NERV HQ, 6:41 PM:
Shinji's first impulse after peeling the slick plugsuit off his skin was to hurl. The LCL was like another bodily fluid, a fifth humor he didn't particularly think he needed, and had to be leached out. The training was a nauseating process regardless. Disorienting, and oddly profound, like being in zero gravity, or at least how the Ikari boy imagined it.
Taking deep, nasal breaths, Shinji plotted down the corridor. He passed Dib, who whistled in a sort of an artificially carefree way, hands in his pockets. He looked rather drier than Shinji. Must have had experience getting in and out. He certainly seemed to know what he was doing in the sync-test. The Ikari boy gave himself another mental chastisement for the social disaster that was his attempted friendship with Dib.
The Third and Fourth children stopped at the same time, avoiding eye contact. Dib's bespectacled eyes flashed all around the sterilized white corridor. He hissed, "You know the truth about our little green friend?"
Shinji nodded softly, and swallowed hard.
"I thought so. Your decision to pilot and general jumpiness tipped me off. I'm sorry if you had to see anything traumatic." He sounded rather earnest. "We can't talk here, too many security cams,"- there weren't, Dib just liked to think so -"So, Ritsuko's apartment, my room, tonight. Misato will give you directions. Welcome to the Swollen Eyeball network, kid."
Vort, Block-D, Sixteen Irken Hours:
The letter "D," (encompassing most "T" and "D" sounds in the English language,) was the last letter of the Irken alphabet. Consequently, the D-block housed Vort's most volatile prisoners and detainees. Some of the standard-security inmates were allowed to roam in the exercise area when they had exhibited good behavior- socializing, occasionally fighting, and, if the latter happened, being subjected to extreme penalty.
D-16, commonly referred to as "Megatron," "Lord Megatron," and "Spike (only by equals)," was the one of the earliest lifers transferred to Vort, when it had just been converted into a branch of the Imperial Maximum Security Penitentiary, almost a year ago. He was currently picking at a bad rustrash on his clawed hand's armor plaiting, alone in demoralizing exercise area. Fifty feet tall, sharply cybernetic, and sporting a mind that had commissioned around 16-trillion deaths, Megatron was a hot contender for solitary confinement; but his surprisingly polite disposition earned him mobility privileges.
He was interrupted from computed musings by the slick voice of the being that had just joined him. "That alt-mode still work?"
Megatron showed Tallest Red every one of his lizardlike teeth as he crouched to get a better look at the Irken. "Like clockwork."
"Perfect." Red met the prisoner halfway, commanding his hoverbelt up to the metal titan's eye level. "I've ordered absolute privacy, not that I didn't need to argue for it. But I can trust you, I'm sure. Mostly because they'll drop you into the furnace is they find my body," he chuckled.
Megatron let out a distressingly dry burst of cackling. "Yes, I'm sure," He beamed.
"So, yeah. I had the area cleared and shut off, but only for 7 minutes. We have to talk quick," Red's smile was a bit more thin than before. "The rumors about surviving Nehindei? All true. We thought we destroyed their current residence, but a defective service drone who thinks he's an invader- Zim, he's called -has been detected sending out hyperspace signals from the planet. And I think he has one of them in his base. Purple and I don't know if he's gone traitor or not, and frankly, we don't care; and if word gets out... well, credibility needs to be maintained. Obviously, we're not going to be cleansing the planet through official means."
Megatron's mechanical eyebrows (why does he have those anyway, thought Red), rose further and further up his metal scalp with each word. He obviously had head the rumor, but like any rational being, had chosen to ignore it. When it looked like the prisoner was about to butt in, the Tallest hastily spoke over him. "Your payment, should you suceed, is the galaxy in which this planet, this "Earth," is located."
"A whole galaxy? What's the catch? Will the government nuke me the second I make myself heard?"
Red's huge crimson eyes bored into Megatron's faintly whirring ones. "That's the thing. It doesn't even have a government."
"An un-unified galaxy you haven't conquered yet? Somehow I-"
"We only just discovered it," Red said, waving a pronged claw. "It's in the Great Unknown. Ten years to get there at standard hyperspeed, and everything."
