I Knew Him When chapter 8

Adam Kadmon

Disclaimer: keep suspending that disbelief. I do not own Evangelion

Suicide is not a spur of the moment decision. It is not a whim or a passing fancy that those facing setbacks turn to in order to gain relief. While relief may be a motivating factor, it is not the final determining cause.

From the outside, to those who cannot grasp why anyone would willingly stop their own life, it is a cry for help, a desperate plea come too late. It is a thing of vocal confusion and quiet personal horror. It shakes the ingrained belief that life is a precious gift to be enjoyed, despite history and human nature.

For the survivors it is a tragic impulse for the weak and selfish, those not strong enough to face life's challenges and obstacles. It is a senseless loss, a cry in the dark. It destroys happiness and routine. It weakens desire and verve. And throughout it all, the questions remain:

How could they do that?

Did you know they were suffering so much?

What could we have done to help them?

Why?

Because. It is the ultimate because, the critical decision, the last last. The final gasp of selfishness in a drowning tide of pain and misery on a tortuous and Godless hunk of rock hurtling through the dark void of space. Because once you realize that, that there is no glorious secret meaning to existence, that there is no benevolent loving entity cradling our broken spirits, it doesn't matter if you die. The how and when become meaningless and trivial. All that matters, all that becomes material and important is the why. The why do you continue, and the why do you stop.

Why do you gaze longingly at the razor, yet never put it to your skin?

Why do you smile sadly at the pomp of a funeral?

Why are you afraid to go to sleep and hate waking up?

Why?

Why not?

Suicide is a state of being. It is a constant mindset, a creeping reminder throughout the mundane realities of everyday life. It is not a glaring revelation, but a gradual dawning. It is something to be reached by thought, and careful decision, and subdued acceptance. It is a path, a means to an end. The ultimate end.

It is not a course one chooses lightly, or in moments of extreme anguish. The moments can plant the seed, but it is a sustained coexistence with pain and fear and hate that bear the fruit.

And Ikari Shinji knew all of it. He knew it since he was a child, since his mother was swallowed by that false God, since his father left him to murder the rest of the human race, since he stood on that abandoned street and saw Ayanami Rei beneath a flutter of birds' wings, since he saw Ayanami Rei standing on a sheet of blood in the sea.

More importantly, he knew it, he lived it, as the Asuka he thought he knew fell away from him, little by little. It made him sad at first, in those lonely days on the beach. He saw what was happening and he could not think of a single thing he could offer to help her. He would cry for her sometimes. And then he would cry again when he realized she had no clue why he was crying in the first place.

But the tears dissolved as they always did and it was usurped by hate, as it always was.

He hated Asuka for leaving him. He hated her for being able to collapse into her own mind where it was safe and comfortable and unimaginably horrific. He hated Ayanami for making him choose. He hated her for leaving him alone on a world he killed. He hated Misato for forcing him to grow up. He hated her for the terrible reflection she made him see whenever he looked at her. He hated Kaworu for who he was. He hated him for loving him. He hated his father for letting that child who was called Shinji die. He hated his mother for ever allowing him to exist. He hated her for ever existing.

He hated every one of them for making him take their lives.

So they can go ahead and die.

Murder is an incessant rodent gnawing on one's mind. Every time you think you've trapped and exterminated it, two more slip free from your grasp and resume the gradual erosion of your self respect and sanity. And as they go, they drag along many other things as well. Happiness, hope, desire, pleasure, enjoyment, wishes, trust and expectation… the will to continue living what others call life.

Shinji knew it all. He knew it because after living with it for so long he finally felt enough disgust with himself, enough self hatred and self loathing that he could do something about it. He could finally hold the razor to his wrists and do more than press it into the flesh to leave a shallow indentation. He could finally abandon the pretense of hope and humanity and see himself for what he truly was.

