"My life and loyalty to the Home Islands, their traditions and their Emperor. Death before dishonour." Japanese oath of allegiance. By law, a citizen must swear it.
III
Shinji leaned his head against the hard-plastic window, bag obviously placed on the seat next to him, small suitcase slotted into the compartment above. Passengers were squashed together like tinned sardines around him. Everyone, from politicians to tourists, made the commute to the Capital.
The train looked as if it had seen better days, although it slid effortlessly along anti-grav rails. Litter sprinkled the floor like salt on a meal. The electric hum of the train's Manmitsu engine, coupled with inane gossip and the screeches of children, made him thankful that he'd jammed his earphones in. Shinji rubbed his brow.
So this is what it's like? He shifted uncomfortably, as if the walls were closing in. To think, people do this every day. He futilely turned up the volume of Mozart's majesty as one of the little ones behind him ear piercingly screamed about a lost toy.
Shinji sighed. He watched the world go by to try and take his mind off it. The golden sun bore down on the Kanto plains through a clear blue sky.
Beneath the watchful gaze of Mount Fuji, rolling hills were covered in thickets of forest with the occasional lake hidden among them. Emerald green fields stretched out intermittently, the occasional settlement even less so. Most were ancient villages and towns. The wooden, pointed and curved roofs marked them out. One or two were modern, cream concrete blocks and grey roads built upon refugee centres thrown up immediately after the Eruption and reused during the war.
I was born in a place like that. Weird to think mother and father lived there for a few months. He struggled to picture it. His mother was no slouch, but from what he remembered of the camps during the war it wouldn't be to her taste. As for his father, Shinji chuckled. Cold and aloof, the mere idea of Gendo Ikari having supplies be shoved into his hands and told what to do was hilarious. He'd always imagined his father as man who would look like a frightened owl when caught unawares.
Live there they did though. Their house, along with the entirety of Old Tokyo, was swallowed by the Antarctic Wave, what his people called the "Flood of Tears." When the dams were built and the water drained, none returned. No one wanted to live in the mass grave of eight million people, and that was what Old Tokyo remained to this day. It was a sobering thought, that even the hideous atrocities at Fukuyama were dwarfed by such a loss of life.
"Hello." Shinji frowned, thinking he'd heard something.
"Hello." He blinked and tore his gaze away from the window. A plump middle-aged woman in stewardess uniform stood there, pushing a trolley. Immediately, he paused his music and took out an earphone.
"Sorry." Shinji forced a smile.
"No trouble. Would you like anything?" She smiled back, far sweeter than he could ever manage.
Shinji looked over the various packets of sweets, crisps and cake on there, then shook his head. "I'm alright. Made myself a packed lunch and tea."
"There's chocolate bars waiting to go here…"
"I'm fine. Really." Out of sight, his foot fidgeted in annoyance.
Her brow wrinkled, as she seemed stuck halfway between moving on and staying. "You know I've been on this train since Kure too? You've been sitting by yourself all the way."
"Oh." He dropped his gaze. "I didn't have anyone to travel with. Anyway, we're close to my stop, no need to worry."
"If you're sure-"
"I'm sure. But thank you for checking on me."
It's nice to know someone cares.
Unconvinced, she nodded reluctantly and moved on. Shinji was tempted to put his earphones back in, but it would be useless. It was too noisy. In response, he unzipped his bag and retrieved a hefty tome with faded red cover.
He grinned childishly. Still as thick and decayed as the day he found it in 2008, in that pile of kindling he'd snatched it from, Shinji held it affectionately.
Can't believe those vandals were going to burn you for warmth.
Of all his small collection of books, each special in their own way, this one was precious beyond the rest. Others had grown up watching Gundam or Dragonball; his great fictional journey had been to Middle Earth, with Tolkein as his guide.
Shinji delicately turned the well-worn pages. He plucked his flask of sencha from its holder, and gently put the hot liquid to his lips. Warmth shivered through him. Never mind all these petulant brats, he had a good book and a nice drink.
I'm never having kids. He winced as a little girl screamed for no apparent reason.
Shinji looked out the window and tried to picture the Shire in the heart of rural Japan with little luck. Still, although it had lessened, his smile had not faded. Even though it was a symptom of unyielding thirty-degree Celsius temperatures, it was a beautiful day.
Sunlight glinted off something far above. He squinted and managed to split the flash into four snaps of white light. Shinji couldn't make out any shape, but he knew what they were, their formation a dead giveaway.
Aviation Corps. Probably part of that mobilization. Given their direction… He looked over his shoulder, picturing their current trajectory and where it led back to. They've come over from the east. Either they're patrolling, or they've called up wings from across the country. What is this about?
