Disclaimer:
The Following work of fiction incorporates the works of Hideaki Anno, the wonderful people at Studio Gainax and Studio Khara, and of Robert E. Howard, with respect to John Millius and Arnold Schwarzenegger.
The last time Misato had ridden in an armored personnel carrier, she didn't like it any more than she did now. The seat seemed to small, even for her, and the ride was harsh- it bounced hard as if it had no suspension to speak of, yet at the same time swayed back and forth as if the suspension were too soft. Part of her questioned the need for this, the necessity of an armored column all to capture one man, but the Commander seemed to believe that Kozo Fuyutsuki was that dangerous, and the man had the Commander's son. Looking over both their dossiers, Misato couldn't believe the kid was still alive- nearly ten years in isolation in some backwater stretch of woods, hidden out in here in the cracks of civilization. Somehow, the place where the boy had told them they would find him had slipped in between those cracks, ended up undeveloped even as the post-Impact world stretched out to chase the wilderness out of its fallen buildings and put society back up on its feet.
The boy's dossier was short, half a page. It listed his birth mother, no picture, his father, a younger, strangely sunnier version of the Commander, and his vital statistics, which were particularly useless since he wasn't six years old anymore. Fuyutsuki's dossier was more complete. A professor of applied metaphysics, one of the first in his field, he had degrees in antiquities and was rumored to be unstable even before Second Impact, a brooding, contemplative man obsessed with his student, Yui Ikari. After Second Impact, he assaulted Gendo Ikari and fled after a Section 2 agent shot him, grazing his head. He didn't look particularly intimidating, but he was wanted for at least three murders, four if you included the driver of the bus Shinji had ridden the day he disappeared.
She bounced harshly as the APC drew to a grinding halt with the rumble of big, knobby tires. As she walked down the ramp in her brand new combat boots, which she would have no occasion to wear otherwise, she felt out of place among the small group of Section 2 agents in tactical gear, even though she too wore black fatigues, and even had her own helmet, ill-fitting as it was. She had to do up the strap around her chin to keep it from falling off, and felt ridiculous. She also had her service pistol in a shoulder holster. That wasn't so ridiculous.
The APCs had stopped where Shinji had nervously directed them over the phone, near the bus station where he'd apparently been dropped off before he vanished. The bus stop was clean and new, and there was nothing ominous about it on its own. The oppressive atmosphere came from the trees butting up behind it- it was hard to see ten feet into the foliage. In the world of perpetual summer, with no one to tend it any wild space was overrun by a choking thickness of plants that never needed to shrink from winter's cold again. She found herself staring in between the trunks, where a mist had gathered, when a hand fell on her shoulder and she turned around.
Misato, at least, looked comfortable in her fatigues. Ritsuko Akagi looked ridiculous. Her jacket was too big, the seams of the shoulders resting halfway down her arms. A big more-slope shouldered and a little less athletic than Misato, Ritsuko ended up looking a little dumpy in her outfit, and plainly resented the helmet she was carrying at her side. She had a gun, obviously a borrowed one, an automatic sitting in a shoulder rig like Misato's. Misato was at least willing to play along far enough to put her hair up and skip the makeup; Ritsuko looked like she'd spent a night on the town with her military boyfriend and was wearing his clothes to bed.
"So," said Ritsuko, "Now what?"
Misato looked around, pulling the folded map from the pocket over her breast, carefully scanning it while Ritsuko snorted. The Section 2 men gathered around.
"Okay," said Misato. "The kid called us last night. A few hours before, the satellite picked up a heat bloom nearby. We think it's the camp we're looking for."
She looked around uneasily as the agents shifted. Fully outfitted in tactical gear, they had on gas masks and helmets, and carried rifles and shotguns. A few had riot shields. Again, it all seemed a little extreme to deal with one guy. Misato pointed at the map.
"We're going to break into three teams," said Misato. "I'll take the main team here, straight in. The rest of you will move in teams of six around the sides, here and here," she pointed, "to watch our backs."
"What about me?" said Ritsuko.
"Stay here, and stay on the radio."
She expected a complaint, but Ritsuko hastily climbed back into the vehicle while Misato fixed up her radio set, clipping the transmitter to her waist, and the microphone to her epaulette. The Section 2 men did the same, arranging their gear while they milled around. Misato let them decide who would be on each team- she didn't know their names, anyway. Her field command was supposed to be giant robots, not a tactical team. She felt a little uneasy as she motioned for six of them to join her, and started walking in the direction of the camp on the map, checking her compass.