He was a worthless, vile, wretched, sick, disgusting, perverted, perverse, pathetic, selfish, diseased, ugly, two-faced, lying, cheating, stupid, weak, sad, useless, murderous, cowardly thing and it was time to stop clinging to the lie that for so long sustained him in a state of perpetual suffering and static existence. The term human was too good for him. Even though humans were atrocious, monstrous beasts without any redeeming quality, he was far worse. He had a chance, an opportunity to make things better, to allow for a change from the crawling hell of earth and he threw it away for what… for pride? For hope? For a false desire given to him under a damnable illusion. What did he think would change?

What the fuck did he think would change?

Humanity didn't change. Humanity never changed. History was nothing but a long, endlessly repeating line of butchery, murder and hate. There was nothing worth saving, nothing worth preserving for the future, save the unshakable knowledge that it should not continue. Even though all men died, it was too little, too late. And Shinji was just a cog in the machine.

But I had a chance.

He had a chance, and he squandered it. Did he deserve praise for choosing life over nameless existence? Did rejecting Instrumentality make him special? Braver? Heroic? A man?

It made him a fool. He had a chance, and now he was being punished for wasting it. Forever and ever. This was his hell.

It made him, for the first time in his life, actively care about when he died, because he finally accepted the truth that he should not be alive. The fear of death, the selfish needs and desires that colored his living existence, the self righteous ire at his being, all were swept away under the immense tide of crushing remorse and culpability.

Of course, for one who knows what comes next, the vast endless sea of collapse, guilt becomes little more than a trifling inconvenience. Nothing but a bothersome nuisance to burden his life until the absolution of death.

But he knew there was no paradise waiting for him. There was nothing but after existence. And he couldn't achieve even that barest of goals. A failure, at everything he tried. And nothing would ever change that.

Ikari Shinji sighed as he noticed the time. He stood up from the floor of his small bathroom and pulled the sleeves of his shirt down past his scarred wrists.

He carefully replaced the plastic razor inside the medicine cabinet, next to the singularly packaged sleeping pills the army issued him, and stared at his reflection as the mirrored door closed. He didn't recognize the face that stared back. It was long and lean, with dark hollow eyes and sunken cheeks. His hair fell carelessly over his brow, thin and brittle. His shoulders were hunched and bent forward, creating a kind of bowl on his chest.

He didn't recognize the face, the image, but he knew who it was. This was Shinji. This was what Shinji had turned into. This was the beast that remained to breathe, to speak, to feel, to live. To be punished. This was all that was left.

This was all.

This… this was…

"This is your punishment."

Mana opened the small box containing her dinner. Nothing special, just rice and a little shrimp, plain, unseasoned. She didn't like to dilute the natural flavors when she ate if she could help it. Living so long on instant made it hard, but she indulged in the practice on the rare occasions she did cook for herself. She smiled softly as she popped a tiny shrimp in her mouth.

She was in her office, forgoing the cafeteria and the crowds. It had become a ritual of sorts. Ever since the Ikari investigation began, she had been swamped with all of the previous files and reports of the doctors who came before her, and she often worked late into the night, not returning home until the moon was nearly gone.

And instead of suspending her work for a meal, she started preparing her own food to eat in her office, still reading the backlog of studies, working straight through lunch, and often times, like tonight, dinner as well. Not that she got a lot accomplished, but it made her feel better.

Taper was gingerly applying pressure on her for at the very least a preliminary report regarding Ikari. No doubt trying to bolster his own position with his superiors, but Mana had long ago made peace with hidden drives in human beings. She was, after all, a former covert agent.

And despite her job, despite her background and position within the military, a tiny nagging part of her felt like she was betraying Shinji by telling people what they talked about. It was, of course, ridiculous, but Mana never believed herself cut out for this work. She couldn't help but feel like she had made a genuine connection with Shinji, and that somehow she should fight to preserve it. 

Including delaying the final report for as long as possible. Besides, the next doctor who interviews him might not possess her generously compassionate nature.

It was a hot night, and Mana left her office door open, hoping to catch a breeze from the central air vents. And to clear her space a bit. With her door closed the room was humid and sticky, despite the air conditioning.