Eventually the glints swept out of sight. Vapor trails streaked behind them. Despite being so far up, the craft and pilots of the Imperial Japanese Aviation Corps took his breath away. In 1999 most warplanes couldn't make Mach 4; Kazes could make it past Mach 5. H-Fields, it seemed, were fantastic at reducing drag.
He admired them, these people who kept him and everyone else safe. Not many had his privilege of being able to put a human face to the Emperor's warriors. Within a refugee camp, they'd shared their rations with a frightened, lonely, and hungry child for more than a year.
Shinji leaned back into his seat and smiled. There he'd toddled around after them, as many supplies as he could manage in his small hands. Every little helped back then, which earned him more than a few ruffles of the hair, and even a sweet when one went spare.
The smile then faded as a sad frown grew. They had been the same sort as that grey eyed young man who carried him out of the rubble and bandaged his broken and bloody hand.
Corporal Ryusaki, I'll never forget what you did for me. Thank you.
His chest grew heavy. It was his lot in life that his best memories must be so intertwined with his worst.
"Hello!" Said a cheerful yet awkward voice that made Shinji jump. An eager, apologetic man in a suit stood there, no older than thirty. He held a briefcase and a newspaper.
"Do you mind? Everywhere else is full." He grimaced.
"Oh" Shinji looked down at his bag on the seat next to him. He winced. "Of course, here." With a heavy heart he put it between his feet.
"Thank you!" The man beamed as he plopped himself down. "It's crazy a few carriages back. Kenpeitai are onboard. Didn't ask, but I reckon they're looking for escapee rioters."
"Hm." Shinji, half listening, slipped his book back into his bag and jammed his earphones in.
They wouldn't be looking for me. Besides, only two of them really saw my face and don't have a name to put to it.
Shinji fought to not recoil as the commuter plopped himself on the seat. Quietly, the teenager slipped his book back into his bag and jammed his earphones in. He tried to lean away without catching the man's attention. It was fortunate they were both Japanese, as the likelihood of meaningless conversation was nigh non-existent. Still, he could not help but occasionally glance over out of curiosity.
Suit…briefcase…and The Nikkei. He's a banker, or someone who's something to do with finance. The newspaper's rustle caused Shinji to ramp up the volume on his MP3. It wouldn't be much longer now, he reassured himself. They'd be at Nakisawame in fifteen minutes.
A mobile phone rang. The man's ears turned red as he reached into his pocket, whilst Shinji masked a scowl. Pulling out his phone, the man flipped it open and sighed.
"Sorry, I've got to take this." He apologised.
"It's fine, go ahead." Shinji curled his toes out of sight, more interested in hearing the genius of Bach.
The man pushed a button and held it to his ear. "Mother? Yes, I'm on the train…"
…mother? Shinji's ears pricked up. Subtly, he turned down the volume.
"Yes, I've got my money. This has to have been the thousandth time I've done this! I moved out seven years ago…"
He could already picture it. Before the man went anywhere, his mother would always check he'd everything he needed. From memory, Yui Ikari's warm smile bore down on him, as her hands gently tightened the straps on his little backpack. Shinji's chest ached.
Try and think of the good things. It's what she'd want. He tried so hard to fill that absence, to no avail. Dampness cloistered at his eyes. I miss you.
"Alright, I love you too, bye!" Smiling, the banker blushed and put his phone away, then looked over at the teenager. "Sorry. My mother's fifty-seven and she still treats me like I'm ten."
Shinji chuckled, awkwardly yet genuinely. "Yeah, that's mothers for you…"
The train lurched to a halt, electric hum suddenly silenced. Shinji grabbed his seat and only lurched forward. The banker was not so fortunate. His nose cracked into the chair in front of him.
"What the…" He hissed, hand clamped on his nose as crimson trickled from his nostrils. Voices rose throughout the carriage, curses among them. Shinji removed his earphones and frowned, irritated but curious.
"Attention, this is the driver." A voice crackled across the announcer. "A state of emergency has been declared for this entire region and we've been ordered to vacate immediately. Our apologies for the inconvenience, full refunds will be offered at Osaka. Once again, we apologize."
The outcry rolled like a wave over the entire train. Shinji soon joined them with an explosive sigh. "Oh, come on!"
Five hours of train journey all for nothing. Now, it would be a miracle if he got back to Kure before six.
The banker ran a hand through his black hair. "State of Emergency?" He muttered. "It's the Chinese…it's got to be…"
Shinji's rolled his eyes, catching the man's attention.
