Shinji stood over the hospital bed upon which his comatose body slept, a lattice of wires and highly technical-looking protuberances snaking upward toward a set of monitors and displays identical to those surrounding his own station. The monitors provided a real-time display of biometric data—heart rate, blood pressure and oxygen levels in the blood stream were among the more immediately recognizable—as well as status reports concerning the respiratory and nervous systems and a log of neurological activity every fifteen minutes. The third child's eyes wandered back from the glowing screens to the bed where his former body lay snoring lightly. Ostensibly, it appeared as though no physical damage to his body had been done. And yet, the last thing he could concretely remember had been a fight with an angel, and it was highly unlikely that even just one out of the three EVA pilots of Tokyo-3's paramilitary extraterrestrial defense force would escape such an altercation unscathed. In fact, the Children had been injured in combat situations so routinely, attending school with crutches, splints and bandages on so many occasions that a few renegade journalists would, from time to time, criticize NERV for its methods and invoke child abuse. Having seen what the first child Rei Ayanami had gone through during one of the earliest encounters, Shinji Ikari would normally have sided with the journalists. All of this made the situation and sight before him suddenly seem highly suspect.

This is a nightmare.

It became patently obviously so suddenly that a giggle actually escaped the third child's lips. He turned to face Major Katsuragi who was staring at him intensely, a terrified expression arresting her face.

"Shinji," the purple-haired woman began, holding up her hands, palms outward as if to prove she wasn't a threat, "the important thing to remember is that you're alive, and you're safe, and despite how things turned out, you're going to be OK. Asuka's going to be OK. The angel is dead; both of you were successful in your mission. But right now, the most important thing for you to do is to recover slowly, gradually, and get your bearings."

"Wow," Shinji smiled. "The Dream Misato is incredibly accurate. I can totally imagine the real one saying such a thing."

Misato's mouth fell open, but Ritsuko simply adjusted her spectacles and nodded toward the other two medical technicians who immediately sprang into action, each of them moving around to either side of the third child. "Denial. Detachment from reality. Not an entirely implausible reaction, especially given what we already know psychologically about his character. We'll have to run psych evals once he's recovered a bit more, but Misato, there's nothing you personally need to be concerned about. This response to the transference is rather natural, I'd say. We can take it from here if there's somewhere else you need to be."

Shinji gave a laugh and put his hands on his sharp new set of hip bones. "Amazing! Even Dream Ritsuko is hardcore scientific. Maybe…"

A polar chill ran down the boy's slender spine. Naturally given the absurdity of the situation—he'd switched bodies with Asuka, and that was, simply put, impossible—he had just assumed he was dreaming. But the realism of the dream in which he was currently an active participant suggested an alternative scenario. What if, Shinji supposed, the explosion of the angel's A.T. field had sucked him into an alternate reality situation within the angel or its field and right now he had been torn from the fabric of his own reality and sewn back into the fabric of another. He lapsed into a cold sweat and began to tremble.

It was a classic, but lacking any other apparent solution to the problem at hand, he said to himself, "If I pinch myself and I wake up, at least I'll know it was a dream."

The medical technicians slowly surrounded him. He squeezed the pale skin of his left wrist tightly with the thumb and forefinger of his opposite hand. It stung immediately and he yelped a girlish squeak of surprise and pain. His eyes misted over.

"Oh… Oooh my God… Ach, mein Gott!"

Misato started to stride toward him, but Ritsuko took hold of her shoulder and gently pulled her back.

"What?" the major hissed at her colleague.

"Let the medical staff work," the fake blonde remarked clinically. "It's what they're paid to do, and they're the best money can buy in Japan and Korea."

"But Shinji's on the verge of a nervous breakdown!" Misato protested in a hushed but serious voice, trying to prevent the already-panicked child from overreacting any further. "He needs my help, Rit!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, act your age, Katsuragi, and do your damn job," Ritsuko snapped. "You're not a medic. You're not a psychologist. You're not a doctor. You couldn't even remember the diagnosis you asked me for so you could give it to Shinji yourself. You're the director of field operations and a combat and tactics specialist; stick to what you do best and leave the formulas and calculations to me."