And while it did amplify the noise of the surrounding offices and conference halls and traffic, nearly everyone knew by now to leave her in peace while she worked. Not that the fate of the world depended on her putting together a coherent picture of ten years ago, but they knew she could get a little scary when angry. They had learned early on to give her a liberal amount of space, and it eventually drifted into their treatment of her outside of work, too.

It was something Mana didn't like to think about too often. She didn't have a lot of people she could call friend. Her job discouraged her from getting attached to anyone, promoting professional detachment over genuine compassion and sympathy. Even the training she received when she was a child was carefully designed to avoid connections and friendship. Most of the military's lessons took hold when she was young, before she could find her own voice. And very little had changed over the years.

Even when she did go out drinking or dancing with people from the base, it was with a certain aloofness between everyone invited. Not that she disliked anyone to a drastic degree, but there was a professionalism no one could distance themselves from. Not out of spite, just a lifetime of ingrained ethics and control.

It was tiring, and frustrating, but it was the life she had chosen. There was no turning back now. She was in too deep. No one could throw her a life preserver even if she asked for it.

"Knock, knock," a soft voice wafted in from the hall.

Mana glanced up, not really angry at the intrusion, after all she had her door open, but most people knew to leave her alone when she was working. She surprised herself by actually being pleased with who was in her door.

"Asari," she said with a smile. "It feels like ages since I saw you last. Still under the heel of Seki in admissions?"

"Where else would I be?" He gave her his gentle grin. "Though it still astounds me this is where I am today. A far cry from what I was trained for."

"I know. I ask myself what I'm doing here every day. This desk is as close as I'll ever get to piloting again. I know I shouldn't be bitter; I'm a lot safer here. It's just… I don't know. I don't think I'm cut out for this job."

"I disagree," Asari said. "You always were the compassionate one out of our little group. I think it was a natural evolution for you to do what you're doing. Being a doctor, trying to help people… it makes perfect sense to me."

"Less than a minute and you're already flattering me. You're shameless."

Asari, like Musashi, was an old comrade from her glory days as a giant robot pilot. It wasn't just luck that found the three of them under the same base's roof. The military brass, ever the bastion of common sense, decided their old team should be close together, just in the off chance their old training should ever be needed again. Not that giant mechs were a staple of the army, but with the insanity of the Evangelion still like a shallow cut in the public's psyche, it was best to have every possible contingency at the ready, just in case.

And while not everything they dredged up for her was pleasant, they really were two of the only people Mana considered close to being friends.

That struck her as incredibly depressing.

"You have your final report to Taper coming up, right?" Asari asked. He borrowed a chair in front of her desk and sat in it. He had impeccable posture. "About Ikari?"

"Yeah," Mana said, feeling dramatic. She stretched out over her cluttered desk. "Taper's trying to be nice about it, like it'll somehow affect my image of him, but he's really starting to hound me. He says it's just his job, and that I shouldn't take it personal or read anything into it, but he knows the complaints I have with this line of work. I don't know why he thinks this time should be any different."

"Ever the optimist."

Asari opened his mouth to say more, but stopped and cocked his head to the side. He peered closely at her.

"Wh… what?" Mana asked him.

"Do you have a new boyfriend?"

"What?" she sputtered. "What the hell does that—"

"No, sorry. Just… sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. Just, well, you look… a little glowy. I thought that maybe…" He shrugged. "Sorry. Don't pay it any mind."

Mana seethed. She forgot that with his puppy dog eyes, his calm way of speaking, his self effacing mannerisms… it was impossible to stay mad at Asari. The bastard.

"I don't have time for a boyfriend," she grumbled. "You should know that. I'm busy. Any extra time I do have I use for work. I don't fritter it away on some man."

"Oh. But…" He smiled warily. "Well, you are kind of spending your free time on a man." He gestured to the files that lay strewn over her desk.

"… go to hell."

"No, really," Asari said, still calm and relaxed. "Didn't you always talk about him when we were kids? The famous Ikari Shinji who killed Angels with a sweep of his hand? Who saved the world while we were still being trained how to turn on our mechs?"

