I do not own the rights to Neon Genesis Evangelion, or any of the characters, equipment, or locations written in this fanfiction. The purpose of this fanfiction is merely for the non-profit enjoyment of other readers. If requested by Gainax, Hideki Anno, or other parties which represent aforementioned objects in this story, I will remove it promptly.

Chapter XXII:

I don't remember how it ended up the way it did, the class representative, Shinji and Kensuke in my apartment late Monday night, but that's how it worked out. Kensuke was the first to visit, as usual, sometime around three o'clock. Anyone in their right mind would not simply stare at their guest waiting at the door, and ask blandly "Why are you here?" However, social skills are like a foreign language to me, and those were the precise words I used.

"You... scared everyone," Kensuke breathed. The bruises were changing color now, but the swelling looked like it had gone down. He handed me my NERV identification and the black blazer I had been wearing before. It appeared my use of force had not quite gotten the message across, as the jacket was torn and cut in several places. Seeing I was frowning at the quite expensive piece of clothing being mutilated, Aida glanced down at it as well. "Those girls, they did that."

"I shouldn't have left it behind," I grumbled. "Will you stay for dinner?"

"I... just came by to deliver these," he explained. "Misato, she said she never wants to see you again."

"Fine by me," I huffed. "She's a loser anyway."

"Asuka... she hates you."

"Okay," I replied. "I guessed that much."

"Hikari- I mean, the class rep, she doesn't even know what to think." Aida kicked his shoes off lazily, and followed me to the living room. "She hates what the other girls have done, but what you did was worse."

I turned my head, glancing back at the boy. "And what do you think?" Aida cringed for a moment, and took a deep sigh, shaking his head. That was enough of an answer for me. It was clear I had put him through enough trouble for a while. "I see. I am sorry, Kensuke." I was about to drop the conversation entirely when a thought crossed through my mind. "How is Shinji?"

"He locked himself in his room," Aida sighed. "I tried to talk to him, but he just told us to go away."

I nodded.

•••••••••••••

Hikari Horaki walked cautiously into the apartment, studying the contents in detail. I noticed her grimace when she passed by the famous picture of the Marines raising the flag on Iwo Jima, and the replica Articles of Surrender signed by General MacArthur. "You know Ira Hayes was the only member of the Iwo Jima flag raising who was still alive before Second Impact?" I asked casually.

"I didn't know that," the brunette muttered. "Ms. Ikari, we need to talk."

"I'm not going back to school, Ms. Horaki," I interrupted, "and that's final." The girl sighed, and then she noticed Kensuke dozing in the couch. "However, would you care to join Kensuke and I for dinner?"

"What will you do?" she whined. "You can't just skip secondary school!"

"I was already attending college when I came here, Ms. Horaki," I grumbled. "Unfortunately, NERV has a habit of forcing pilots to attend the same class. Perhaps it has something to do with keeping all pilot qualifiers under the same lock and key."

That last statement caught the guest's attention, just as predicted. "What did you say?" she asked.

"You mean you don't know?" I exclaimed in a sarcastic tone. "Gee, let's think about this. All of you in Class 2-A lost your mothers at an early age, all of your fathers work for NERV in one respect or another, and all of you were born after Second Impact. Those are the same three requirements that make Asuka and Shinji pilots. I don't think I need to teach you inductive reasoning."

Aida was now awake, stunned. Both Children were standing, staring at each other, then back at me. "That's why Touji was chosen," I spat in hate. "Of course, he was used as a sacrifice. They knew Unit-03 was infected by an Angel, but made him pilot anyway."

"W-why in God's name would they do that?" Hikari screamed. I felt a small, feminine hand grip my shoulder, spinning me around to face the girl, her eyes starting to tear up. "How can you say such-"

"Commander Ikari, Shinji's father, is the who made Touji pilot," I growled. Horaki started to cry. "He is also the one who made Shinji destroy the Eva, with Touji inside." Kensuke began to turn pale. I pushed the girl aside, and reached above the refrigerator to the bottle of whiskey Ritsuko and I drank from as a sarcastic celebration of her last day in the apartment. I was glad she was gone. Otherwise, she would have to meet the victims of her choices.

