense of accomplishment for what he had done – already, the newsfeeds were computing the information. That would fade, however, as soon as he shrugged off the slick plasticate of the Plug.

Like a bolt of lightning through a clear blue sky, it struck.

"What do you mean he's gone from the network?"

At this, Asuka's head jerked up, an uncharacteristic look of concern in her eyes. Limply sitting on an arm of the couch, her locks fell flush against the brighter crimson of the Combat Plug's back. As she stared at Misato's animated form, she frowned.

"Did something happen to baka? What did he screw up now?"

Misato tapped her fingers impatiently upon the counter as she began to speak again.

"Well, I know that we can't very well call it off now! But still, Rits-"

"THE MISSION WAS A SUCCESS? How can you call it that-"

03:03:03

Sachiel, Angel of Water

A simultaneous gasp broke out among every female citizen of Tokyo-3 as the time shifted, impossibly.

The thing caught him in the side, right above the ribcage. Surprisingly, it hurt. Shinji bit back a scream as reflexes kicked in faster than thought, bringing down his fist in a crushing retaliation as both collided explosively with the wall of a nearby convenience store.

The rain seemed to intensify, pattering relentlessly against the side of his face as he opened his blue eyes, glaring with furious calculation at the thing which had brought him down.

Strangely enough, it was blue, almost the color of the rain, an almost viscous texture to it. Its main "body" was transparent to the point where the neosteel skeleton, twisted in a mockery of the humanoid form, shined from the stuttering light emerging from the hole they had created. It seemed to be a composite of semisolid blobs engulfing a streamlined frame. The head, faceless and without eyes, put Shinji in mind of those biker motifs that he saw occasionally in storefronts, head and helmet down and against the wind.

Then he had no more time for thought, as the skeletal three-fingered appendage of his foe thrust itself mercilessly into his stomach. The air whooshed out of his body as he grabbed the intruding limb with pulverizing force and flung the thing violently into another undamaged section of the wall. Part of him pitied the predicament of the owner, but he pushed it aside. The abomination was upon him.

His blows seemed to have no effect upon the almost rubbery surface of the being as he was driven back with a flurry of long-reaching kicks and brutal lunges. As he teetered on the water's edge, the thing kicked high, made to sweep him into the briny depths- he crouched with feling grace, easily avoiding the strike, and charged forward, carrying the thing in an ungainly pose once more into the wall.

The bloodlust was upon him, surging against the methodical calm which he attempted to preserve, and his world degenerated into a single, furious contest of will and flesh and steel. He did not notice when his foe laid a blow on his head, splitting the skin and sending a line of red down his face. Strike, counterattack, leg-lock, double block and twist under…

A meaty pulping sound thudded against his chest as neosteel fingers struck and retracted, dancing past his guard, wearing him down.

Enough of this.

A furious cry tore itself from his throat as he extended his Absolute Terror field, the flickering octagonal design propelling raindrops and concrete away from its source. With strength born of desperation he ordered the implacable wall to reduce his foe to neosteel paste.

His eyes widened, then, as the beast – that had to be what it was, nothing could take on an Evangelion and survive – calmly extended its hated three fingers and stuck them through the field with a horrible, inexorable slowness.

It's…it's negating mine?

It was then that the nerve-links snapped, bonds dissipating fluidly as Shinji's AT field erupted in a dull orange flare and faded from existence. If he hadn't known better, the thing would have seemed smug. But-

Oh god Oh god Oh god, what have I done?

That man- he had just been a lackey, hadn't he? Nothing more than a simple functionary, a normal life…he, Shinji Ikari, had- Shinji had kill- he couldn't bring himself to say it, but the image – that gaping mouth, eyes staring wide with eternal shock, that hole…blood and brain matter, mixed in a gut-churning reside upon the walls, the scent of fresh death-

He was cut from his inner blabberings by the sharp interruption of a right hook. Stars danced across his vision as his face reeled to the side, his body carried in a limp half-turn by the sheer force of the blow. He tasted blood in his mouth.

The impact of the concrete was no less sharp, stunning him out of his reverie of pain as the rubble of past constructions rose to meet his nostrils. Slowly he pushed himself off of the ground, blood and saliva dribbling from his mouth, and stared at his assailant. It appeared as it always had - that calm, alien grace, shaped by overwhelming intent. There was no way he could win.

A paralyzing despair began to seep in his veins as the thing stalked towards him on purposeful limbs. This was the end. He couldn't face it. His eyes squeezed themselves shut. One final thought:

I'm going to die here.

No.