"You've been hanging around with Musashi again, haven't you?" Mana waved him away. "Listen. Maybe I was a little star-struck when I was younger, but I'm an adult now. I have a real job. I don't squander my days sitting in a cramped cockpit or seducing little boys. I have important things to do."

"Taper's really giving you a hard time, huh?" he asked. He frowned in sympathy. "He always did ride you harder than other people. You're his favorite."

"You have been hanging around Musashi. Not a trend I encourage. But you can go ahead and report back to him that I'm fine, just a little swamped at the moment. And no, I don't need help, or people 

hovering over me like a damn pack of flies. I repeat: this is my job. I'm used to it. Loneliness, fatigue, pressure from the top and regimental politics included."

"Things are that bad?"

"Just… a little pressing right now," she sighed. "I feel like I'm getting pulled in twenty different directions at once. And all for the sake of bullying a broken man who probably doesn't have anything of genuine importance to tell us. At least, not what the brass is hoping for."

"Well," Asari said, "have you found out anything useful?"

"I—"

She paused, the words stuck crawling out of her mouth. She bit them back down.

There was a moment for Mana, late last night, when she realized who Kaworu was. What he was. He was the last Angel. It struck her like a revelation. Shinji said he was someone he killed. In his hand. Then he murdered every other human. The Impact.

Kaworu was the last Angel before the Impact.

Mana couldn't even begin to fathom it. An Angel, capable of human speech, let alone emotion? Was it in human form? It had to be. Shinji spoke of it as a "he." Someone who loved him.

The last Angel was a human.

She did not know how to process the information. It upset her beyond any rational dissemination. It was a primal terror like the dark or the unknown. Angels were giant monstrosities, as tall as buildings and as powerful as hurricanes. To have all of that horror and strength in a flimsy human form…

Did the other Angels think? Were they capable of human intelligence? Speech? Were the only differences between humans and Angels size and appearance?

She didn't fully realize it, but these were incredibly dangerous ideas. But if there was one thing Kirishima Mana was skilled at, it was obscuring not quite safe ideas and information. And somehow, she knew the fewer lower level personnel who knew about this, the better.

"Sorry," she told Asari with a shrug. "I can't tell you anything."

"A pity."

"Yeah. But at least you won't chew me out for it. Taper's gonna have my ass."

"Probably, yeah."

"Shouldn't you be tending to my spirit? Or my wounded ego?"

"I'm already in one codependent relationship at this base," Asari said. "I won't be dragged into another."

"Okay," Mana said through a laugh. "Give my best to Musashi." She waved him goodbye and dove back into the mountain of files on her desk.

"… staying here all night?" he asked under her door, gesturing to the clock on the wall that silently displayed the ripe hour of nine twenty one. "I only passed by here on my way out."

"I'll be along in a minute," she said, still waving goodbye. "Don't wait up."

It was ten fifty-seven when Mana locked her office door. Not a record, especially lately, but enough to make Asari shake his head sadly, or make Musashi get dramatic.

And she knew that her dedication and fervor for this case was in large part due to her past. Nothing she hadn't told herself before. But maybe enough repetition would make it less questionable.

She left the base quickly and sped home. The streets were nearly empty, and Mana felt like the last woman on earth. It was late; everyone who had a family was already home with them. Times like this made Mana slightly more depressed than usual. It only reinforced the reality that she was alone. But the seemingly monumental effort and work that a relationship required kept her pleased to be single.

Still, she felt a pang of self pitying disappointment when she unlocked the front door to her apartment and nothing but empty darkness greeted her return.

She showered, washed away the grime and headache of the day, and collapsed into bed. The novel sitting on her nightstand, the one she perennially tried to get through but never did, suddenly struck her as incredibly stupid. It was a sweeping love story set in the seventeen-hundreds, the kind where the protagonist's biggest obstacle is which handsome suitor to marry, or how to spend their obscene inheritance. Still, it was a vice. A guilty pleasure for her in a world full of enduring displeasures. But even flowery escapism was too much of an effort tonight. She turned her lamp on as she hit her pillow.