"Tell me, what do you think about Shinji?" I asked the two Children, pouring myself a shot. "Did you bother to think of him as a person, or just another weapon to protect you?"

"He's a pilot," the boy explained. "We have to admire him, for everything he does for us!"

Kensuke's words stung at my brain. "Do you know how many times he has tried giving up piloting?" The two shook their head. "He has tried at least twice, that I know of. Both times, he was forced to pilot again because people's lives, your lives, were in jeopardy. Both times he gave up his will, his life, everything, all for mankind." Opening my mouth, I dumped the contents of the shot glass down my throat, rolling my eyes as the burning alcohol cleared the sinuses. "Do you know what mankind has done for him in return?"

Hikari was sobbing, avoiding my eyes, but Kensuke was studying me with concern. "You people haven't done a thing for Shinji! You have taken everything that made him human away from him, then complain that he doesn't want anything to do with people?" Slamming the shot glass down, the two Children jumped. "You owe them; Shinji, Asuka, Rei, Touji, you owe them all!"

The two stood there, sobbing and shamefully contemplating my words when the phone rang. It only took thirty seconds to know everything was going horribly wrong. "How fast can you run?" I asked the two guests, setting the phone down.

•••••••••••••

Twenty minutes and thirty-two seconds: that is the time it took to run from my apartment to the train station nearly three miles away. Normally, I would have never been able to run at such a pace had I not taken interest in finally getting in shape during my sophomore year in college. The rec center was free to students, and I had no excuses. However, my new peers did not hold themselves to such stringent standards as my buddy in the ROTC program who pestered me consistently to meet Army standards. The fact I was a civilian was no excuse for a half-assed regimen.

Hikari was the first to vomit hard as we rounded the last corner, the brown-haired boy on the station platform not three hundred feet away. Kensuke was next, falling into his bile as he collapsed on the stairway to the platform. It was all left to me as I sprinted up the last few steps, my suit soaked in sweat and sneakers scuffed from the hard pavement. "Shinji!" I shouted, gasping for air.

Ikari turned, his eyes dully staring at me. "What?" he asked in annoyance. "Will you tell me not to run away, too?" He must have been practicing his English. Perhaps he had expected this confrontation. It wouldn't have dawned on anyone else, but Shinji was smart, and when needed, quite cunning. The problem is that few people noticed anything beyond his failures at human interaction. Although carefully planned, his subtle probings to test the environment of conversation were often shot down as too soft, too quiet, or too introverted. I wouldn't have been surprised if he knew from the beginning I would confront him like this.

"No," I said, leaning over, setting my hands on my knees. The sweat beaded on my forehead, running down my face. "You can go if you want." Glancing up at him, he seemed to shift on one foot, then regain his composure, focusing his attention at the rails ahead. "Shinji, why did you want to protect these people? Why bother?"

"This will... not work," he grumbled.

"No, seriously," I continued. I gestured over to a plastic and steel bench next to a wall displaying the various routes of the train in the metropolitan area. Ikari sat hesitantly, following my action. "These people, they hate us, they use us, but they know they need us. They are the worst kind of people, and they do not deserve to live." Staring with my one good eye, I asked my question again. "Why did you protect them?"

Ikari seemed on the verge of tears, but never truly cried. Was it possible that Rei could be more human than him? As I studied him during our conversation, it occurred to me Ayanami was not as inhuman as the fans made her out to be. At least as a partial clone of Yui, she retained some of the woman's humanity. Shinji, on the other hand, had more in common in Gendo, and none of the softness of humanity to refine him. In a way, he was far more dangerous than his father. He was a creature with emotions, but without the knowledge necessary to control them.

"Helping others," he began, "is that what makes them like you?" The surviving Ikari clenched his fists. "If helping others, living and dying for them does not make them like you, what does?"

