Disclaimer: No ownership over any concepts or plots expressed in this work of fiction is stated or implied. The author intends no financial gain from the distribution of this material and makes no claim of copyright or trademark.
S
Asuka was beginning to feel like a piece of cargo. This was the fourth airplane, with nary a bit of rest between them. She'd gotten to think she would never escape the stink of an airplane cabin again, the peculiar mixture of some foul smelling industrial cleaning fluid, sweat and old vomit soaking into her very bones. So-called first class was an insult, as it only meant she had a slightly wider seat at the front of the plane, and the foul tempered stewardesses wouldn't give her a glass of wine to calm her nerves, since outside of the civilized world, one had to be much older to drink alcohol of any kind. She wondered how people survived.
She had her pick of seats, which made sense since, as far as she knew, the entire complement of passengers was her security detail. The obvious ones sat around her like crows on a wire in their black suits and sunglasses and wired earpieces, but everyone else she saw when she rose to go to the lavatory or just stretched and looked around in her seat was obviously security, wearing too-heavy coats and big purses that obviously had guns in them. She watched the world slide by under her, and that was the only thing in its proper place. Beneath the thin streamers of clouds, tinged pink in the afternoon sun, she could see the lush greenery of Japan unfolding beneath her.
The fasten seat belt light binged on, and she huffed and quickly worked the latch around her waist and tightened the belt and watched from the corner of her eye as the Section 2 men sharing her row did the same, struggling to work the narrow belts around their wide bellies. She put her chin in her hand and smirked out the window, wincing a little in the bright sun. The clouds were drifting by now, and the plane had tilted paradoxically backward, leaning away from itself as it slowed to descend, the ground gradually working its way closer, inch by inch.
The captain babbled something about the Last Fortress of Mankind and the splendor of the countryside and whatnot, but to her it was all endless green pockmarked here and there by ugly, industrial gray. She could sort of see the city, but it was mostly flares of light against the glass, the sunlight pulled into the huge mirrors that carried sunlight down into the cavern below. It was an engineering marvel, and it was boring. She yawned. She glanced at her watch and realized there was another half-hour of flight time, and so leaned back and put her head against the seat, and instantly regretted it. She would have to wash her hair, for certain.
She had just barely closed her eyes when there was a thump. She heard some murmurs and sat up, and glanced out the window. She felt a cold, dense feeling in the pit of her stomach when she saw thick black smoke trailing out behind the wing. She strained to crane her neck, and by almost pressing against the glass, she could see the acrid black vapor pouring out of the engine, the blades of the turbine fixed in place and grinding against themselves. The plane suddenly took a wild dip, dropping at least fifty feet, and put her guts up into her throat. She found herself clenching the arms of the seat, and her eyes widened when a mask dropped down in front of her.
The agent seated next to her, in ignorance of standard procedure, ignored his own mask and went for hers, trying to force it onto her head, the elastic bands splayed out with his fingers. She slapped him away and tried to snap at him, but the air was too thin and the effort made her dizzy. Instead, she pulled the mask over her head and took a deep breath out of the oxygen bag, and her gaze cleared in a haze of sparkling lights. There was a massive groan, and the airplane shifted, the wrong way. She felt the torsion roll through the body, the deck beneath her feet becoming uneven, slightly curved, for just a moment. All of these details fed into her mind and formed an unavoidable conclusion, like the light at the end of a tunnel that's probably a train.
She had trained her entire life for combat. The possibility of injury or death was never hidden from her. She would be piloting a complex technological thing that no one truly understood, against creatures from beyond the Earth, incomprehensible in and of themselves. If she survived the unstable technology and the combat, it would not be without injury, without suffering. Until this moment, when she saw her airplane begin to yaw earthward and the ground tilt at a strange angle and get too large, too fast, she had never even really considered the inevitability, the finality of death. The conclusion was inescapable. The plane was going to crash. She was doing to die. She could only hope it would be over quickly.
She leaned back into the seat, closed her eyes, and spoke a single word.
"Mama," she said.
The plane became strangely silent. She felt a press of attention, a sudden focus in the bodies around her, and opened her eyes. She was just in time. Everyone, all the secret agents and security men in black suits, were staring out the window, opened mouthed. It took her a moment of processing, but then she saw it, too. A tiny steak of red and blue blurred past her window, and the plane rocked, tilting from side to side. The object looped around in a lazy circle, and slowed. For a moment, she thought she'd gone insane, that the lack of oxygen was making her hallucinate, but if she was imagining what she saw outside the window, she wasn't alone.
"Okay," said Shinji, "don't panic."
It was easy to say, but difficult to hear. Drifting through the air sideways, the words were lost in the howling wind. The plane was going down, hard and fast, and the right engine was both out and on fire, and from the way it was losing altitude, the other engine must have been damaged, and the hydraulics out. He could hear the flaps and control surfaces grinding against themselves in tune with the pilot's grunting as he worked futilely at the controls. He saw the pale faces pressed against the glass, staring at him, and looked down the length of the plane. He had to slow it down, and steer it somehow. He took the only logical route, and headed for the tail.
He skimmed over the fuselage, through thick cloud of black smoke, and tried to land next to the tall, sloping tail, only to fall right off, his boots skidding on the slick surface. He tumbled a bit and came along beside it. The rudder twisted feebly in place, snapping and grinding against the lack of pressure trying to turn it. Shinji put both his hands on it and pressed, trying to loosen it or direct it somehow. He straightened it out and the plane shuddered and began to ease out of its turn, and so he pushed it a bit more, hoping that working it in the opposite direction would straighten it out completely. It promptly snapped off in his hands and slammed into his face, rolled over his shoulder, and went tumbling gracefully through the air behind him. The severed lines sprayed him with sticky hydraulic fluid.
He shook his head and wiped the gunk out of his eyes, and yelped as the plane began to yaw harder, the wing with the damaged, smoking engine beginning to shudder. There was a great grinding metal sound, a shriek of metal stretching and giving way, and the wing loosened, pressing back against the body of the airplane like a bird's wing. It began to roll, and the other engine let out an agonized wail and burst forth a great belching gout of black smoke. Shinji swallowed a gulp of air and rocketed past the smoke.
He would never be able to straighten it out without the wing, so he grabbed the ragged, sharp edges of the wing and the stump where it had come loose from the fuselage, trailing fuel and fluids, and pushed it until it snapped loose and tumbled through the air. The plane began to turn, and he shouldered into it, and the impact shoved it out of its course, to the side. He put both hands and arms against the body and pressed his chest into it, and grunted with the turn. Shuddering under his grip, the plane began to straighten, and he put out his feet and started pushing in the opposite direction, trying to slow it down. He felt the metal giving under his fingers and heard a squeal, and it suddenly turned against him, pulling in the opposite direction.
He looked over the fuselage and saw why. The other wing lifted, turned, and with a great shriek and groan, tore free and tumbled off into space. Shinji stared at it dumbly for a second and realized the plane was moving on only by momentum, and had lost its lift. He let go, drifted back, and slid under it, moving towards the front. He rolled over onto his bell, felt a moment of uncharacteristic vertigo as he saw the ground rushing up at him, and rose up into the underbelly of the plane, then slapped both palms against it. He grunted with effort as he pressed into it, gradually turning it back onto its belly, and then pushed upwards, its massive weight suddenly pressing crushingly down on his back. He glanced from side to side and saw the rapidly thinning streams of hydraulic fluid and spared a glance over his shoulder.
The landing gear was still up.
This was going to be bad.