The comment stung, but Misato Katsuragi was right. Ritsuko did not intentionally mean to be insulting, but her direct and arguably tactless style of delivery often lead to misunderstandings amongst her colleagues; only the most battle-hardened, resolute and leather-skinned analysts could tolerate working under her auspices. Furthermore, her friend was right. Her presence would, if anything, probably only serve to make the boy even more emotional. He was, in fact, a fledgling teenage boy, and with his hormones already running rampant—and how she intentionally put her assets on parade around her flat so often for his benefit—she figured he didn't need any further emotionally-inciting triggers. Glumly and dejectedly, the woman nodded, but lingered a moment longer while she watched one of the orderlies swiftly and discreetly inject Shinji with a tranquilizing agent in his right shoulder. Misato looked at the third child with a look of pained concern, and the child met her gaze suddenly with a bizarre and quizzical grin on his face.

"The angel's a nurse!" Shinji managed to croak out before he collapsed backwards onto his hospital bed once more and was attended to by the physicians.

"What did he mean by that?" Misato pondered aloud.

"Who knows?" Ritsuko murmured, jotting something down on her clipboard. "We'll have to study him very carefully over the next few days. Run some preliminary tests before any clinical trials begin assessing the extent of any lingering stress or damage to the psyches of the pilots."

Major Katsuragi frowned, folding her arms across her chest. "I take it switching the two of them back isn't like flipping a switch. It's going to take some work."

The head of NERV's science division didn't even spare a glance at Misato as she countered, "Sometimes, I have a difficult time telling whether you're really serious or not."

"But we can change them back," Misato pressed. "I mean, we have to. We can't just leave them like that. I mean Asuka for sure would never go for it."

Ritsuko stopped writing, closed her pen, then slipped the writing utensil into the breast pocket of her lab coat. She turned to face Misato with a sharp look in her eyes. "You act like we can work miracles here," she cautioned the other. "Even with nearly limitless resources, we must still operate within the confines of reality. We're only human."

"Humans playing with the power of God," Misato objected. "Don't forget, we made the Evangelion didn't we? I mean, come on, if we can build a giant bio-mechanical war machine to fight extraterrestrial invaders, I'm pretty darn sure we can figure out how to move the consciousness of one of our pilots to another."

"Transferring the memories… the behavior… the experiences of a human being, Misato… it's not exactly musical chairs, you know?"

Misato pouted. "Just… just do what you can for them, Ritsuko. Promise me."

"What are you making me promise for? It's my official job to look after the pilots."

"Just… as a friend… promise me you'll look after them both. Don't subject them to anything cruel or unnecessary."

"Just what kind of monster do you think I am?" Ritsuko sneered.

"You're not the monster I had in mind," Misato replied.

The room was large, spartanly decorated, pristinely cleaned and ornately furnished. The lighting was dim in every corner of the room except at the far end where a giant video screen displayed a slowly rotating satellite image of the earth. Somewhere, the third movement of Antonín Dvořák's Symphony No. 9 in E Minor played unobtrusively but dramatically underscoring the stateliness and corporate elegance of the room's futuristic design. There were only three functional pieces of furniture in the entire room; of these, one was an executive desk and matching chair, the third a several hundred year old, restored divan. Only one of the seats was presently occupied. Professor Kouzou Fuyutsuki, Vice Commander of NERV, stood, arms folded behind his back loosely but respectfully, just beyond the divan.

"I've read your report," Gendo took the initiative after about a minute of silence.

"The rest of the medical section will be updated later this afternoon," Fuyutsuki noted. "Akagi says she'll have digested the MAGI's analysis by then and will have gathered enough preliminary data to officially form a medical prognosis—and to decide if we can continue the project in our operation's current condition."

The commander fixed his glasses securely upon the bridge of his nose. "Our operation's current condition? Exactly what condition is it that we find ourselves in, Fuyutsuki?"

The older man searched his junior's face for a hint of emotion that might betray what he was getting at, but he found nothing. "Well, sir, we're down two pilots. That puts our defensive operational capacities at one third percent. Can we continue onward as Japan's front line of defense if we've got only one fourteen year old girl on active duty?"

A hint of a smile played upon Gendo's lips for a fraction of a second. "After all that you have seen, Kouzou, I am terribly disappointed that your faith in the abilities of our pilots is still wanting. Rei Ayanami is far more than a fourteen year old girl. She is an icon, a symbol for all of humanity to admire, to cherish, and to support. You can't kill a symbol, Fuyutsuki. They are immortal. In the hearts and the minds of the people they serve to protect."

"Nevertheless, a symbol or an icon can't pilot an Evangelion if the body that inspired it expires," Fuyutsuki replied gently.

Remarkably, Gendo changed the subject. "These reports indicate that the physical condition of both pilots is stable and that each of the Children is expected to make a full physical recovery."