The metallic prisoner made no move. "Will I be taking standard speed?"
"Well, of course not. Top of the line invader-level. You'll be there in six months."
Megatron shifted his body to full height, like an ogre, his armor calling to mind skin plated in mollusks. He reached out a diamond-hard hand. "Not that I have a choice... but, given the circumstances; Primus, do you have a deal."
NERV-Germany, 8:20 PM:
"Where am I? Who are you? What are you doing? Whatthehell. !"
Zim rattled off the usual questions and lightspeed, not noticing or caring if they had any effect. Five scientists, crouching around the fifteen-inch glass window surveying their dangerous project, un-bated their breath. Said breath came heavily, now, as they witnessed their success. Well, their probable success. There was still the hurdle of control over EVA unit 05, now given the soul Membrane had discovered, and remained tight-lipped about.
The professor in question (he was technically a PHD, but the public was used to the almost royal title) tapped on the glass like a screaming child harassing a fish. His breath was a secret under his collar, his eyes a mystery behind one-way opaque goggles. Membrane Maltenson seemed to know more than everything that was going on at any given situation, as if he has stumbled upon the cure for ignorance himself. But he didn't know the future, among many other things, and how sympathetic linking would work out with the Sixth Child was anyone's guess. The thing was already in berserk mode. He had feared such an alien willpwer would be unhampered by any typical evangelion's mental restraints, but that fear was in the abstract. Membrane really worried about loosing his grip on foresight every once in a while. He didn't fret too much over his sanity, grip wise, but that was just plain denial.
"And you got this soul where…?" said one of the associates, unblinking, too distracted by the thrashing of Unit 05 in its restraints to realize how ridiculously casual the term "soul" was used nowadays in a scientific context.
"I've always said classified information is the worst kind," Said Membrane, "One of my many slogans. But this is no time for sloganeering, catchphrasing, or any other reliance on emptily idealistic words. You are not to know."
The previous speaker– Dr. Austvern, said his nametag – Nodded absently, still morbidly fascinated by Zim's thrashing around in his new body. Membrane pondered the coexistence of two minds, one in PAK, one in body, before the frail little creature had died, and he had installed the backup intellect onto an evangelion. It was a philosophical thing he had never considered before, though he had had the opportunity. Never had too much time for abstractions. He had a public image to keep up, both for the world, and for the family- and to himself, to some extent.
He wondered; would the little defective realize, once he looked in mirror? Would he piece together any clues? Or was the invader too narrow-minded and self-absorbed to logically conclude the obvious; that the designer (who happened to be Membrane) had to have known what an Irken looked like before Zim was discovered, in order to incorporate it into the EVA's face in time. Ah, well, his cover wouldn't be blown, he was sure. Only four people on this cursed earth knew what an Irken was, and Gendo had just learned today.
Membrane slipped away from the enthralled audience of Zim's histrionic fit. He slunk quietly into the shadows. The father (should he be putting quote marks around that?) of Dib slunk into his private quarters. Forty long years of this identity, he thought, as he pulled one skin off, revealing another. The professor, stowing away his ludicrous wig, his mechanical gloves, and his sunglass-goggles, straightened up to full height and surveyed his mirror. He didn't care of the security risks, he could just kill anyone who entered.
Ex-Allmighty Tallest Spork needed to be reminded of who he was.
Dib's Room 9:32 PM:
When Shinji crossed the threshold, of Dib's claustrophobic quarters, it was as if he'd fallen through a tear in reality. Gone was the prim lifelessness of Ritsuko's apartment, replaced by all manner of indiscernible posters, odd scents, and a large quantity of humming apparatus'. The place was almost pitch black, the curtains and shutters drawn.
"Congradulations on you and your sister's defeat of Ramiel, today. I don't know what I'll do when I have to face an Angel." When Dib proved distracted, he continued. "I hope you don't mind, Maltenson-San, but Misato suggested I do an overnight. I never agreed to it, but she kind of insisted, and, well… her car went off."