He did his best to level it out, and then tilted the nose up, and pushed back into it. He felt the metal buckle behind his back, but there was nothing else to be done. Inexorably, the plane slowed, the entirety of it buckling behind him, and he sucked in a breath in terror that it would bend in half and go spiraling off into the ground. He eased off, supplying the lift now, and spotted the runway at the airport, the long, slender streams of concrete slicing this way and that through verdant green. He steered as best he could for the most open one, which was, unfortunately, right next to the terminal. The plane groaned as he neared the ground, pressing back, trying to balance the need to slow before it hit the ground with the need to keep the whole thing from dintegrating. The earth was closer now, and he could feel the backwash from the runway beneath him whipping his cape against the fuselage. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth and pushed, and his breath caught as the rear of the plane touched the ground.
There was a shower of sparks and a sudden rumble, and the wide curvature of slick metal resting on his back threatened to twist out of his grip. He leaned forward, letting it level out, and crawled up to the nose. He threw his arms over the anodized black cap, and glimpsed the shocked cabin crew staring back at him as he pushed into the plane, slowing it. It began to turn again, and he slid back down, spreading his arms to keep it from rolling onto its side. The terminal was suddenly much, much closer, and he fought not to look at it, for fear he would lose his concentration. Most of the plane was touching the ground, now, the ground easing by underneath him, and he let it come down on top of him, slowly working his way forward until he could turn, put his feet against the ground, and dig in his heels. His feet tore long furrows in the concrete until finally, at last, the whole mass came to a slow, screeching stop.
Panting, he stumbled to the side, and almost fell onto one knee. At the rear of the plane there was a low whump, and hot, almost invisible flames licked out from under the tail. He stared at it, wide-eyed.
"You gotta be kidding me."
There was no time, no room for theatrics. The fire trucks were screaming in, but were much too far away. There was only one way he knew of to put a fire out in a hurry. He ran along the length of the plane, ignoring the stares of the passengers through the windows, and sucked in a deep breath, deeper than he ever had before. He actually saw the air warp and twist in front of him as it spiraled into his mouth, and he felt a sudden dense heaviness in his chest, like the onset of a bad cold. As soon as he had it in he pushed it out as hard as he could, leaning into it, and the air blasted from his lungs in a concentrated cone that washed over the flames and pressed them out, as if a giant had squeezed a great wick between his fingers. He expelled the air until he was leaning on his knees, and to his surprise, when it was done there was a thin sheen of ice all over the back of the plane, hanging down in little icicles from the charred tail section.
He took a moment to compose himself, leaning against the back of the plane, and sensed a sudden, new attack. After the barest instant, he relaxed, realizing he wasn't being attacked at all. They had come to rest not fifty feet from the terminal, and he was being photographed. Everyone had a phone or a camera in their hands, snapping picture after picture. Realizing he was being watched, he stood up, put his chest out, and somewhat shakily lifted up. A few of the cameras drooped as the owners forgot what they were doing and stared, open-mouthed, at him.
He moved along the side of the plane until he found the forward door, dug his fingers under the rim, and pulled it out with a crunch. He dipped his head and drifted inside, and stumbled a little bit as the soles of his boots bit the carpet, but not too much. He moved past the little partition and into the first class section, and looked around. A hundred faces in three aisles stared at him, a universal look of shock plastered across them. He let his breathing slow a bit.
"Is everybody okay?"
In response, a rather burly man in a black suit in the front row pulled his mask off, hastily pulled open a paper bag, and loudly vomited.
He found his gaze drawn to the front row. He didn't realize he was staring at the girl sitting there until it was too late, and she at him. Tall and long of leg, she had on a yellow sun dress that left her pale shoulders bare and her lithe legs, like a dancer's legs, exposed up to the knee. He blinked when he realized she was wearing some kind of variation on the little clippy things needed to pilot an Eva, bright red and holding her hair out of her face. Her eyes were the deepest blue he had ever seen, and she had sharp, regal features, the slight tilt of her eyes revealing a mixed heritage.
He remembered that he was staring at her and did his best to recover. He walked over to her.
"Miss? Are you alright?"
She nodded, and then fumbled at her oxygen mask and pulled it off.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Sh…"
He looked around. Think, Shinji.
"I'm, uh, I'm here to help."
"Oh," she said.
He scratched the back of his head before he realized he was doing it.
Come on, Shinji.
"Well," he shrugged. "I, uh, I'll see you around, I guess."
She blinked twice, and before she had a chance to reply, he strode to the exit, found the lever, and tugged it. With a thump of compressed air, the yellow emergency slide unfolded beneath him, and he stepped off into empty air. He waved at the terminal and rose up, turning as he did, and put his hands to his sides as he picked up speed and headed off into the horizon.
Misato held her Nerv badge over her head and half-muscled her way through the crowd, shouting words that turned into a sort of growl, lost in the din. She managed to push her way to the doors marked for Employees Only and bluff her way inside, shoving her identification in the face of the guard as she limped down the sloping platform, her strides more like one legged hops. When she reached the end of the tunnel she took the stairs, and rather than hobble down almost sideways put her hands on the rails and hopped down one legged, holding her bad foot up in the air behind her. She almost fell on her face when she pushed through the door into the open air, and stumbled, winced, and coughed at the stench of spilled fuel. As she watched, the plane rocked a little, and from the open door, the emergency slide blew out.
In her short life, she had seen things. The memory of the day her father died –it would always be that first, Second Impact second—was always fresh in her mind, but as a jumble of images and emotions, a cold, heartless poem of cold metal and the sound of something ancient and terrible screaming as it awoke. In some ways, the cloud of it would always hang over her. For one tiny instant, it was forgotten, as she saw a man take a step into the empty air and just take off, fly away into the sky through the column of smoke, slipping through the bright blue sky the way a slim fish skims through the waters. She wanted to cry out, to demand he come back or surrender herself, but the logical part of her mind was overwhelmed by the simple awe of it. He was so young. She only glimpsed him for a bare second, but he looked like he couldn't have been much older than Shinji. That reminded her. Where the hell was Shinji?
As thinking his name conjured him, he appeared at her side, wobbling as he struggled to carry a large and heavy fire extinguisher. Misato couldn't contain herself and burst out laughing at him, only to clamp her hand over her face a moment later, when she saw the wounded look in him as he slumped and let his shoulders roll down. He held out the big red canister and shrugged sheepishly.
"I thought we might need this."
She shook her head. "Put that down. Come on."
She hobbled along as quickly as she could, to the bottom of the slide. A rather sickly looking pilot put his head out through the opening and looked down, scanning the tarmac as the big fire engines rumbled forward, sirens blaring, and started spraying fire suppressant on the tail of the plane. All it did was melt the thin coating of ice that was already there and pool on the blacktop and start to mist. Shinji shied behind her like a child hiding behind his mother's skirts as the first passenger descended the yellow slide, bowing it with her weight. To no surprise, it turned out to be Asuka.
Misato offered her a hand and shakily the girl stood up, and stumbled a bit, and her face was almost green as she valiantly contained the contents of her stomach. She finally managed to right herself by clenching her fists and then closing her eyes, and she took a deep breath. Misato waited patiently.
"Are you okay?" said Misato.
"Fine," Asuka snapped. "My plane crashed, how do you think I am?"
Misato smirked. "You sound like yourself."
Asuka put her hands on her hips, her blue eyes sparkling with indignation. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Yeah," said Misato. "You're fine."
Asuka huffed again, and folded her arms. She nodded at Shinji. "Who's that?"
"My assistant," said Misato. "Come on, let's get out of here."
As she glanced around, she saw a great number of cameras pointed in their direction still, and the girl was still wearing those damned nerve clips on her head. She might as well have tied on a headband with a bulls eye on it. Misato resisted the urge to grab her and, to her relief, spotted a number of dark-suited men moving in the crowd behind the glass, and a few more running towards them. At their head was Gorou Yoshida, the head of Section 2 himself. Misato slowed and naturally adjusted herself. Yoshida reminded her of her drill instructor from her days in the JSSDF and the reminder was uncomfortable.