When she laid her head down to sleep, when her eyes slipped shut, when the conscious world became misty and obscured, she dreamed. It was the same nightmare every time. She watched her body melt and become something thick and viscous, and her thoughts slowly marched from her head in disorganized columns until nothing but direct observation filled her. And then the alien ideas came rushing in. Millions and millions of thoughts that weren't her own, that filled her past the breaking point, that assaulted and raped and ruined. It hurt so much. It hurt, and she could not wake up. She could never wake up.

Mana was late for their appointment the next day. She had never been late before, and it was strangely irritating for Shinji that she was. It was sad to him, how easily he would adapt to a schedule, and how difficult it was to break from it. But for the past decade he had little else except immutable routine. And for better or worse Mana was a part of it now.

She hurried up the narrow path from the driveway to the front door, surreptitiously glancing over the guards who dotted the compound. And again she was struck with a truth that had bothered her since day one.

Ikari Shinji was an invaluable asset. Given that, it never failed to amaze Mana at the size of the security detail assigned to guard him. Granted they were in spitting distance of a soldier checkpoint, but the actual number of men stationed at Ikari's house was the bare minimum. It couldn't be a favor to him, or to ease his discomfort. It was for a reason Mana couldn't fathom. Even with the several other aspects of this case that made absolutely no sense to her, that detail would rush to greet her every time she visited.

And it wasn't like this was a rotational depot where soldiers spent brief tours of duty before transferring out to some other unique position. This was an established post, with a clear chain of command and deployment. This wasn't a shady, run down location where bad soldiers went to fade into obscurity.

So what reason did the higher-ups have for skirting this responsibility?

Again, Mana thought, Ikari Shinji was an invaluable asset. So why was he placed in a private house by himself away from the main base where he could be questioned with less of a hassle? Why wasn't he in a military prison, where he'd be at the beck and call of the brass with far fewer hindrances? For that matter, why was Soryu free, and Aoba, and Aida, and Suzahara? What was the military thinking?

Mana didn't have the luxury of debating her superiors' wisdom. All she had was the job set before her: completing that was the closest she'd ever get to the truth. She realized she'd never learn everything about the Evangelions, or the Angels, or the shadowy secrets of NERV. It was a truth she'd accepted long ago. Because despite her job, the task her commanders gave her, Mana knew they wanted to limit this knowledge to as few people as possible. Information, knowledge, was more of a weapon than ever before. And the smaller the group that held it, the smaller the chance of a repeated tragedy was.

That reasoning never sat well with Mana. The popular theory held that if the smallest possible set of men knew the truth about NERV, it would be easier to keep them in line, and in turn keep the populace under control, too.

She couldn't say she agreed. After a lifetime spent in the military, Mana knew that no matter how few people knew something, the knowledge would be used eventually. It was only a matter of time. Fewer people meant nothing but fewer disagreements. If the technology existed, so did the will to use it.

And she could only guess how the higher-ups would employ the information she had just found out.

Kaworu was the last Angel.

Mana distracted herself from that disturbing reality by organizing the questions she wanted to ask Shinji. Specifically, what impact the attacks had on him, beyond the obvious dose of terror a life and death struggle against a giant monster entails. She wanted to know how he dealt with risking his life on a weekly basis, how feeling a colossus' life slowly get crushed away in your hand affected him. He didn't have the drained innocence of the other Children. All Shinji had was whatever he could manage to hold on to through luck and self control. He didn't have any kind of military training. He didn't know how to cope with endangering his own existence.

More to the point, he didn't know how to justify taking someone else's life. And while she didn't consider an Angel anything but an Angel, no matter what form it stole, Shinji obviously did not share her view. It wasn't a weakness, per say, but it called into question how he handled the rest of the attacks, before Kaworu.

"I can't imagine what combat in a giant robot was like," Mana opened, sitting down across from him.