"What?" The banker tilted his head.
"Don't be ridiculous. The Chinese would have landed at Kyushu, like they did last time. It's probably just an earthquake." Shinji let his head rest on the glass window, drained and desperately wanting to be somewhere else.
"Who else could it be? We've a treaty with the Tsar, the Principate's fleet hasn't recovered from that last war, the British are too far south, and Thailand, Vietnam, the Dutch, they wouldn't even dream..." The man shook his head. "It could only be the Chinese."
"They haven't recovered from Kii Channel." Shinji pointed out. "Between our fleet and that typhoon there's hardly anything left. There's no way they could sail all the way around here without anyone noticing, let alone defeat the Imperial Navy."
"What if it's paratroopers, landing ahead of the main invasion?"
"They wouldn't."
"How do you know!?"
The teenager's lips pressed together. "Because they'd be cut off in the heart of Honshu. Even the Chinese aren't that stupid."
"But…" The banker paused and squinted, examining the boy. "How do you know?"
"Because any war fought today isn't going to be too different from the last one. And I know that war very well."
Shinji said nothing more and put his earphones back in. The suited man realised the conversation was over and shifted away, a hint of pity in his eyes.
Phantom cracks, crumps and thuds began to roll through his mind. Shinji turned his music's volume up. Merely talking about the Third Sino-Japanese War, the great clash between the yet unborn Japanese Empire and the People's Republic of China, summoned memories he wanted to forget. Rifle barrels flashed before his eyes as invisible smoke and the stench of death poured down his throat and up his nose. He balled his fist.
Leave me alone…please…
So wrapped up in his own thoughts, Shinji failed to notice the banker be unceremoniously hauled out of his seat. He scarcely had time to register the familiar brown uniformed man, tunic still stained, glowering at him before an iron grip clamped on his shoulder.
"Going somewhere?" Sergeant Kaza snarled. He slammed a fist into Shinji's face. Stars danced across his eyes as he was dragged off his seat, legs refusing to work.
"I-I-I'm going to see my father-" He was smacked across the face again.
"Yes, yes, and I'm the King of France. Now shut up and stand up." Kaza growled, his greying superior, with him as ever. Lieutenant Maeda made no attempt to interject this time, but there was a flash of pity in his eyes.
"E-excuse me, sir-" The stewardess, concerned, had come over. The rest of the carriage had gone deathly silent.
"Stay out of this, miss." The lieutenant said.
"What's he done wrong?" She asked.
"Assaulted a Kenpei in broad daylight, was found at the scene of a riot where Kenpei were injured, fled said scene, and is now, oddly enough, aboard a train to another part of the country." Kaza said icily.
Oh shit. Shinji's stomach dropped into his shoes.
The stewardess helplessly looked between him and the Kenpeitai.
"I-It's alright." Shinji forced out.
No use you getting in trouble on my account.
"There, you heard him. Shove off." Kaza smiled, then abruptly frog-marched Shinji in the opposite direction. Maeda kept a moderate distance behind, wary of an attempt to bolt.
Where would he go though? This wasn't the backstreets of Kure.
What kind of fucking luck do I have!? Of all the Kenpeitai that could have been on the train, it's the pair I pissed off.
"Ugh, put some effort into it you little shit." Kaza pushed harder. Shinji's legs knocked together so much he struggled to put one foot in front of the other. He knew in his heart what would come next. If he was lucky, it was only the beating of a lifetime.
Given that the usual Kenpeitai pair on this train was the exact same one he crossed yesterday, he doubted it.
The other commuters fearfully looked on as he was trooped off. Some forced their children to look away and keep silent.
It felt like the floor shook with each step. Shinji cursed his cowardice. He could run perfectly well in worse conditions. Suddenly, Shinji realised the Kenpei were struggling too. Maeda leaned on a chair to keep his balance.
Kaza had only hissed "what the-" before the brakes of the train were slammed on, and terrified silence turned into screams. Shinji's eyes widened. People scrambled away from the other side of the train, away from a monumental, vertical trunk of serrated bone.
The mighty shin slammed into the carriage. Plastic and steel crumpled from merely a brush. The train was snatched off the rails, its passengers thrown around as if they were in a tumble dryer. Lights flickered and failed.
In mid-air, Shinji shut his eyes, hunched over and gripped his ears. He slammed into a table, then was almost crushed by something warm and heavy. It lay atop him, a shield from debris.
Mercifully, the rolling come to a stop. Shinji was bruised but not cut. Gently, he cracked open his eyes. A shaft of light poured in through the train's former side and current ceiling to illuminate a scene of mangled luggage and bodies.