A great solid block of a man, he carried his bulk with a surprising grace and speed that spoke of years spent training for function over form. He watched everything at once through mirrored glasses and said something softly into his wrist, just out of her earshot. Shinji craned his neck forward a little, and then quickly stared at the ground, and dedicated himself to watching the feet of the two women walking in front of him.
"Katsuragi. I see you recovered the pilot for us."
Misato's eyes narrowed. "Yeah. We're just on our way to my car."
"We need to debrief her."
"I'm standing right here," Asuka snapped.
Yoshida ignored her. "She's a valuable asset. She needs to be secured."
"Hey," Shinji interjected. "I don't think you should-"
Yoshida glanced at him disdainfully and gave him a little shove. "Quiet, runt."
"That's the commander's son," Misato snapped, squaring herself up.
Yoshida snorted. "Your point being?"
"I outrank you," Misato said as she crossed her arms. "The pilots are under my authority. She's coming with me."
The big man considered her for a moment. "Fine. I have other matters to attend to. You let the civilian authorities approach the plane?"
Misato rolled her eyes, dismissed him with a wave of her hand, and motioned for the kids to follow her. She felt an instinctive urge to avoid limping around the Section 2 men, to avoid showing weakness in front of a predator.
Asuka knocked her out of her contemplation. "Where are we going, exactly?"
Misato sighed. "Right. My car, then my apartment. They told you-"
"Yeah," Asuka hissed. I'm living with you."
The walk back to the car was awkward, to say the least. The Section 2 men cleared a corridor through the terminal for them, and the trip was surprisingly swift. Misato slumped a little, having planned to show off her car. There was always an unspoken competition between her and Asuka, and a lot of little digs and subtle resentment. Asuka disliked Misato for an incredibly silly reason, but to Asuka, everything was gravely serious, no matter how minor, every perceived imbalance or compromise an assault on her honor.
Shinji quickly moved to open the door for Asuka, and then got in the back himself. He still hadn't spoken, and Misato knew she's start needling him soon. She realized she was right as soon as she slid into the car.
"So," said Asuka. "Ikari, right?"
"Yes," said Shinji. "I didn't get to introduce myself, I'm sorr-"
"You should be," Asuka said coldly. "You're the reason I'm here, aren't you? The washout."
Misato sucked in a breath as the girl turned and peered at Shinji over the back of her seat. There was an uneasy silence for a short time, and then Shinji simply shrugged and adjusted his glasses.
"Being able to pilot an Eva is a rare ability," said Misato.
Asuka huffed. "You make it sound like it's some kind of superpower. I didn't just get handed my status on a plate. I had to work for it."
"Well," said Misato, "Shinji didn't have time for eight years of training. Who would you rather have saving the world, a complete newbie or the best pilot we have?"
Asuka immediately brightened, and Misato let out a soft, inaudible sigh, glad of the victory. Outmaneuvering Asuka into dropping something once she'd seized on it was like trying to pull a rag out of an ornery puppy's mouth- the harder one tugs, the harder the task becomes. Asuka leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.
"So, what are you doing here, exactly?"
"He's my intern," said Misato.
"I wasn't talking to you," Asuka rolled her eyes. "I said what are you doing here, washout?"
Shinji shrugged. "I didn't have anywhere else to go, I guess."
Her eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
"Oh," Misato said wryly, "He lives with me. With us, now."
Asuka sat bolt upright in the seat. "What? That's perverse! I can't live with a boy!"
"Why not?"
Asuka folded her arms. "It's improper for boys and girls to live under the same roof after the age of ten."
"Oh," said Misato, settling into her seat. She twisted a little on the cheap fabric started up the car, and put it in gear. "You don't have to worry about him stealing into your bedroom at night. I saw him first."
Misato grinned. Asuka let out an annoyed squeak, turned a deep shade of red, and was matched by Shinji, whose eyes went wide. He started to say something but quickly and smartly snapped his mouth shut before whatever it was could go tumbling out and get him in more trouble.
"Don't even think about it," Asuka snapped, rounding on him.
"I was kidding," Misato sighed. "He's a perfect gentleman. You'll hardly notice he's there. Once it's light's out, it's like he disappears, he's so quiet."
Asuka had three goals. One was to get the world put back to its proper place, to put her things in their proper order in her new room. The mere fact that she had a small segment of her previously available space was a grave insult, especially since she had been living on her own since she was thirteen, first with frequent visits from Misato and later Kaji and then completely on her own. She saw the DHL truck pulling away from Misato's ugly little brutalist apartment building and smiled inwardly. She wouldn't have to go shopping. Yet. She despaired to think of the all of the relationships she'd cultivated with the boutiques in Berlin, now lost to the wind, and the bizarre choices she'd have in regards to food and fashion. She eyed Misato up and down covertly and decided she would not be wearing [i]that[/i] uniform. The woman looked like a stripper. She could have at least bought clothes that fit.
The boy sitting behind her puzzled her. Once their little tiff ended, he studiously began ignoring her, instead preferring to stare out the window as if the sights of the city were the most magical thing he had ever seen. As Misato pulled into the parking lot, she twisted, making as if it stretch and pop her back –which needed it, by the way—and looked back at him.
"Hey, you."
He crinkled his nose a little, and his glasses slid down. "My name is Shinji, Miss Soryu."
Asuka smirked wickedly and pushed his glasses back up his nose, and he jerked back, startled.
"You act like you've never seen any of this before. Don't you live here?"
He shook his head. "I just got here. I lived with family, out in the country."
"Oh," said Asuka. "So you're kind of some country bumpkin, then. From…"
"Asuka…" Misato deadpanned.
"Smallville," said Asuka. "Some little Podunk smallville. That will do."
"It was a nice place," Shinji shrugged, and got out of the car. He had the good sense to open the door for her.
It took longer than she liked to get up to the apartment, with Misato limping on her injured ankle. She'd have to ask the older woman what happened there. The reaction on Shinji and Misato's faces was amusing as they saw the twin rows of boxes, stacked four high, that ran down the hallway leading up to Misato's apartment. She strode past them both.
"Well? Are we going in, or not?"
Misato mumbled something and opened the door for them, and Asuka looked at Shinji expectantly.
"Well?"
He shrugged, picked up a stack of boxes, and started carrying it in. He quailed and struggled under the weight, bending his knees as he walked and shaking. Asuka stifled a laugh. Misato gave her a wry look as if she understood some kind of a secret. Shinji quickly, and perceptively, picked up on it and straightened with a sigh, walking the boxes towards what was to be Asuka's new room without the mock duress, though he looked a tad nervous for some reason, his eyes constantly flitting back to her when she wasn't looking.
She narrowed her eyes at him, and followed him through the apartment. It would have been a good size for her alone, but was cramped for the three of them. She absently remembered to kick her shoes off at the door as she entered, and slid the door open for Shinji to carry the first load of boxes into her room. Once inside, she felt sick at how tiny it was. She was going to have to keep a great deal of stuff in boxes, and there was no bed. Where was she supposed to sleep? After poking around for a moment, she found folded mats and bedclothes in a small closet, and huffed. She would be buying a bed and she would be doing it soon.
"Well," she rounded on Shinji, "that's not all. Hop to it."
As he left, she quietly followed him out, and glanced at the room across the hall. When she heard him outside talking to Misato, she quickly stole across the carpet and slid his door open. The flimsy doors, which didn't even have knobs, much less locks, were yet another problem that would need to be rectified. She would have to see about getting a real door if she was to be forced to endure living in this place for very long. She glanced back over her shoulder to make sure she was unseen, and peeked into his room.