"Tough lady, huh?" Dib questioned, leaning… quirkily (?) over his musty keyboard. "I don't mind. More time to brief you."
Shinji sat down as casually as he could, which was rather stiff, and fixed his eyes on the floor like he wanted nothing more than to cover the place in disinfectant spray.
"Home sweet home," Dib smiled manically, for lack of a better word, possibly mistaking Shinji's distain for interest. A blue glow illuminated his face in the worst way possible, while the humming underscored the American's nose-whistle. Dear god, Ikari almost felt safer being yelled at by a tiny green man.
After an unsettling while, Dib went to tapping purposely on one of the many keyboards. He shifted the monitor Shinji's way, catching the Japanese by surprise in with the unhealthy looking glow.
When Shinji's eyes had adjusted, he saw flashes, a slideshow, of something incoherent and grainy. Greyscale aliens, faded people dressed as aliens, something that maybe was bigfoot, and a cereal mascot vampire all danced on the screen.
"Uhhh… It's all moving a little fast for me… In more ways than one," Ikari gulped.
"Huh? Oh, let me fix that. Let's see… you just connect the sparkplug with this here," Dib said as he fiddled with some yet-as unseen mass of wires. "No, that isn't- but how- oh, F_ it."
He threw down whatever he had in his hands, and, visibly annoyed, reached under a maroon seat cushion. "We'll have to go without multimedia for now," the Maltenson boy grumbled.
He brought out some manila envelopes, each sticky with what Shinji hoped, in the faded light, was some kind of dried sauce.
"Let's see… oh my," blushed Shinji as he opened one.
Dib's already saucer-like eyes grew even wider, like a Bush Baby's. "Wrong folder, wrong folder, give that here. GIVE THAT HERE."
So that probably wasn't sauce. And Shinji called himself F_ed up on some days.
"I w-won't judge," Ikari stammered, for fear of what judging would bring. Dib's face was as red as a beat, but he could pull a pretty threatening scowl.
"Right," Maltenson grumbled. "These are the Zim Case files."
He found some similar, non-crusty folders. Shinji flipped through them warily, squinting in the minimal illumination, and suspicious that he would see more… taboo subjects.
He did not. Instead, the files contained a few blurry snapshots of the green alien in question, and plenty of illegible notes. One of the photos had an odd, robotic creature, half-obscured by the frame.
"That's his 'dog'," Dib said when Ikari's gaze lingered. "It's actually some kind of mechanical assistant. Like a minion."
It looked rather Kawaii, in Shinji's opinion; but he didn't want to confuse the Gaijin, so he kept silent.
"Now, how did you reach the same conclusion as yours truly?" Dib said, with the air of one trying desperately to sound calm and collected. He was shivering in excitement, for god's sake.
Shinji took a deep breath. Finding this did nothing about anything, he resolved to stop beating around the bush and told his new… "friend" the story.
Dib's jaw made a slow pilgrimage to the floor as Shinji's tale went on, pausing for a brief second to question about arm-control-nerves.
"This is…" the American stammered when the Japanese was through. "You have to be the sanest civilian I've met to have that kind of close contact!"
Ikari decided to ignored "sanest" and focused on the latter. "What do you mean by civilian?" he asked skeptically.
"Not in the swollen eyeball network. Which is why I brought you here tonight. You'll be a civilian no longer," Dib smiled. It looked like his cheeks were going to split. Shinji wanted to through up again. What was with his life?
Like, what was with it?
Berlin, 3:23 PM:
"Of course I always thought it was pronounced "seal". And I thought, why name a cult after a seal? But then I remembered that it was spelled differently. So then I asked you how it was pronounced. And here we are!"
"Mm-hmm."
"Say, you seem like sort of a grouchy-greta. I bet you're reeeeal at being stoic. Let's have a staring contest! Okay, one, two, three, GO!"
The frenetic red-haired boy seemed not to notice Takris wasn't looking his way. The one SEELE called The Angel of Free Will hadn't had much of a history with humans, and wondered if this one would explode if she did the wrong thing. No one told her the kids would be this difficult to handle.
"So you're from America, are you?"