An agent with a riot shield took point, walking in front of her while she kept her eyes on the compass. She thumbed her mike.
"Mike check."
"You have to say 'over'," Ritsuko deadpanned.
"Over," Misato snapped.
"Team 2," and then a moment later, "Team 3."
She walked, and the small group fell into a steady rhythm, the regular click-clacking of their guns and gear oddly loud in the woods. She expected more noise, but there was almost nothing, not even the drone of cicadas. Step after step, she made her way into the woods, threading between the trees. Even with mister riot shield out front, she felt exposed. Their little column had to break up to move between the trees, which were so densely packed she almost had to turn sideways to work her way through them.
The radio crackled, and she froze.
"I saw something."
She thumbed her mike. "Who is this?"
"Team 2, on the southern approach. There's something out here."
"What do you mean, something?"
"It's in the trees."
Misato looked around. In their gas masks, the tactical team looked worried somehow, even as sweat pooled around their chins. Wait, why didn't she have a gas mask?
"Is that all you've got, you saw something?"
"Fuckin' lizards," another voice crackled.
Misato heard a terrible sound, like wet leather ripping, that grew into a roar, rattling between the trees. Something about it, some sub vocal rumble, set her teeth on edge and made it feel like her guts had turned to water. She pulled her pistol out and pointed it low to the ground, and she heard the security men following her ready their weapons, loosening up slings and checking actions. They made a lot of noise.
The radio crackled. "I saw it. I saw it, God damn it!"
"Where?" said Misato.
"It disappeared!"
"This is fucked," the agent behind her grumbled, his voice muffled by the rubbery mask. He ripped it away from his face. "We shouldn't be out here. Something's wrong."
The noise came again, followed by the quick, irregular beat of gunfire from multiple sources. Misato instinctively sank into a crouch, whipping her head around to try to get a fix on it as she desperately shouted into the microphone.
"Where is it? Where is it?"
"The trees! It's using the trees!"
An intense burst of gunfire, and then a high-pitched scream, long, loud, and human. Sounds rippled through the trees, the wet slap of wounding and a crunching sound. Misato swallowed, thumbed back the hammer on her pistol, and thumbed her mike.
"That's it, pull back, we're-"
It all happened at once. A vast black shape, bigger than any man, tore through the forest with savage grace, ducking between the trees with liquid ease. The shape crossed in front of her and she felt herself shoved back by the mere presence of it, as if by the passing of the wind. There was a scream and a wet, rubbery shape hit her hard in the chest, knocking her on her back. She saw the riot shield spin around on its corner lazily, and then drop to the ground, smeared with blood.
The agent that carried it was on the ground, screaming, screaming without a face. His mask and helmet were gone, just gone, leaving him peering out one-eyed from a ragged red ruin where his nose and mouth were supposed to be, and he kept screaming as the enormous bear pinned him with one paw, bent low, and took a hefty bite of his midsection. Misato felt her gorge rise, but at the same time snapped up her gun and opened up on it. Snarling, the bear darted into the woods, melting, it seemed, into the trees. Gunfire erupted around her, deafening, and made the world whine as she ducked.
"Hold your fire," she realized she was shouting, "Hold your fucking-"
The bear came again, circled around, and took the three men standing behind her, pounded them into the ground with its paws and shouldered them aside with its bulk, roaring. Misato screamed, dropped her gun, and ran, grabbing the trees to wedge herself between them. She tripped, her foot hooking under a root, and shrieked in agony as she felt her ankle twist, sending runners of pain up her leg. So much for her fucking boots.
There was a dark shape on her, and for a moment, she thought it was the bear, until she saw it was carrying the riot shield, still marked with a red streak. It moved with a grace all its own, leaping from tree to tree- she saw flashes of bare feet touch the roots of the trees, gripping them almost, to avoid being fouled in vines or in the mud. The figure was dressed in a sort of cloak that was little more than a dried, motley looking dear skin draped over broad shoulders. She saw the white skull of an animal, maybe the deer, hanging around the figure's neck, along with some sharp teeth.