She almost felt bad, almost but not quite. Shinji's so-called room was pretty clearly a closet, although a large at that, just big enough for him to stretched out on a bedroll of his own, although it looked like he never used it, it was so neatly folded. He had a small nightstand and a stack of books absent shelves. To her surprise, they were not all in Japanese, in fact, most of them weren't. She couldn't make heads or tails of the squiggles these people called writing, but she could guess from the size and covers that some of the Japanese texts were cookbooks or textbooks. The others were in English and French, also cookbooks, some physics textbooks, and a book of poetry. To her surprise, he had a beginning German phrasebook tucked in with the others.
Lying neatly folded, wrapped in plastic, was his plugsuit, tucked away in the corner. She felt another pang of almost-regret as needling him for his failure. She might have gone a bit too far. She sighed, heard footsteps, and tried to quickly and quietly bump the door shut. She spun around to find Misato standing behind her, hands on hips, a wry look on her face.
"I didn't think you'd be the one I'd find sneaking around."
Asuka turned her nose up. "I am not going to sink to your level, and dignify your immaturity."
Misato snorted derisively. "Oh, really."
"I was curious, is all. I have to live with him, I want to see what kind of person he is."
Misato smirked. "Wait until he starts cooking. You could help him, you know."
Shinji teetered past, a stack of four boxes leaning drunkenly in his hands. He navigated the small space expertly, keeping them balanced with a sort of jocular ease that belied the quiet way he'd taken up since she met him. He set the stack down and quickly went to fetch the next one, making a neat line along the wall in Asuka's new room.
"What is all that stuff, anyway?"
"Do I go around picking at your things?"
"Yes." Said Misato.
"Bah," said Asuka. "I bought my own perfume. I can if I want, I'm an adult."
Misato stared at her blankly, and Asuka resisted the urge to growl. "You do have a bathroom, don't you? I need to use the facilities, and shower, and I want some sleep. Have your manservant make me up a bed."
Misato rolled her eyes, but didn't argue, instead calling for Shinji.
He didn't mind, really. For Shinji, carrying the boxes was less than annoyance. Nothing, really, was heavy to him, and he had to devote a small degree of his attention to making sure he didn't move too quickly, lift too many boxes, or balance a fifty pound stack on one hand while someone was looking. Misato called his name as he was setting down his latest load. He dutifully walked over to her and waited. He felt like an insect in a terrarium. The older woman and his new housemate were both staring at him, all the while flicking glances at each other. Misato he understood; she was casting about for some opportunity to tease him. Asuka, on the other hand, was a complete mystery. Compared to every girl he'd ever met, she was some kind of alien, a bizarre creature in human skin whose behavior was so shockingly different that it startled him at every turn. His eyes found the polished nerve conductor clips fixed in her hair, and he found himself wondering how she would look without them.
"Will you make up Asuka's bed?" said Misato. "We'll need some dinner, too."
"…and quit staring at me," said Asuka.
"Sorry," he sighed, and went to roll out her sleeping mat and mattress.
He stood up and quickly scanned the boxes, looking for bed linens. Being able to see through them made the task easier. He blushed furiously, even though he was alone, when he spotted the box, actually the boxes, containing various garments, and realized what he was doing. Instead of putting himself in a situation where he was explaining how he found what he was looking for, he found a set of unwashed sheets in the closet and finished making up her bed. Once done, he craned his neck around the doorway and saw Misato's back hunched over the kitchen table.
He glanced back out into the hallway and hurriedly moved, just slow enough not to attract attention. Precariously balancing the piles of boxes in either hand, he quickly jogged lightly back and forth from the hall to the bedroom, lining the walls with the containers. After a few minutes, he was finished, and went into the kitchen and washed his hands.
Misato looked up. "You're done?"
He nodded.
"Oh," said Misato. "I have to…"
He heard a scream, immediately tensed, and as it always did when he felt danger, the world slowed. Misato moved with ponderous, tired surprise, her raven hair swirling around her head. He could count the individual strands. He watched the bathroom door open and slam against the wall, and instinctively turned away and slapped his hands over his eyes. He caught the briefest flash of red hair, darkened and heavy from water, and the long, drawn out waaaaaark that told exactly what was happening.
With his back turned, his eyes clamped shut, and his hands over his face, he held his breath as the flow of time returned to normal and bare feet padded across the kitchen floor.
"What the hell is that?" Asuka shouted.
Wark!
"Oh, that's just Pen-Pen."
"What the hell is it doing in the bathroom?"
"Trying to take a bath?"
Shinji snickered.
"You!" Asuka snapped, "Don't laugh at me!"
He heard her stalk over to him. She grabbed his shoulder and shook him. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!"
"Uh," said Misato. "Asuka. I think you forgot something."
"What? I…" she trailed off.
Then, she shrieked and ran from the room. Misato sighed, stood, and followed her. Shinji peered out between his fingers, and made sure he was alone before turning around and falling against the countertop as he forced out a deep sigh. He looked down and saw a steam-dampened Pen-Pen staring back up at him. The penguin tilted his head to the side.
"Did you do that on purpose?"
"Wark," said Pen-Pen.
Misato poked her head into the kitchen. "She's dressed. You can relax now."
Shinji nodded. "Dinner?"
"See if Asuka wants anything. I just got called into work."
With that, she disappeared, leaving Shinji alone with the penguin. Pen-Pen slapped his thigh and gestured towards the empty food bowl. He took a quick look around and, making sure no one saw, yanked the top of the sardine can free in a fluid motion and shoved it down into the recycling bin after he'd emptied it out. Pen-Pen went to his meal hungrily, and Shinji gingerly walked out into the hall.
"Asuka?"
"Go 'way," she murmured.
Curled up on the mat in her bedroom, she was already tucked into the fetal position and half way asleep, her wet hair spilled over her face and shoulders. Shinji hurriedly looked away, guiltily realizing he'd used his abilities to peer into her room without opening the door, and blushed reflexively. He listened, and heard Misato limping across the parking lot, and the sound of her getting in the rental car and starting it up. He concentrated and his hearing expanded, and in the distance, he heard a scream.
Quickly, he ducked into his room, pulled out his backpack with his uniform and boots, and threw it over his shoulder. He scribbled a quick note about going out for food in case Asuka woke up, and left it on the table. He tip-toed past her room, then ducked out through the front door. Pen-Pen watched him, head tilted to the side, and he pressed his finger to his lips in a gesture of silence. Absurdly, the penguin nodded in agreement. Once he was in the hallway, Shinji made his way to the emergency stairs, dashed down them, and left his clothes in the back pack, tucked under the fire extinguisher box.
From there he ran into the alley behind the apartments, took two quick steps, and took to flight.
It had been a long day, and Tsubaki felt weariness hanging on her like a heavy overcoat. She stumbled over the gap between the train car and the platform, and remembed, vaguely, a time when trains like this were so full she would have been trampled for making the same mistake. Now, she was one of the few people stepping off at this stop. There was a lonely severity to it, a perpetual reminder of endless loss. Her keys were already in her hand as she half-jogged the short walk from the station to her apartment block. Like most, her building was half empty, and she had nearly an entire floor to herself and her son. She felt as if she would collapse by the time she made it to the door, opened the lock, and stepped inside. When the door opened, she froze.
The window in the living room was wide open, and the evening breeze, a slight chill in comparison with the heat of the day, swung the thin curtains inward. She looked around frantically, ducking into the kitchen and bedrooms, but found them empty. A tightness in her throat, she put her head out the window and traced the thin ledge that ran under it with her gaze.
"Jiro?"
She froze. The cat, the damned cat, was perched at the edge of the building where the ledge wrapped around the corner, and there was Jiro, clinging to it, one hand wrapped around a drain pipe running down the plain concrete wall. He glanced over his shoulder.
"Mom? Mom, I'm stuck!"
"Don't move!"