"… you can't?" Shinji asked.

"Well… training for it and actually doing it are two different things. Besides, ah, my previous employment isn't common knowledge. Most of the time I forget it ever happened."

"… I have trouble believing that."

"Okay then. Humor me."

"It was… it was probably exactly what you might expect it to be," Shinji said. "I don't know what kind of system the military had, but piloting the Evangelion was like wearing a very heavy full body suit. Like your pants and shirt were weighted, or made with steel cables instead of thread. After awhile you learn how much force to exert, how much to hold back. As you can imagine, it made fighting a little difficult.

"Combat was like chess. It was relatively simple to learn, but it could take years and years to get good at it. By the end of the attacks, I would probably be considered an intermediate."

"Intermediate?" Mana asked immediately. She couldn't help it. "I've gone over the battles many times, Shinji-san, and I have trouble believing you were an 'intermediate.'"

"I was lucky," he said simply. "I was very lucky. So much so, it was like… an ability. And," he continued quickly, "an Evangelion runs depending on many different variables, some of which are influenced by the pilot. Anger is, often times, favorable. And I was a very angry little boy."

She decided to let that one slip. She supposed the less said about the Third Children's temper, the better. She moved on.

"So emotional states could affect the Evangelion," she said. "Did the Angels ever exhibit anything like that?"

"… you mean, did they ever achieve a state similar to… berserker?" Shinji glanced away. "The Angels, if you had to attach human attributes to them, were very calm. They carried out their attacks like it was a duty, and we were merely obstacles. The only one that was… different… was the one that possessed Touji's unit. That Angel… it wasn't merely aggressive, it was violently hostile. I can only assume it was because it had a human inside it."

"The Thirteenth," Mana said. "That was the only Angel you could see a difference with? The only one that attacked you in an unusual way?"

"No two Angels really attacked the same way, but the goal was the same. The paths they chose to take to get there may differ, but in the end they were after the same thing."

"And what was that? What were they after?"

"The end of mankind," Shinji said simply.

Well that's… blunt. Mana glanced away. She supposed that was close enough to the truth. Angels didn't visit the city for picnics.

"Do you know why so many of the Angels attacked Tokyo-3?" she asked. She waited and watched him closely, gauging his reaction and answer.

Shinji remained calm, not gasping in surprise or showing anything remotely close to shock. He didn't seem upset in the least.

"No," he said.

Mana covered a fatigued sigh by scratching her nose. Another dead-end. Maybe he really didn't know. Maybe it was time to admit there would be aspects of the war she'd never learn the truth about. That no one would ever learn the truth about. She reminded herself that she was the latest in a long line. Dozens of doctors, more qualified and smarter than she, had been right where she was now before her, and all of them had failed. This little dance went on unhindered by the truth, and it would continue long after she left.

Shinji was keeping what he knew close to him, and for what purpose? Was he that selfish? That smug? Was hiding the truth his way of striking back at the military that kept him locked away like a caged animal?

No, that didn't fit him. Mana realized he had a few unresolved anger issues, but revenge, even a private one, was outside the boundary of what she had come to expect from him. And she liked to think she knew him fairly well, despite the fact he was under arrest, she was a doctor interrogating him, and no one in her position had ever succeeded before her in drawing him out of his self-imposed shell.

Still, Mana thought, I bet I've gotten closer than anyone else.

Inexplicably, she felt like a kid again. Meeting him, talking with him, learning about him… her mission really hadn't changed all that much. With a dose of regret, she realized she hadn't changed that much either. Still the old obedience to authority, the unchanged ethic to succeed. Just an upgraded version. But she wasn't judging herself right now.

Shinji, from what she knew and read about him, didn't appear too different, either. So, why? What did he hope to accomplish by staying silent?

She looked at him. Still the same tall, thin features, still the same dark eyes… still the same. So why did he seem so… tired in comparison to the last interview? It was similar to the fatigue someone had after getting something big off their chest, but none of the associated relief was present in Shinji. He looked dead on his feet.