"You cannot expect them to like you," I explained. "They do not even respect you." Shinji nodded, glaring at me. I glared back, finding myself clenching my fists. There are some people that irradiate emotions. Even for people like me who get as much emotional hints from a person as a rock or a tree, people like Shinji Ikari, people who have suffered, they know how to make it very clear as to precisely what they are feeling. "Shinji, do you hate me?"

Ikari nodded.

"But, do you respect me?" This time, Shinji did not know the answer, and looked again at the tracks leading out of the station off into the distance. "A person can hate someone, but still respect them as a human being. So I ask again, do you respect me?"

"I... do not know," the boy mumbled.

I took a deep breath. This was something I knew Shinji had to know. "Shinji, there is someone who will respect you and love you as a friend." The boy glanced my way, then back at the tracks. "He will be the Fifth Child, and he will also be the Seventeenth Angel." At that moment, Ikari shifted, and I almost didn't notice his right fist balled up, ready to strike. "Rokubungi, your father, will order you to kill him, but you will do it willingly-"

Shinji's fist smashed into my lower jaw, and I toppled off the bench onto the cement floor of the train station. I blinked twice before my vision began to clear, Shinji stradling me, his hands gripping around my throat. The Third Child snarled as I stared up at him helplessly. "Go on, do it," I grumbled. "What's the matter? Go on, kill me!"

Shinji snapped out of his anger, staring into my eye, then down at his hands. "COME ON! DO IT!" Ikari's hands loosened, leaving welts around my neck as he fell into my chest, beginning to cry. "WHAT? You going to sit there and cry like a baby, or do what you have to do?" Sighing, I wrapped my arms around the boy. "Shinji, listen to me," I whispered into his ear. "Are you listening?"

Ikari nodded, tucking his head into my neckline. It took every ounce of my will to accept the fact he was treating me as a female, as was expected of him. Sometimes I pitied how all the biological aspects such as hormone-driven emotions were denied me. While I didn't have the difficulties of the typical teenage female hitting puberty, it is far harder to function as a man in a woman's body when you are unwilling to behave as a woman.

"You have a choice," I explained. "Forget duty, forget reason." Easing him off of me, I rose to my feet and extended my hand, helping him to stand. The boy was blushing, and I was almost ready to lash out at him for thinking that way about someone he was told was his sister. However, the survival of humanity, no, rather the survival of Shinji Ikari required I continue on this course. Screw the rest of humanity. They were the ones responsible for forging a weapon like Shinji. "Do what you need to do, for you. What do you want?"

"But... I have to kill the Angels," he mumbled. "If I kill them, it will all be over-"

I gripped Shinji's shoulders in my hands. "Nothing is over, Shinji," I hissed, the quote obviously coming from one of Stallone's better films. Suddenly, I had the feeling I was being watched. Turning, I found the purple-haired major helping the wretching, exhausted Children to the platform. Her eyes were on me, studying me as if I were nothing but a worthless insect. "Nothing is over," I repeated, directing my message more to Katsuragi than Shinji. "You don't just turn it off!" Ikari shook his head, not understanding.

In the end, he would never understand. None of them would.

•••••••••••••

I walked into the kitchen, taking the collected glasses and dishes from our impromptu dinner to the sink. Over the noise of the running water, I could still hear the movie continuing. It was almost over now, the sad theme song "It's a Long Road" playing over the speaker. First Blood was another of my favorite films, but it did not go over well with the others, including Kensuke. A few seconds later, the end credits began to roll, and I could hear the occupants of my living room shift uncomfortably in their seats on the couch.

"That was... depressing," Hikari said simply.

"I found it very appropriate," I replied. "Now, who's up to watching Unforgiven?"

"If you didn't know, we still have school tomorrow," the class representative protested. "We have wasted enough time."

After a few minutes, the Children shuffled out the door, Shinji the last to leave. "Why?" he asked with pleading eyes, his body frozen in the doorway. "Why did you want to die?"