She sat on the windowsill, starting to swing her feet out, and thought better of it, kicking off her high heels first. He stocking-slick foot slid off the thin protrusion of the ledge into empty air, and vertigo swirled through her, shoving her stomach upwards. She pressed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, hanging halfway out the window, and closed her eyes to steady herself.
"Mom?"
"Don't move!"
She opened her eyes again and saw something impossible.
There was a man standing next to her, and beneath his feet was only empty air. She stared at his half-laced boots for a moment, dumbstruck, as the limply hung into the void. He tapped her on the shoulder.
"It's alright, ma'am. I've got him."
The flying man drifted down the length of the ledge and put both hands out to Jiro. Her son stared at him, dumbstruck, and then glanced at the ground, far below, with a wince. The strange motioned with his fingers, and gently cradled the boy under the arms even as they wound tightly about his neck. With his other hand, he plucked the gray tabby from the ledge by the scruff of its neck, and then drifted back to the window.
"Ma'am?"
With a start, she slid back into the apartment. The flying man dropped the cat in first, and then gently handed Jiro over to her through the window. They both stared at him, speechless. The cat licked at its paws, raised its tail in indignation, and stalked off.
"Well," said the stranger, "I guess I'll be going. Next time, just let the cat come in on its own, okay? Cats land on their feet, but little boys don't, and it's a long way down."
They both nodded. Slowly, trembling, Tusbaki closed the window and put her son down. The flying man waved before he took off into the night, and Jiro waved back.
Misato wanted a drink, and she wanted her bed, and she'd been denied them both. After the trouble at the airport, she should have known they would call her in, but couldn't it wait until the morning? Besides the embarrassment of driving this lame little hatchback into work, she'd have to suffer through some security briefing or report or something that had surprisingly little to do with her. She made no effort to hide her limp as she flashed her badge and stumbled into the elevator, resting on the railing that ran around the inside to take some of the pressure off her feet. Ritsuko joined on the next floor. There were bags under her eyes, and the lipstick on her bottom lip was patchy and uneven from cigarettes rolling around on it.
"You look like shit," said Misato.
"Thanks," Ritsuko deadpanned. "You here for the briefing?"
She nodded.
"Yoshida has something up his ass," Ritsuko shrugged. "Insisted we do this tonight."
"There's an image."
Both women snickered.
"Something to do with the whole plane thing."
"The whole plane thing," Misato repeated.
"You saw him."
"Yeah. I didn't get very close. He can fly."
"Yeah," said Ritsuko, motioning to bring a phantom cigarette to her lips. "That he can."
"It's weird. I don't even know how it works. It wasn't like he flapped his arms or something, it was like gravity decided to just stop working for him."
"I've been thinking about it," said Ritsuko. "The apparent invulnerability, levitation. It could be explained by an AT-Field."
"You mean, you think this guy is an angel?"
Ritsuko shrugged. "An infiltrator, maybe. Gain our confidence and just walk in here."
"That's ridiculous," said Misato. "Angels can't be people!"
Ritsuko looked at her blankly. Something, hidden, twitched around the corner of her eyes. She made the phantom cigarette motion again, stopped, stared sheepishly at her fingertips.
"Just a theory," she said.
"I wonder what we should do?"
"I think that's why we've been called to this meeting." Ritsuko shrugged.
They spent the rest of the elevator ride in silence. Finally, the doors parted, and Ritsuko led the way, sparing a glance at Misato's ankle as she hobbled after her.
"Is that still bothering you?"
"I'll be fine. Come on, I want to get this over with."
The walk to the Commander's office was long and quiet. He was on a level of the complex by himself, probably to build up a sense of anticipatory dread in any who came to visit him. For all this glaring, Misato wasn't quite sure exactly what he did all day. As the two women entered his office, they found him behind his expansive, and utterly empty, desk, perched behind his own hands. Beside him was the sub-Commander, Fuyutsuki. Yoshida was standing to one side, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
"Reporting as ordered," said Misato.
Ritsuko managed an amused grunt, and looked at the floor.
"Dispense with pleasantries," said the commander.
Yoshida straightened and put his arms at his sides. "The Second Child's plan was sabotaged."
Misato felt the color drain from her face. "What?"
"Once the civilian authorities were cleared out, I moved my own men in. They were thorough. We're lucky she made it to Japanese airspace at all."
Misato snorted. "Lucky, huh."
Yoshida glared at her. "The interference of the creature was also fortunate."
"The creature?" said Misato.
"Yes," said Ikari. "The so-called 'flying man'."
"We were unable to contain the situation," said Yoshida. "By the time we were able to get the web filters up, the news media was already being bombarded with photographs and videos from the crash. It's out."
"That is a separate issue. The security of the Second Child is now paramount," said Ikari. "We must have an Evangelion pilot."
"Assuming that she can pilot Unit One at all," said Ritsuko. "We don't know that for certain."
"I trust you will deal with the synchronization testing," said Ikari. "Immediately."
"What about the security issue? We should move her onto the base."
"I don't think that's a good idea," said Misato.
Yoshida glared at her. "Why not?"
"She needs social interaction. I've already arranged for her to begin attending the high school."
"Ridiculous," said Yoshida. "She's an asset. It's too risky."
"I agree with the Captain," said Fuyutsuki.
Of everyone in the room, only Ikari failed to stare at him. He went on.
"Her psychological condition is fragile. Spending time with her peers would do her some good. She'll be of no value as an asset if she cannot function."
"The risks…" said Yoshida.
"Triple the security detail around the school," said Ikari. "Screen everyone who enters or leaves the city."
He directed his gaze to Ritsuko, a subtle gesture. "Devote Magi processing cycles to monitoring all ingoing and outgoing communication."
"So what are we going to do about this… person?" said Misato.
"I am still considering that."
An awkward silence descended over the room. Misato shuffled uncomfortably on her feet, and winced. Ritsuko coughed into her fist.
"Dismissed," said Ikari.
Only Fuyutsuki remained in position, as the others departed.
As he coasted over the city unfolded beneath him, Shinji felt like a swimmer doing a dead man's float over some sort of luminescent coral reef. Even in darkness, the world beneath him pulsed with light and life. Sliding over it, he was an invisible observer, watching in silence. He heard a screech of tires and turned his head. He wasn't sure exactly how it worked, but by concentrating, he could focus his sight on a particular spot and magnify it, somehow. He dipped down towards the sound, skimming between buildings with his arms at his sides.
A heavy armored car lurched away from an automated teller kiosk. Three men in tan uniforms sat in front of it, bound in ropes, their wrists secured with zip-ties. Shinji came down beside him, and all three stared at him, dumbstruck, leaving him to speak first. He knelt down and casually broke their bonds, snapping the rope and plastic with the pressure of his fingers. All they could do was point.
He took three quick steps and dropped forward onto his belly, tracing the armored car's path along the road. It leaned drunkenly to the side as it took the next corner too-quick, and almost struck an oncoming car. Shinji moved up and over it, and then came down beside the driver's side window. A man in a ski mask wrestled with the wheel, while another beside him brandished a rifle. The two men glanced at him for a moment, and then slowly turned their heads to stare.
He tapped on the window.
"I'm sorry, but I don't think this belongs to you."
The driver blinked, jerked the wheel, and the bulk of the vehicle slammed into him, knocking him off his path and for a loop. He staggered in the air, tumbled backwards, and steadied himself before moving forward again. This time, he pushed his fingers between the rim of the bullet proof glass window and the door frame, and pushed down. It groaned as it stripped the gears of the motor that moved it up and down. Now exposed to the air, the two men started screaming incoherently at him. The driver pulled out a gun and shot him.