His stomach twisted. On top of him, lifeless mouth open in a permanent drool, was the banker. He must have been flung from the other side of the carriage. Next to Shinji's face lay the culprit of his demise, a heavy suitcase. Thrown free, it had snapped the poor man's neck instead of crushing Shinji's head.
Shinji whimpered and instinctively pushed the still warm corpse off him. The man who'd so irritated him mere moments before flopped limply against the window, glazed eyes fixed on him.
Shinji trembled and felt familiar nausea rise within him. He clenched his fist, shut his eyes, and drew in a deep, desperate breath to restore control. That done, he looked down on the unfortunate commuter, a grim twist in his mouth. As tender as a mother with child, he reached down and closed the man's eyes.
"I'm sorry." He murmured before getting to his feet.
It was a scene from hell, one of broken bodies alive and dead. Names were called desperately, along with sobs and cries for help. Shinji didn't want to imagine the number of dead in this carriage, let alone the rest of the train.
Up ahead, Sergeant Kaza desperately performed CPR on his colleague. Maeda's experienced eyes were peacefully closed, as if he were asleep.
"No…no…no you don't." Kaza all but hammered on his chest. "You bastard, you bastard…"
"There's nothing you can do." Shinji said, all too familiar with such a scene.
"Fuck off!"
"There's nothing you can do." Shinji pressed, but knew it was pointless. Grief was rarely something you could snap out of.
The Kenpei stopped uselessly hammering on the elder's chest and breathed deeply for a few moments. Rigid, he stood up. His hands twitched, whilst he couldn't look away from the corpse.
"See that?" He said, quietly. "That was the best Kenpei in Kure…and my Uncle." Tears rolled out of his eyes. At that moment, Shinji realised just how young the "rabid dog" looked.
Makes sense. Same eyes... Shinji's mind travelled back to how urgently the younger Kenpei had followed his superior, and how unswerving his obedience was.
"I'm sorry. For what it's worth." Shinji murmured.
Kaza grunted. With a savage swipe of his arm across his eyes, he crushed his grief, likely to be unleashed on the next person who offended him. "It doesn't matter."
A cry for help came from close by. Both young men immediately homed in to find an elderly man trying to lift debris, a full seat that had torn itself free. Without a word, Shinji and Kaza latched their hands around it and pulled, soon joined by a few others. A little girl lay beneath it. She shook silently, left leg bent in ways it was never meant to be as tears streamed from her big brown eyes.
Shinji remained stony faced whilst others grimaced or looked away. The old man scooped the child up in his arms. "It's alright now, where are your parents?"
"It's no use." Shinji gained a look of wrinkled surprise. "She's in shock, you won't get anything out her for now."
"Alright everyone, let's get off this train. File out orderly through the emergency doors." Kaza barked, savage but needed authority in his tone.
Commuters did as commanded and limped towards the exits. Some were as stony faced as Shinji. Others blubbered. Given that he could already feel bruised, he'd no doubt not a single person was unharmed.
"You, get her out." A man in his mid-thirties got the attention of the old man holding the girl. He pointed at the door. "I'll stay here and make sure no one's left behind."
"You'll do no such thing, citizen!" Kaza said. "I'll handle it."
"Lad, you need to get these people out. I'm a paramedic. I do this for a living."
Kaza mulled over that for a moment, then carried on ordering people around. Shinji noted it seemed to come naturally for him.
Stay focused.
"I'll stay too." He stepped toward the paramedic.
The man, potbellied yet jolly looking, frowned. "Boy, it isn't safe-"
"I've seen worse, and you'll need all the help you can get." Shinji put bluntly.
The portly man massaged his eyebrows. "Fine. Anyone else?"
A few voices, mostly male with a smattering of feminine tones, answered. Over the course of the next five minutes, they combed the carriage for anyone else still alive. Shinji's search was utterly unsuccessful, aside from finding his bag.
At least they died suddenly. Wouldn't have known what hit them. Shinji rested his fingers on the neck of a boy, two years his junior or thereabouts. There was no pulse. Why weren't you at school? Why weren't you anywhere else but here?
With a sigh, he closed the teenager's eyes.
"Found one! Over here!" Yelled a woman, some sort of accountant in a black business dress. Darting over, he and the other searchers gently lifted up an unconscious middle-aged woman. It was the Stewardess. Blood flowed like a river from a gash in her forehead.
"Anyone else?" The paramedic asked grimly.
"No, we've been over the whole carriage." Said a forty-something man, glumly.
"Kuso. Alright, everyone off. Now."