Then, the bear was on her in truth. She tried to get up but her leg just wouldn't take her, and she fell right on her ass, skidding in the mud. It stopped, pounded the ground, and roared, throwing its jaws wide to let her see its crimson teeth, slick with red gore. Its whole face was reddened from burying its muzzle in a dead man's belly. She wrenched her foot free with a yelp of pain and pushed back on her feet and one heel but she was too slow, and it was almost on her.
The figure in the deer skins barreled into the bear, pushing into it with the riot shield. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. He couldn't be that strong. No one was that strong. The figure held the bear back, wedging the riot shield in the ground so that the bear almost skidded over it, and she saw a flash of metal and steaming blood slashed across the ground, soaking into red mud. The bear roared and jumped back, pounding the ground with its paws.
A sword. He had a fucking sword.
The figure held the shield close, tilted a little, and faced the animal, slowly circling his way between it and Misato. The bear stood up, rising up on its hind legs, taller than any man. Its roar rumbled through the trees and through her, and for a moment she almost felt her bladder loosen. There wasn't time. It fell on the figure like an avalanche, a falling mass of mud and fur.
Yet, it was wounded. Its sides and flanks were pockmarked with wounds, and there was a drawing cut along its midsection from which looped intestine now hung. The figure didn't confront it directly now, but turned, letting it slide over the slick surface of the riot shield. She saw the sword in his hand, saw it sink deep and slide along the bear's side, drawing open the wound. The bear stumbled, sliding on its flank, and turned, now fully focused on the figure, slavering jaws wide.
The figure tossed the riot shield aside and dropped into a crouching stance, slowing bringing the sword around until it was low and, oddly, pointed behind him. When the bear charged, its great mass now struggling to move, it came for him in unsteady, loping strides, and he dodged easily. The blade flashed, spinning in an almost artistic arc as it parted the space between the bear's skull and body, gliding through the flesh with a wet slap and the grinding of metal on bones. The animal fell, its head rolling free from the momentum, and great wet, slapping gouts of blood rolled out before it. A strange, gargling death rattle escaped the corpse, frothing the gore with tiny pink bubbles.
The figure stalked over to her, sword in hand, swathed in the skin of a dead animal, and gazed down on her. Her chest was heaving, and her leg made her want to scream, but all she could do was quiver from horror and terror. He stank of gore and sweat, and the skin didn't smell too good, either.
He lifted the sword, brought the blade close to her face, and her breath caught. He stared at the tip as it moved close to her check and then, with a deft, practiced movement, she felt pressure on her skin. Her helmet flopped off her head and landed beside her with an empty-bowl clatter, and the figure flourished the sword as he sheathed it in a battered, green metal scabbard. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, and she tried to say something, not even sure what, and it came out as a low, terrified gurgle. Finally she managed,
"Don't kill me."
The figure reached up and worked the deer skin loose. To her shock, it wasn't the old man they were looking for, it was the boy. He knelt down in front of her, his blue eyes piercing from within the grimy dirt-mask all over his face, like two spots of clear sky on a cloudy day. Thick, greasy black hair was flattened against his head and neck, hanging down below his shoulders. He was the most massively muscled person she'd ever seen with her own two eyes, but moved with a curious, feral grace as he drew into lean over her, supporting his weight with his hands. She swallowed, hard.
"Why would I do that?"
"What?" she gasped. "I… oh God, it killed them, they… how did you do that?"
"When your men were killed, they must have wounded it. Its blood was on the leaves."
"It's a bear," she moaned, "It's a bear."
He smiled a thin smile, his teeth barely visible. "It bleeds. If it bleeds, I can kill it."
Her breathing slowed. "You… you're him, you're Shinji."
"You know my name?"
He drew nearer to her still, confused. He touched her hair with his fingers, turning some of the strands between his fingertips. "You're strange. Why do you smell like flowers?"
"Uh," said Misato.
He jumped back as her radio crackled, looking at it oddly.
"Ah," he said, "A radio. I should have known."
"Misato!" Ritsuko shouted, "What the hell is going on out there?"
Misato shook her head as she pushed the transmit key. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. We need ambulances, medics, and the whole deal. Just call everybody."
Shinji touched her leg, and without asking started undoing her boot. She winced and sucked in a breath as he pulled the boot off.
"Shoes make your feet soft," he grunted as he held her joint in his hand. He pinched and prodded her, and she yelped in pain.
"Lucky," he shrugged, "it isn't broken. Can you walk?"