He watched the hammer drop, the primer and powder ignite, and the bullet and stream of superheated gas stream from the barrel as the slide slid backwards. The bullet hit his chest and skimmed over his shoulder, tumbling up and out into space. He darted out with his hand, pulled away the gun, and closed his fingers around it. It crumpled into a ball of angles and springs. He dropped it in the man's lap, and stared down the barrel of the rifle.
"Really?"
He felt a certain satisfaction as he returned to the automated teller machine. The three men he'd untied stared at him in awe as he landed with a great thump. In his right hand, he held the two thieves by the collars of their jackets. In his left hand, over his head, he held the armored car. He pushed the thieves away and motioned for them to sit down, and then gently returned the vehicle to the ground. It groaned as it took its weight back on its springs. When the drivers had the two thieves tied, he gave them a wave and took off, back into the night sky.
Fuyutsuki waited patiently, and his patience was rewarded.
"Thoughts?"
He glanced down at Gendo. The man continued his façade even in private now, never leaning back in his seat or joking as he had in younger days. Fuyutsuki studied him for a moment, then sucked in a breath.
"How does the Committee feel?"
"That this… person… represents a threat. If we are not seen as the sole defense against the Angels, the Scenario is threatened."
Fuyutsuki nodded. "Perhaps we could approach him."
That drew a reaction. Gendo leaned back ever so slightly, and tilted his head towards the old teacher. "What?"
"I see no alternative. How do you propose we stop him?"
Gendo leaned forward again. "I don't. My only concern is that the Angels are defeated and the Scenario proceeds."
"Of course," said Fuyutsuki, "but as you said, the appearance of weakness is a threat. Perhaps there is an alternative."
"Such as?"
Fuyutsuki shifted on his feet. "Public relations."
Again, Gendo seemed surprised. "What?"
"We could release a statement. Appeal to the press. Attempting to lock this down now will only make it seem that we're afraid of this… person."
"You must be joking."
"Why make fools of ourselves fighting a potential ally? As you said, defeating the Angels is our top priority."
"True," said Gendo. "I must consult with the committee."
Fuyutsuki took that as a sign to leave. He unfolded his hands from behind his back and walked out of the room, without glancing over his shoulder.
Asuka awoke with a start, and quickly clamped her mouth shut. It wouldn't do to let her new roommates hear a girly scream, the product of the disorientation of waking in a strange place. She sat up slowly and rested on her knees, trying to force the cobwebs from her head. The last day had been like a dream. She could still feel the sensation of the airplane torqueing under her feet. Everything else had a sort of hazy quality to it, like a dream. Slowly, she got to her feet and stretched, and slid the door to her bedroom open. She immediately remembered how light it was, and grimaced.
Quietly, she walked out into the hallway. It was still dark outside. She could hear Misato snoring. Quietly, she crossed the hall and pressed her ear to Shinji's door. There was no sound inside. She tapped on it with her fingers.
"Hey," she whispered, "are you in there?"
There was no response.
"Listen, I'm only going to say this once. I…" she forced herself not to clench her teeth, "I'm sorry about the way I acted earlier."
Again, there was no response.
"Fine," she snapped, "be that way."
Sighing, she wandered into the kitchen, blearily scanning the room to make sure that damnable penguin wasn't underfoot. She swept her hair back over her shoulders and opened the refrigerator. As to be expected, there was a great surplus of no doubt cheap, foul tasting beer. Asuka had tasted beer before, but never liked it too much; she preferred wine, and once spent six weeks learning about the finer points of viticulture. Unfortunately, her attempts to get Kaji to share a bottle with her ended, to put it lightly, poorly, and she'd stuck to water after that. Finding no actual bottled water in the house and disdaining the tap, she rooted around in the refrigerator until she found a bottle of what she assumed was some kind of soda. The kanji eluded her, and the stylized script on the bottle might as well have been in Greek. She set it on the counter, and searched out a glass.
The contents of the kitchen cabinets stunned her. Given how Misato kept her quarters in Germany, this must have been Shinji's doing. Everything was in its place, neatly stacked, every piece of glass or flatware professionally buffed. The glass she chose had such a high mirror shine she stopped to admired herself in it. She had bags under her eyes, no doubt from the fatigue of her travel. She poked at her cheeks, shook her head, and poured herself out a glass of soda. She found herself staring at the open cabinet, pushed it shut, and surveyed the kitchen, sipping from her glass. There was a curious, almost artistic neatness to it, like a formal garden. She almost felt bad soiling the cup she drank from. She could only imagine what this had been like before the boy arrived, and almost found herself admiring his resolve in cleaning up after Misato. If it hadn't been such a pathetic, housebroken act, she would almost have found it admirable. Almost.
She tipped back the last of her drink, washed out the glass, and set it next to the sink. For some reason, she felt the need to adjust it until it occupied an aesthetically pleasing position. Satisfied, she walked back to her bedroom and despaired of getting back to sleep in a reasonable time. Just as she slid her door shut, she heard the front door to the apartment close, and froze in place. She could hear Misato snoring, and if Shinji was in his room…
It turned out to be Shinji himself. Looking quite satisfied with himself, he lazily walked through the living room and down the hall to their bedrooms, making not a sound as he walked. He his school bag over his shoulder, heavy with, well, something. She glanced at her cell phone. It was four thirty in the morning. She'd been asleep for over twelve hours, and still felt tired. She shook her head to rid herself of those mundane thoughts and watched Shinji.
He seemed different, somehow. There was a quiet way about him, a change in his gait and his manner. The way he stood, with his shoulders back and his belly pulled in and his chest proud, reminded her of one of the dozens of statues she'd seen in Berlin, some general preening in stone over a medieval victory. Yet, at the same time, he was so casual, without a care in the world. He ducked into his room, and she heard him unzip the bag and ruffle with some cloth, followed by two quick thumps. She hid behind her wall and peeked through the crack between the door and the jamb as he came back out, yawning. He'd left his glasses in his room, she realized, and she only caught a glimpse of his eyes free of the thick lenses, blue and gleaming.
She dared open the door a little wider as he walked through the kitchen into the bathroom. She heard him turn on the shower, yawn again, and hurriedly ducked back inside as he walked back to his room, oblivious to her. He muttered something to himself about his glasses, slipped into his room, and came back with them in hand, the earpieces pinned between his fingers. Asuka gasped involuntarily and blanched, wondering if she'd given herself away. Apparently planning to take a shower, he'd taken off his shirt and was walking around in his school uniform pants. She didn't expect the quiet boy she'd been snapping at earlier to be, well, buff. He really did look like a statue, like someone tapped a Greek sculpture on the forehead and brought it to life.
She slid the door shut and dropped onto her bed, holding her breath. She rolled onto her side and let out a long, quiet sigh. She'd forgotten how sleepy she was, and was quickly drifting off into a quiet, silent sleep.
Shinji felt like he should be tired. A sort of vestigial fatigue hung around him, the sort of haze that falls over us just before we become drowsy, but the actual tiredness never came. Once he made sure his other clothes were secured, he showered and started working on breakfast. The quiet routine of preparing food eased his mind. The only thing out of place was a glass resting by the sink. Pen-Pen emerged from his little refrigerator and poked anxiously at Shinji's leg, pointing at his food dish. With a sigh, he fished out a can of sardines, yanked it open, and poured them out for him. He was eating hungrily as Asuka walked, rubbing at her eyes and half stumbling, into the kitchen. Misato joined her a moment later, and the two fell into a curiously automatic routine, moving around each other's slow, haggard movements.
Misato sat down at the table with a beer. She studied the can for a moment, and Shinji took advantage of it. Ever so slightly he turned, lifted his glasses, and focused. There was a soft ping of expanding aluminum, and he turned back to his work. Misato cracked the can open and took a long pull on it, and immediately sputtered and coughed as she forced it down.
"Blech, it's warm!"
"Coffee, maybe?" said Shinji, holding up a freshly brewed pot.