The topic shift was enough to catch Fuyutsuki off guard in their intellectual fencing match. "Y-yes, that is… um… what the science and medical staffs seem to agree upon. Why do you ask?"

"Continue to monitor the Children's recovery, and as soon as they are both ready, return them to active duty. I want synch ratio tests scheduled as soon as absolutely possible. Understood?"

Fuyutsuki stared at his colleague bewildered. "Ikari… your son…"

Gendo stared at the Deputy Commander over the upper rims of his spectacles. "Is there something you'd like to say, Fuyutsuki?"

"Shinji… maybe you should talk to him. It might make the situation easier for him to deal with."

"If he can't deal with situations like this on his own, he has no reason being here in the first place."

"Be that as it may, you're still his father. It's your duty to—"

"It is my duty to run this organization," Gendo cut him off coldly. "My duty is to ensure that all of humanity is kept safe from the alien invaders that threaten the very fabric of human society—and that our latent evolutionary promise is realized. My duty is to spearhead the research team that is preparing mankind for the next chapter of our history. There is no darker shadow cast across the flame of our specie's torch than that of the fear of reaching one's ultimate potential. The bond of blood between Shinji Ikari and myself is irrelevant. It is the insipid concept of a mind bounded by the nearsightedness of individuality."

"Individuality isn't important to you?" the Vice-Commander marveled. "A strange sentiment coming from a man who pushes everyone around him to strive toward the pursuit of personal excellence."

"In serving a higher purpose, yes," the senior Ikari corrected his colleague. "It is important to recognize the role you play in the design and then strive to play that role to its utter perfection. That is something very different than manufacturing some insipid and pointless illusion of a unique self. Such a thing only leads to boundaries. Alienation. Solitude. Dysfunction."

The two of them fell silent for a moment. "Would you like something to drink?" Gendo asked his friend at length.

Fuyutsuki shook his head politely and gestured 'no'. "Haven't touched a drop in six years next month. But I appreciate the offer."

The Commander of NERV opened the large bottom drawer of his executive desk and procured a factory-sealed bottle of Evian spring water and twisted the cap off. He drank deeply, then wiped his mouth with his white-gloved hand.

"There's something else I want you to do," he said.

"Name it."

"There's somebody I want you to get a hold of. Somebody from outside The Company."

Fuyutsuki arched an eyebrow. "Somebody outside NERV?"

"We've used him before on several occasions in the past. I believe you've worked with him before personally as a matter of fact on more than one instance. He's talented—cunning as a fox—but talented. He gets results."

The Deputy Commander frowned. "Dare I presume you're talking about who I think you're talking about?"

Gendo smiled. "Get in touch. Tell him I've got an assignment for him. If he gives you any trouble, tell him there's more in it for him than a substantial amount of cash."

"Sir?"

"A chance to get even. To shed a beam of light, so to speak, upon dark, long-forgotten secrets that have been buried deep beneath the soil and bedrock of private sector socio-political domination for many centuries."

"Speaking in riddles again, Ikari? Sounds like a conspiracy theory to me. So you've got dirt on somebody or something, and you're willing to trade it for his services. Is there anything else I'm overlooking here?"

Gendo shook his head. "Nothing. Just see that's it's done quickly. With this latest, unexpected turn of events, we're no doubt going to have to move up the time tables. Our superiors will begin to get suspicious and wary. The time to liberate the puppet from his strings may very well be nigh, Fuyutsuki."

"Do I even want to ask what it is you're planning?"

Gendo sipped his water in silence. Fuyutsuki turned and headed to the door. He paused in the door frame for a moment. "You're right about one thing."

"Oh?"

"The EVA pilots are an investment. They're iconic. They're why we receive an incalculable amount of funding from the United Nations and other world councils to fund our operations here in Japan. They're also the only ones who can pilot the damn things. If you're so concerned about making sure your investment is a sound, healthy one, you really should pay your son a visit. Check in on him. You forget sometimes, Ikari, that I too am a doctor. A doctor who knows enough about the human brain to know that a person's emotional and mental states are directly related to their aptitude and performance."

"Noted. Anything else?"

"No."

"Fuyutsuki?"

"Yes, sir?"

"If you ever lecture me on how to deal with my family again, I will throw you out of this building personally, and from the highest deck we have. Is that perfectly clear?"

Fuyutsuki grinned faintly. "Yes, sir."

So the almighty lord of NERV can still get angry, Fuyutsuki thought to himself on his way back down from Gendo's executive office. It was reassuring for him to know that Gendo was indeed still human.