"I don't think so," Misato said, "Just help me get-"
Without asking her, he leaned in and put his arms around her waist, then picked her up, all at once. She yelped and resisted the urge to squirm out of his grasp, afraid for her leg. As he lifted her up, he rolled her onto her shoulder, folding her at the waist into a fireman's carry. As if he was utterly unburned, he bent, scooped up his skin coat in his free hand, and started moving through the woods, turning this way and that to avoid the trees. She saw the stump of the bear's neck again and almost retched.
"Quiet."
It was easier to make it through the woods this way, being carried. She didn't look at her downed comrades, turning her head and closing her eyes. Shinji seemed to know the woods somehow, know the easiest ways to move and the best places to put his feet. She was shocked by how close they were to the road the whole time- if it weren't for the foliage, it would almost be in sight. He stepped out onto it, not complaining of the asphalt despite his bare feet, near the armored personnel carriers. He pitched forward, slid his arms under her shoulders, and lowered her onto her feet. He seemed to be able to easily support her entire weight with just his arms- not surprising, big as he was. He must have had a hundred pounds on her, even if he was maybe an inch taller than she. He held onto her for a moment, looking confused.
"You're very soft," he noted, sounding almost detached. He grabbed her stomach with his hand. "But not here," and then without preamble grabbed her thigh, "Or here."
She threw her arms over her chest. "Don't even think about it."
"What the…"
Misato turned, and saw Ritsuko standing a few yards away, staring open mouthed.
"Ritsuko Akagi," said Misato, "Meet Shinji Ikari. Where the hell are the ambulances? We've got wounded."
Ritsuko stared, dumbstruck, and Shinji stared at her. "May I ask you something?" he said, quietly.
"Uh," said Ritsuko. "Go ahead?"
He looked at Misato, and the back to her. "Does everyone in the world look like the two of you?"
"I need a beer," Misato said quietly.
Shinji turned his head a moment before she did, as if he heard it first. The squeal of tires, and the rumble of engines. A dozen black cars were pulling along the highway. Without speaking, he grabbed her, hauled her around to his side, and the sword flashed out from his hip. A second group of Section 2 agents emerged from the cars, pointing rifles at him.
"Wait a minute!" Misato shouted, "What are you-"
There was a small thwap sound, and the tuft of a tranquilizer dart flowered from his neck. He blinked a few times, let go of her, and took a half-step, then fell face first onto the pavement, dropping first to his hand and knees and then onto his side. The sword rolled out of his grip and came to rest.
Shinji opened his eyes and immediately pressed them shut again, wincing at the pain. Light, light came from everywhere, and when he opened his eyes again, squinting at it, he saw that the whole ceiling was light, long bands of it hidden behind a frosted material that didn't look like glass. The light bled all the color out of his surroundings, leaving him in a monochrome void. Sensation overwhelmed him. As he turned his head, he felt nearly naked- they'd cut his hair, cropped it short to his head. The whispering of air on his neck made him feel exposed. He'd been washed, the sweat and grime of battle cleaned from his skin, and they'd stripped him and wrapped him in an airy, curious garment that cover his front but was loosely tied around the back. He lay on a huge bed with metal sides, sinking into the mattress. The white linens whispered against his skin when he moved.
He sat up, and found himself chained.
Heavy leather straps were done around his wrists, like belts, but padded on the inside. If he could but reach one hand with the other, he could undo them, as they were only buckled, not truly locked, but when he tried his reach came up short, metal links clanking against metal runners that went down the sides of the bed. The bed itself was bend down the middle, the upper half raised into a half-sitting position.
On one finger of his hand was a small, pinching clamp. An intravenous line had been driven into his forearm, and ran up to a drip at his side. He felt sticky patches on his chest and saw wires trailing into a machine. He'd read of all of these things but had never glimpsed them before, and stared at the blinking, undulating lines on the screen that read out his vitals. Another blink brought him the presence of mind to realize where he was. Hospital. He was in a hospital.
As he looked around the room, another realization came to him. They'd taken all his effects, including his sword. He tried to reach up and touch his hair, but the cuffs stopped him. Angrily, he tugged at them, and felt no give. He paused when he saw there was a large window on one side of the room. Beyond it, he saw people in white bustling about, but in the foreground he saw his own reflection. He tilted his head to the side.