She eyed him. "Whatever."
He poured her a mug full and finished bringing the soup to boil. Misato stared into her cup for a few minutes, taking brief sips here and there. Asuka emerged from the bathroom, her hair wet from the shower, wrapped up in a fluffy robe.
"That was quick," said Misato.
"I'm not going to spend an hour shampooing if I have to get that rancid gunk in my hair."
Shinji shuddered, remembering the feeling of breathing in a mouth full of the LCL. Asuka walked over to him and peered over his shoulder. "What is that?"
"Soup," said Shinji.
She crinkled her nose. "What is that, fish? Some kind of grass or something? Don't you have any real food?"
"Uh," said Shinji, "Toast?"
Asuka rolled her eyes. "Fine, I'll have that."
Shinji dutifully prepared the toast. She snatched the plate out of his hand and hurriedly began eating it, working her way around the outside to eat the crust first.
"I've got to get going," said Shinji. "School, and all."
"Have a good day!" Misato smiled, a little half-heartedly, still staring into her coffee.
"Whatever," Asuka said through a mouthful of toast.
Shinji shrugged, picked up his bag, now filled with actual books and his school laptop, and headed out the door. He walked slowly, watching the long black car parked in the corner of the parking lot. A tall man in a dark suit muttered something into his wrist. Shinji pointedly looked away, all the while listening.
"The Ikari kid just left."
A tinny voice from the agent's earbud replied, "Don't worry about him."
Shrugging, he walked on. The journey to the school was quick an uneventful, and he put his head down and joined in with the crowd of students working their way to their morning classes. Being one of the first to arrive, he took up his preferred seat at the back of the room and sat back to watch the birds flit back and forth in the morning sun. As the appointed hour drew nearer, more and more students filed in. Hikari had just arrived when the trouble began.
Toji, holding a stack of newspapers over his head, ran into the room, Kensuke in tow, huffing and puffing to keep up.
"He's real!" Toji cried, "He's real, he's real! I told you, he's real!"
Shinji froze. Toji slammed the stack of newspapers down on an empty desk, and the rush of students moving forward drowned out Hikari's cries for order. Shinji reluctantly got up and made his way over, not wanting to stand out from the crowd. He was confronted by a whole slew of grainy, black and white pictures of himself, either standing neark Asuka's plane, or, in one particularly good shot, lifting off from the top of the emergency slide.
"There's a reward," Kensuke grinned. "They have a reward for the first clear picture of him."
"What do they call him?" Hikari asked, having given up on restoring any sort of order. She leaned over the crowd on her tip-toes, considered it for a moment, and leaned on Toji's shoulder to get a better look. He blinked.
"Nobody can agree on a name," said Kensuke, pointing out the various papers. "I like this one."
Shinji followed his finger to the full-width headline, a single word in bold letters.
"Superman," said Toji. "That sounds right."
Asuka shrugged into her plugsuit, pointedly not looking at the large 02 stenciled over the back plate. Technically, it stood for second child, but there was a certain symmetry that had been broken now that she was forced to pilot the prototype. She hadn't seen it yet, but even among the technicians in Berlin it had a reputation unbefitting an inert machine as a willful, glitch system- some of the idiots even joked about it being haunted, but there was a certain grave undertone to it, the grim sort of joke men tell when they want to trivialize something that frightens them. She sealed the plugsuit around herself and walked out of the locker room, towards the cage. It was colder here, for some reason, and the smell of LCL stronger, more primal, more like blood. She told herself it was her imagination and walked out onto the collapsible walkway that crossed the Eva's chest.
The cage had been cleared for her, and so she was alone, her footsteps echoing across the metal and blending with the sound of the gently circulating LCL sloshing around the Eva. It had to be continually pumped in and out in a very gentle current, for the benefit of the Eva's organic systems. She faltered a bit in her step and gasped when she saw it.
Hunched forward, Unit One was definitely different. Besides the coloration, it had a more primal, savage look to it, the armor sections on the head fitted more closely to the biological components underneath, to the point of having a mouth that was visibly bolted shut. Heavily damaged from the last battle, half of its face was covered over in gray primer covered layers of composite material. The damaged sections hadn't been fully repaired yet, leaving the eye lens on the damaged side fully exposed, huge and round. She could see wires running up under the plates and even caught a glimpse of the stitching in the flesh of the pale gray creature that was hidden under the armor. She understood, clearly, that even though it had genetically engineered biological parts –a bipedal robot would be an engineering nightmare without them—it was still a machine, a thing built by people. Yet, seeing the pale flesh pulled tight by a thinly healed scar covered in stitches didn't help that impression.
She realized she was staring at it, coughed, and started working her way up the gantry. The plug was exposed and ready. All she had to do was sit on the edge, swing her legs in, and drop into the LCL. It was freezing cold around her legs, and she gasped as she sank up to her hips. She slid down the side of the plug until she reached the chair, pulled herself up onto it, and pulled the control yoke down to lock it in place over her legs. Once that was done, she leaned back and closed her eyes to wait while the plug sealed. She heard the hiss as the door closed, then the curiously hollow sound as the LCL began flooding in around her.
The plug slammed home without warning. It rocked her in her seat, and she sputtered, still working in the first breath of LCL, and it turned into a cough.
"Hey!"
"Hold on," a female voice said, ringing hollow in the plug.
"What?" said Asuka.
"Nothing," a younger voice said. "It does that, sometimes."
"Does what?"
"Relax, Asuka," said Misato. "The prototype is a little finicky, that's all."
Asuka sighed, and it bubbled the liquid in front of her face. The interior lights warmed up, and the temperature of the LCL began to rise as it started softly circulating around her face. Breathing became much easier, and she felt herself calming. In a few moments, the ordinary process would begin, and she'd pick up a sudden sensation, like an itch, and a feeling of weightlessness and the odd sensation of her limbs being doubled as the nervous system of the huge cyborg synchronized with her own.
Except, it wasn't like that at all. There was a sudden, not sharp but strong pressure at the back of her neck, and she gasped involuntarily. The normal swirl of colors came, but there was a curious pattern to them, a strange sense of order that didn't fit with the random noise she was used to. She felt an intensely curious sensation, a feeling of presence, like something was watching her, and the synchronization process dragged on, the colors swirling around her for a few seconds, then a minute, more.
"What's going on?"
"Stay calm," said the first voice. "This is normal. The system is adjusting to you."
The sense of presence increased, and she turned around, looking around the plug, but it was empty. It was alien, at first, but after a time, there was a smell, a familiar scent that she couldn't place. She wasn't really smelling something –the LCL made that impossible—but there was no other way to describe it. It made her feel like she was drifting, and gave her the curious sense that someone was speaking her name just out of earshot.
Then, all at once, the synchronization came. She was suddenly aware of the titanic body of the Evangelion, standing waist deep in freezing cold liquid. She felt the tightness on her face where Unit One had been damaged, as if bandages were layered over her cheek. She felt the restraining bolts driven into her shoulder and hips, and her left eye twitched involuntarily, as if someone were spreading her eyelid open with their fingers. The sensations faded.
"Wow," said Misato. "Incredible, Asuka. You hit sixty-eight percent, there, for a bit."
She blinked. "Where is it now?"
"Forty-three," said Misato. "Not bad."
"My usual percentage is forty-eight!"
"Stay calm," the first voice said again. "No one has ever synched with Unit One successfully, Asuka. It's amazing you managed it at all, much less that it was so high."
She could see them, now. A view of the control room was being piped into her video feed- it was actually in her head, but it appeared to float in front of her, a product of the Eva's synchronization with her. She literally saw what it saw, filtered through the computer systems to create the impression of a cockpit, to make piloting feel more natural and normal. Misato was in the control room, but wasn't actually doing anything- she was actually sitting backwards on an office chair, leaning on the back. There was a bottle-blond and a mousy girl, a few others she didn't recognize. She should have demanded proper introductions from these people before she let them shove her in this thing.