The wreck was scattered over half a kilometre of Hakone's countryside. Some carriages had rolled so hard that they were no longer recognisable. Others were outright on fire. Shinji already knew half the train's passengers were probably dead by now. Calls for loved ones, however, were drowned out by screams of terror as dozens ran for their lives.
An eighty-metre-tall figure nonchalantly strode past. Its offending shin, one that had snuffed out at least a hundred lives, seemed no worse for wear. It was humanoid in shape, lanky, with arms that reached to its knees. Covered top to toe in serrated, white, bony armour, a spike stuck out from the back of each hand.
Atop its mighty trunk of a body was an avian like skull from which a feathery red crest jutted. Two beady little eyes peered out, black and unfeeling as the abyss. This was a creature greater than any that had walked this earth for eons and its mere presence cast a shadow that stretched for miles.
Four positron bolts streaked across the sky, fired by an unseen FCV division. They slammed into a wall of solid red lightning, causing the Seraph to buckle but not fall. Irritated, with a wave of its hand it unleashed a storm of its own energy in the general direction of whatever had shot at it.
A H-Field? Shinji looked on aghast. This monstrosity had just been struck by enough firepower to wipe out a city, and it shrugged it off.
Miles ahead, rank upon rank of tanks rolled out to attack their strange enemy, flanked by twelve-foot tall HMAC mechs. Above them, the massed formations of the Imperial Aviation Corps, of fighters and bombers, swarmed like angry hornets.
In their part of the world, this was the strongest military force of them all. All Asia was dwarfed by the might of Japan, now that China was a fragmented shadow of what she once was. The Emperor's soldiers had swept across the Pacific, winning him an empire greater than any Japan had before. Their discipline, their courage and their technological prowess has made the land of the rising sun invincible.
No longer.
The stomachs of all present churned. Shells, missiles and tracer rounds, thousands upon thousands of tonnes of ordinance, slammed helplessly into the enemy's H-Field.
It paused, as if bemused momentarily, then swiped out its hand again. A rushing wind of lightning swallowed all in its path. Squadrons of aircraft were brushed aside as if leaves in the wind. Artillery, armour and thousands of men disappeared in a tide of torn up earth and orange detonation of their ammunition. Shinji's chest tightened at the sight.
All this manpower…they're just throwing whatever they've got at it. They must be desperate…The hairs stood up on the back of Shinji's neck. It got through Defence Line 1, didn't it?
Even as they fought gallantly, Shinji knew they'd already lost. Every attack against this demi-god was futile, and unlike the last war, there would be no miracle typhoon to destroy the Chinese navy. On their own soil, with their own vast fortifications, the Japanese had been swept aside before the gates of Nakisawame itself.
Turn away.
The monster had disregarded them for now. People were injured and if there was anything in his bag that could help, he was obliged to give it. He set it on the ground and searched through it.
Some tissues, some water, hardly anything. Maybe…he reached in a little further and felt his hand brush against hard card. Grasping the object, Shinji's cerulean orbs widened. The photo…oh shit, Nerv!
For the first time in his life, the teenager cursed the fact he didn't have a mobile phone. Teacher had always said they "rotted the brain," so they were never in the house. He walked over to a score of passengers covered in cuts and bruises, one or two less injured walking up and down to check over them.
"Hey, has anyone got a phone?" Shinji asked.
One man, fat and shrivelled in a business suit, smiled sympathetically whilst he reached into his pocket. "Lost yours in the crash, eh?"
Shinji nodded, unwilling to admit the truth of his predicament. The businessman sighed and pulled out a tablet almost as slim as paper. "Make your call, and nothing else." He grunted as he handed it to him.
"Of course. Thank you." The teenager bowed in gratitude, then walked a few paces away for a bit of privacy. He reached into his bag and pulled out the photo. For a moment he let his gaze linger on the lovely Misato, then flipped it over. Dialling the number on the back, he lifted it to his ear and expected a long wait. It only rang for a second or two before a voice answered.
"Hello? This is a restricted line-" Said the operator.
"It's Shinji Ikari, the CEO's son." He cut her off. "I've been caught up in whatever the hell's going on today, so don't send anyone looking for me. It isn't safe."
"Alright, Ikari-san, I hear you. Where are you?"
"…uh…" Shinji looked around and scratched his head. "Some miles west of Nakisawame. I'm near the main railway tracks."
"Got it. Stay there, don't move, someone's on the way."
His heart leaped into his throat. "Didn't you hear me!? Don't send anyone-" The line went dead.
"Fuck!" Shinji hissed.
That's what I get for showing initiative. He took another look at the photo. His shoulders drooped. I hope they don't send you.