He looked at the cuffs. They were tight around his wrist, but not overly so. If he turned his hand slowly, they would slide over the skin. It might be enough. He clawed his hand, pressing the tips of his fingers and thumb together, and pulled. The cuff slid up slightly, widening over the bottom of his hand. Another pull and it was stuck, too small to progress any further, but now he relaxed his hand, gently pulling, pausing, and then pulling again. Painfully, but incrementally, the cuff slid up to the base of his thumb, and there stuck. He clamped down his teeth and yanked, and with a brief flicker of pain from the compression, the cuff slid free, leaving a raw patch where it had rubbed the back of his hand. Quickly, he undid his other hand and slid to his feet.
The gown encumbered him too much, so he slid it off, leaving the wires and patches exposed and himself clad only in a tight cotton undergarment that barely covered his modesty. He was about to tear the monitors and finger clamp loose but stopped. It stood to reason that they were monitoring him remotely, and if he suddenly yanked everything free, someone would know. The women seated outside studied monitors like the one in his room, and they likely shared information that way. He looked around the room.
He had little in the way of assets. There was no other furniture but the bed, and the intravenous stand. He undid the tubing from his arm first, and then removed the needle itself, carefully sliding it from his skin so that it remained straight and did not break within his flesh. He tossed that away and tore a strip of cloth from the gown. The wound was small and would seal itself soon, but he tied the strip of cloth around it for good measure, and a spot of blood flowered to mark his hurt. He looked at the stand. A bottle, probably saline, hung from one side, and a bag from the other. He removed both, tossing them on the bed, and then grasped the pole itself. It unscrewed from the base easily. The hooks that held the feeds simply popped off leaving him with a serviceable short staff of hollow, soft metal. It would not do for an extended battle but was better than his bare hands.
He moved as close as he could to the door without pulling away from the wires that ran to his chest and finger, and when he could go no farther, swept his new staff over them, grunting softly as the sticky patches tore off his chest, tugging at his flesh. Now freed, he broke into a run. A woman in a short, white smock and curious toque was walking down the hall with a tray of medicines. She shrieked, dropped her tray, and ran in the opposite direction, shouting for an orderly. He scooped up the tray and loped after her, assuming she sought an emergency exit, each step almost a leap.
The people around him broke into pandemonium. He heard calls of Orderly! Orderly! and moved away from them, tray in one hand, lightly twirling the metal rod in the other. Two large men in white shirts and pants jogged towards him, and he took in a deep breath. It was his first fight against other men, and he would do the old man proud regardless. He could see from their gait and the way they carried themselves they thought themselves hard men and strong, and wished others to see that as well. Shinji saw not their feigned strength but the slight limp in the one's leg and the touch of fear in the other's eyes.
He gave them no time to grapple with him, for he had no time to waste. He tossed the tray, spinning it so it flew flat and true, and it cracked the first of these orderlies right in the jaw, splitting his lip and pulling a thin line of blood through the air. He ducked a clumsy grab, spun the rod still one-handed and brought the end into the man's nose. Reflexively, the orderly clamped both hands down over his face. The other one punched him.
In that moment, there were two Shinjis. One lived in the moment. He felt the air crossing his skin, felt the breath of the man attacking him, lived for the sudden rush of battle. The other Shinji was calm, cool, a pool of still water in the midst of a raging storm. He remembered the words of his mentor.
"Today, you will begin learning Aikido."
"What is that?" Shinji had replied.
"Fighting the master of Aikido is like fighting a ghost."
The orderly's fist carved a path through empty air, and landed on nothing. Shinji needed take no action, for the man had done himself in, putting too much of his strength into a failed advance that left him stumbling onto one foot. Shinji needed only spin his staff and crack him behind the ear, turn, and thrust his hips into the man's side. Barely touching him, he sent the orderly crashing into the nearby wall. The wall ended the conflict.
Shinji had already moved on, taking tall strides, keeping himself primed on the balls of his feet as he passed hallways and doors. He hated this place he named a hospital already, hated it for the stale, cold air and stench of old soap. He came to a larger area, one full of people and panic. Women ran away from him shouting for help, while old men with paunches stared at them. His mind named them doctors, masters of anatomy and healing, but he saw only soft men with water eyes, shying away from warrior ferocity. They gave no challenge as he passed.