"Asuka?" said Misato. "What did you say?"
"What?"
"You said something."
Asuka blinked. "I did?"
"Yeah. It sounded like you said, 'what did they do to you?'"
"I did not," said Asuka, as she crossed her arms.
"Fine, fine, relax. We need to run the standard battery of tests. We can't do any movement until the repairs are finished. This'll take a few hours."
"Oh," said Asuka, "Lovely."
Things were fairly quiet after Hikari chastened the class for their disorderly behavior. Fairly ordinary, except for the sneaking horde of men in black that had descended on the school. Shinji would have been worried, if he hadn't been able to look through their coats and read the Nerv identification badges in their pockets. Something was up. He leaned back in his chair and glanced around the room. Today, about half of the students were reading the news, an unusual sight in and of itself. In particular, they were reading about the plane crash. They were reading about him.
Something about that bothered him more than he thought it would.
He glanced again at the agents outside, careful not to look too directly, for fear they'd notice his attention. He slouched a little, and realized how silly he was acting. He glanced around at the screens again, and propped his chin on his hand.
They were there for a reason.
They weren't there before. Something changed. The only thing had had changed was Asuka. They were there to watch Asuka. But Rei attended the school, and she wasn't there, why weren't there agents before? It made no sense. Unless they had a reason to suspect something.
He sat up in his seat. Of course.
The plane. Someone did something to the plane.
Quickly, he hopped on the internet, making sure to slow his typing so that he didn't accidentally break the keys. He got a few quick, confused looks before he slowed even further, to a more normal, but still frantic pace. He pulled up some articles about the crash, scanning past himself, until he found the flight number. From there, he searched out the tail number and more importantly, the specific type of airplane that was used. It was an Airbus, and according to his searches, it had a perfect operational record- only one plane had ever been grounded for mechanical issues, and there had never been a crash. They were a relatively new, post-Impact production, but it was still highly unusual. Backing up to the news sites, he started looking through the pictures again. Not for the pictures of himself, but for the aftermath. He caught a quick glimpse of Misato, and was relieved they didn't seem to have paid any particular attention to her, or to Asuka.
The pictures were teeming with men in black.
He sat back in his seat. It was all connected somehow, but how. The sudden security presence around Misato's apartment made sense, but why were there so many more men around the school? They weren't trying to be visible, and he didn't think anyone but him would have noticed them to begin with. That meant they weren't there to be seen, so there was a specific reason to…
Someone sabotaged the plane. It was the only thing that made sense.
Someone tried to kill her.
"Hey man," Toji leaned over to him, "You okay?"
"F-fine," he stammered. "Just, uh, you know, stuff."
Toji blinked. "O…kay…"
Shinji sighed. "I have a new roommate."
"Oh," said Toji. "Huh. What, Misato have some guy move in with her."
"No, she…" Shinji trailed off. Revealing Asuka's identity was probably a bad idea. "She's Misato's… cousin."
"Whoa," said Toji. "I bet she's a babe. You are the luckiest…"
Hikari turned around and silenced them with a reproaching stare. Shinji thought he had heat vision. Shinji slumped in the seat again and moved to close his laptop lid. Kensuke leaned over from the other side.
"Hey," he whispered, "Check it out. More sightings."
"Sightings?" Shinji whispered.
"Yeah. Superman! He was all over the place last night. Look."
Kensuke leaned over and typed in an address on Shinji's laptop, and brought up another news story, this time with grainy, black and white stills from the security camera on the automated teller machine. His face was a gleaming blur. He sighed in relief.
"A clear picture," said Kensuke. "A clear picture, and I'll be…"
Hikari turned around again. Kensuke quickly shriveled into his seat.
Shinji glanced up at the clock. He never thought he'd be eager to go to work.
Asuka was more than happy to finally get out of Unit One. It wasn't as bad as she expected, but it was still unnerving. When the plug opened, she quickly slid out and onto the deck, careful to keep her footing on the slick gantry. She held onto the railing as she walked down to the deck, and gave the Evangelion a final, wayward glance as she passed it on her way to the locker room. She nearly jumped out of her skin when there was a great groan of metal and synthetic flesh, and the Eva's head turned, ever so slightly, to follow her. She stood on the bridge, panting, and fought a powerful urge to run.
"They say it's haunted."
She spun on her heels and nearly fell. The blond woman was approaching her. She had on a lab coat over a fairly scandalous outfit, and all the mannerisms of a smoker who was trying to hide it. She folded a pair of glasses and slipped them into her pocket.
"Ritsuko Akagi, M.D., Ph.D.. Head of Project E."
"Asuka Langley-Soryu, B.A.," Asuka said, wryly. "I know you by reputation."
"Gave you a little fright, did she?"
"What?"
Akagi snickered. "The Oni System. Unit One."
Asuka raised an eyebrow. "She?"
"Word is, she's haunted," said Ritsuko. "They say she moves on her own, that she's watching us."
Asuka put her fists on her hips, puffed out her chest, and did her best to look like she was doing neither. "That's ridiculous."
The profanity didn't faze her. "Good girl."
Asuka's eyes narrowed. The scientist went on. "It's a thermal expansion effect. Whenever we run a test, an overload in the neck joint heats up the armor plating and makes the head turn. It's a little more pronounced with some of the armor off."
"I knew that," said Asuka.
"Then why the jump?"
"I'm a little drowsy. Jet lag."
"Well, we're done with you for today. Misato will take you home. You did an excellent job."
"Thank you," Asuka said sweetly, forcing herself to smile. She let her grimace return when the Akagi woman was past her.
Once she was in the locker room, she quickly dispensed with the plugsuit, tossing it on the floor with a wet slap. She would have kept it on to shower, but it felt too confining today. She made a quick job of that, too, mostly focusing on getting her hair clean. It still smelled of the LCL, but not badly enough to bother her, and another, longer shower at home would take care of that. Once she was dressed, she headed out and nearly jumped out of her skin. Again.
Misato was standing in the locker room.
"What are you doing in here?"
"Nothing I haven't seen before," she smirked, brandishing a bizarre looking costume in a plastic bag.
"What the hell is that?"
"It's your school uniform."
"My what?"
Keel leaned forward, towering over the miniature hologram of Gendo Ikari planted in the center of his desk. He rather enjoyed positioning himself so, but made sure not to make it too obvious. Just obvious enough. For his part, Ikari remained motionless in that damnable pose of his, as if covering his mouth somehow made him inscrutable.
"Did it work?"
"No," said Ikari. "We have apparently underestimated his abilities. It didn't break the skin."
Keel leaned back and refused to grunt from the pain in his back. "I see. What then?"
"We will have to wait for one of the Angels to injure him."
"That may take too long. I took a risk convincing those other fools to sabotage her plane. An immense risk. If he hadn't intervened, our only viable pilot would be dead."
"I'm sure whatever lie you spun them will leave them none the wiser," said Ikari. "We cannot proceed without a viable sample. The Fourth is due in a few days. We will have to wait."
"Indeed," said Keel. Without ceremony, he reached out, shut down the projector, and for good measure, tossed a fine silk handkerchief over it.
The boy moved from the shadows, his crimson eyes catching the light from the fireplace, like two hot coals in a lantern.
"Unit Two will be moved soon. You will be parted from me, my child. Do you stand ready?"
"Of course," said the boy, in his sweet, lilting voice. How wonderful a child, he was.
"He will test you."
"Ikari, you mean. I will deal with him."
Keel smiled a thin smile. "I'm sure you will."
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Last Child of Krypton: Redux
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Chapter Four: In His Bare Hands