It frightened her. In all the previous reports she read, the doctors identified this change in attitude, this calmness and resignation, as when he began to gradually siphon off all useful information. Like tightening a leaky faucet. She had finally hit the wall.

"Which Angel was the most difficult for you, personally?" she asked out of the blue.

"They were all difficult. I don't waste time ranking them like sport stars." There was no evasion in his voice. Just tired truth.

"Certainly," Mana went on, "some must have been harder than others. And as you spent more time training, the Evangelion must have seemed easier to manipulate, right?"

"Practice didn't make me perfect. It merely made me less bad. Battles were won many times through sheer luck." Shinji saw her taking a breath in preparation to ask another question, and spoke first. "None of the Angels were ever easy. Let's just leave it at that."

"Um… 'leave it at that'?" She quirked a smile. "In case you forgot, I'm supposed to be interviewing you about all aspects of the war. 'Leaving it at that' isn't an option."

"I suppose not." He slowly looked around the living room, his eyes falling on a small clock mounted on the far wall by a bookcase. He watched the hands move for a moment, like he was waiting for something. He sighed.

"Shinji-san…?"

There was a large bay window behind Shinji's chair, shuttered and draped. It made the living room appear bigger than it really was, and with the cluttered bookshelves lining the walls, the window looked a touch out of place. Almost like an optical illusion.

Which was why Mana was so surprised when a heavy object broke through the glass and clattered to the floor near their feet.

"What the…?" Her mouth ejected words before her mind could process them.

A canister about the size of a soda lay in a halo of broken glass on the floor. She heard a commotion outside, a hissing, shouts. Chaos. Panic. Raid.

We're under attack…!

Mana spun on Shinji. He was right where she left him, sitting placidly in his chair, watching the attack unfold with tepid curiosity. He looked like this sort of thing happened all the time.

"Shinji-san!"

Then the top of the canister split apart like an overripe orange, spilling whitish smoke out into the room with dogged resolution.

Shinji's interest remained lukewarm.

Mana opened her mouth to yell at him again, to try and make him act like a rational human being, but all she found when she inhaled before screaming was gas.

It filled her mouth like liquid. It sat heavily on her tongue, and all she could taste was electric metal shavings. She tried to cough, to spit it out, and all she heard was a sound. She couldn't feel the functions of her body anymore. All they were now were noises. Her feet on the floor, just sound. Her hands flailing out to grab furniture, dull clunks. Her legs tripping over her toes, swipes of cloth.

"Shinji-san!" someone yelled.

It might have been her. She wasn't sure. It didn't sound like her, but it might just be her throat closing like a vice. She coughed again. Her eyes cast left and right in a panic, but everything began to bleed together. Her eyes burned. It felt like her head was in a blazing vice, pushing down on her cheeks and mouth and eyes. Her face threatened to cave in.

"Shinji… san…"

With a miraculous effort she managed to turn back around and locate him. He was slouched peacefully in his chair, like he was getting ready to sleep.

"Shi…"

With her last vestige of strength she pitched sideways, landing hard on her shoulder, nothing but a thump. Her head tilted down awkwardly to the floor, and then her eyes crawled behind her lids, and she could sense nothing but the cold black that wrapped her like a shroud.

"… nji…"

Was the last thread of thought weaved in her mind, drifting away into the stinging nothing waiting just behind her conscious self. She fell, and kept falling. Down, down, deep into blurry shadows that swallowed her whole, deep into a barbed haze of dark that wrapped her limbs and body in prickly cold. Down, down, ripped away from thought and action, down, to a blank grasping nothing.

Mana kept falling.

End of Chapter 8

Author notes: yeah, yeah, the section with Asari was nothing but filler to lengthen this update. But who cares?

I have to say it. I like how freaking clueless Mana was in this chapter. Heh.

Also: I know the end of this chapter was a little weak and convenient. It's partly my awful action writing ability, partly events that happened off-screen. But I'll reveal all next chapter!

… which will probably be a while.