"Yeah. Is German your first language? 'Cause if so, you're real good with that English accent."
"Weeeell, I've had some time to study," Takris yawned. She was trying to give out any signal possible that she was not interested in conversing with a hyperactive optimist that had just chatted her up all of a sudden at the fountain. Was this some kind of human ritual? Was sudden small talk with Strangers commonplace? God, she hoped not. Maybe this kid had some strange monkey-disorder.
The boy seemed to have forgotten his little staring game, or whatever, and fingered the camera around his neck as he grinned. "What other languages to you speak?"
"Oh, a little Latin, a little Hebrew," Takris bragged. "I only know English because it's the Lingua Franca, and I just now finished Japanese, because that's where I'm off to, soon."
"Wow! That's sooo talented," chirped the kid, now shaking vertically like a sledgehammer. "What's your name? Mine's Keef. I'm fourteen."
"Takris, but you can call me Tak." She batted an eyelash dismissively. "I'm the same age... and would you please-"
"Takris!"
A stiff man walked brusquely out of the crowd, adjusting his sandy hair and reflective sunglasses. "Takris, what is the meaning of this? Did you try to ditch Mr. Lorenz purposefully?" he barked. "You know how ill he is."
Tak rolled her eyes as best she could. How did illness enter into it? "I'm just enjoying the basic human contact I've been denied for years. Do you disapprove?" Keef looked confused; they were talking in German. Grateful for the opportunity, she stormed off with the fuming, yet… unnerved bodyguard of her guardian. Tak couldn't tell who frightened him more- her or his Employer.
They paced through the crowded historic district, and found Keel Lorenz tapping a pencil firmly under a café umbrella. His scowl grew stronger with every step his colleagues took. Though the man's unsettling cybernetic visor obscured his eyes, Takris could tell, in every twitch of his immeasurably lined face that the head of SEELE was ticked. And she loved it.
"I remember when this neighborhood was a red light district," he seethed, in a pathetic attempt at small talk. "Now it's a bustling tourist center. Second impact hasn't been all post-apocalyptic dystopia, as people thought, once we began crowding inland." He spoke like a rehearsed orator, or at least a man trying to sound like one, voice wavering in a priestly way. The bodyguard melted awkwardly into the background.
"So,,," Tak dragged her next statement out, playfully avoiding eye contact. "It seems you have a little more on your mind than my hooky."
He sighed hoarsely and angry, as if he'd just noticed her. "EVA unit 05 is malfunctioning. Your trip to Japan has been delayed, Sixth Child."
Tak's face fell by a centimeter, then was hastily refitted into a mask of arrogance. "Well, is that so? Is the Irken Scum less dormant than you thought it would be?"
Lorenz pinched his nose. "I am beginning to doubt Dr. Ikari's Kissmesis theory."
"We won't know until I slip into the cockpit, Sir," she pushed, eyebrows fluttering worryingly. Keel looked confused.
"…Well, yes, but you know that we can't risk such a potentially hazardous contact experiment." When Takris gritted her teeth, he grumbled, "Come now, Sixth Child, Angel of Free Will, you know how implausible a high sync-rate with a soul that you loath sounds."
"If Doctor Ikari and Professor Membrane believe in it, than I do," She said, firmly. "I know you like touting me as an all-purpose pilot, but really, what is the highest sync-rate I got with a soulless evangelion?"
Lorenz rubbed his temples, looking dejected. "I don't remember exactly, but-"
"-It was barely passable," Tak finished for him. "The loathing I feel for all Irkenkind will manifest itself in a glorious battle performance. Hell, it's almost all the desire to put the green bastards in their place that makes me feel like it'll work. You're just skeptical because you don't know what kind of a wrench this new factor will through into the works."
"You surely are in no short supply of willpower, and perception" Lorenz admitted, sighing. "Bartholemew," he said, looking at the bodyguard. "You can start time up again."
The previously static crowds once again moved. Takris raised an eyebrow.
"You can never have enough privacy, my dear," Keel said. "It's not like this technology's in short supply. Well, I suppose it is. Ah, my soup is here. Took them long enough."