"If you do not stop me, I will take steps," I answered, my black eye devoid of emotion, of human weaknesses. "You will not like what I will do." The young Ikari shook his head. "Remember, as long as you have power, use it! Not for Misato, not for Asuka, not for anyone else but you!" I took a deep breath. "Commander Ikari, your father, is planning to start Third Impact."

The Third Child shuddered, and bolted out the door. "To think I admired you," I grumbled. "You were never running away to me."

•••••••••••••

The large steel crate arrived at the port in Tokyo-2 early the next morning. Maya complained at first, but after I insisted I would never bug her for another favor again, she gave me a ride to the docks. "What is it?" the lieutenant asked, surprised. "Who sent it?"

"Ritsuko did," I replied casually. "I asked her to buy it for me, and ship it as soon as possible." The workmen pulled the retaining pins and swung the door to the steel container open. The sharp, refined curves of the vehicle were covered gracefully in the protective white canvas. A swift but gentle tug of the car cover revealed what I had been waiting nearly two months for since my compensation was partially paid by Gendo.

The car was in rough shape, but not as bad as I had driven before. The paint was corroding and patched with flat black primer spots. A quick inspection under the hood revealed everything I needed to limp home, but not much else. How could someone strip the turbo off a car known for being turbocharged? Opening the driver side door, I fastened the shoulder belt, turned the ignition, and after three grunted protests, the engine roared to life.

"Excuse me," one of the work crew began. "You can't drive this home! It's not registered!"

"Watch me!" I said, extending my NERV identification and flooring the gas. I had no intention of ever registering this car, or even getting the title put in my name. The 1987 Buick Grand National GNX was a rare vehicle, even in my world. It pained me to remove the identification numbers, the only tags which made this car worth anything. Like any General Motors product of the 1980s and later, of course, the vehicle identification number was impossible to remove without taking out the windshield. So, I did the next best thing, and simply painted a strip of flat black primer over the windshield which revealed the VIN code.

The sputtering engine must have given my position away, but I continued to use as many side streets as possible until I was safely out of the city. Almost by fate, I had found the perfect spot for the Buick's storage: a derelict, decaying auto shop on the edge of Tokyo-3 which paralleled the tracks of the city light rail. In fact, it was the only building left in the small town which was demolished for the construction of Tokyo-3's rural highway.

The bolt cutters, sledge hammer, and bag of tools I had purchased the day before gave me all I needed for a quick, forced entry. The interior consisted of rotting pin-up girl posters, dented, stained concrete, and a rusted solid hydraulic lift. Even with the broken windows, it was perfect.

Three hours and a few plywood boards later, all of the broken windows were covered, the remaining ones painted over in thick spray paint. I swept the floor, checked over the remaining tools, and for security purposes, added a few trip wires with some improvised boobytraps. Then came the extra stash of clothes, three hundred thousand yen, and a few weapons from my collection scattered in the condemned office of the shop. One heavy padlock and a stolen "for lease" sign later, everything was secure.

The hike from the auto shop to the last station along the train route was only about half a mile. Everything seemed fine as I paid for a ticket with spare change, avoiding the use of my NERV identification at all costs. I thought everything would go smoothly, as long as I avoided looking towards the on board security cameras in the cars. I was wrong.

"What are you doing here?" a man's voice asked as I stood near the door. I tried avoiding any reaction to the question clearly aimed at me. If I reacted, it would prove I understood fluent English, and therefore was the person they were looking for. Again, the voice called out. "Susan Ikari!" the man shouted.

Kouzou Fuyutsuki walked up to me. Then I saw his companion, a gray-haired boy of about fourteen, maybe fifteen years, the pale face smiling at me either as a warm, gentle face or a smug predator giving it's prey a false feeling of safety. "Oh crap," I grumbled. "Kaworu Nagisa, it is... interesting to meet you."

The professor raised an eyebrow, but Tabris just grinned in amusement.

End of Chapter XXII

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