The place was not designed to repel an attack. The path to the exits was marked with red signs proclaiming that very fact. Shinji took that path, keeping the staff ever moving, ready to strike. He knew he was almost free when he saw a large room with glass walls beyond which he saw grass. The doors were locked, and failed to open when he pressed on the metal bars that served to move them, so he went to the nearest window, grabbed a heavy monitor from a desk, and threw it through the glass. He brushed away the remaining shards from the frame, backed up, and leapt over the spilled glass on the floor. There was an alarm blaring now.
The final door was open to him. When he burst out of the building he felt an immense cold, such as he had never experienced before, but and the asphalt of the walkway leading to the door scourged his feet, and yet he ran, throwing his arms out to the sides. Until he knew confinement he had never known the poetry of his freedom, and how the open spaces sung in his veins. He ran until he saw that he could leave the hard tarmac behind and put his feet to soft earth.
He ran and he ran, and it was not until he felt winded that he chanced to look up. The staff fell from his hands and the strength went out of him. A shock went through his legs, and they felt unsteady, as if they would not bear his weight. He turned in a slow circle, all around, and could not believe his eyes. When they had chained him in the white room, someone stole the sky.
Above him was the curved roof of an enormous cavern, the walls so distant that they were hidden in fog. Indeed, the surface was so far above that clouds moved under it, glowing from the light of a thousand thousand mirrors, all slowly moving, a pool of golden light that remained fixed in the heavens. The building from which he emerged was long and low, bathed in that red-gold light, and behind it loomed a pyramid of opaque glass, the color of blood in old sunlight. He knew now why he was so cold; he was underground.
He scooped up the metal rod and resumed his run, heading he knew not where, so long as it smelled of freedom. The cavern had the rich air of tilled earth and moss, and he saw on its floor undulating hills and terraces marked with vegetation, a sea of rolling green waves. There were trees and birds flew overhead, and in the distance he saw an irregular lake, gleaming in the strange light. Behind him he heard the squeal of tires, and the sudden thump-thump of a wheel vehicle leaving the hard road for the ground, and then several more. He chanced a glance over his shoulder.
The cars, squat things with big wheels and cloth tops, slowed when they chased him, dust rising from their wheels, at obvious disadvantage moving over the loose black earth. There were three, but he could see more behind. He turned, raised the pole in one hand, and with a bounding half-jump hurled it like a javelin. It cracked the windshield of the first vehicle and it turned, squealing, and nearly rolled. The others swerved aside. He glimpsed a treeline in the distance, and ran for it.
"Shinji!" a familiar voice called, "Shinji, wait!"
He did not stop but slowed, glancing over his shoulder. The Katsuragi woman had stepped out of one of the vehicles and was chasing him, limping on her injured foot, waving her arms. She'd changed her clothes- whether the garment she wore was properly called dress or shirt he could not say, as it ended above the middle of her white thighs, which were exposed to the air, and above that it was so tight to her skin he could barely see the point. He would have been able to see every contour of her body had she not worn a short red jacket over it. Her dark hair streamed out behind her, waving like a flag.
He cursed himself for his stupidity. He'd stopped to gawk at her, driven by something that tightened his belly and quickened his breath even as it made it difficult to look anywhere else as his eyes warred to drink in the details of her chest straining against the fabric that covered it or the pumping of her thigh muscles or the promise of a glimpse of what lay higher under that skirt as she moved. By the time he realized his error he stood, flushed and panting and surrounded.
The cars rolled up around him and men in dark clothes, pants and jackets, emerged, sunglassed obscuring their faces. They aimed pistols at him and he momentarily forgot the woman's curves, blood again on his mind. If they meant to end him he would not sell his life cheaply. Reflexively he grasped for a sword that was not there.
"You idiots!" she screamed, "Stop pointing guns at him!"
The men, there were four in all, lowered their weapons but kept them primed, fingers hovering over triggers, arms locked out. He had read of guns though he never handled one, and knew how they should be carried. These men were trained, and they had him at a disadvantage.
He stood straight, hands at his sides. "I yield."
The Katsuragi woman came to a stop, wincing on her injured limb, panting. As she did her chest heaved, and that feeling began to spring back to life within him. He suddenly felt curiously and strangely exposed, but with sheer force of will and clenched fists stood straight and stared her down. He was a warrior, he did not fawn and dissemble.
"Everybody calm down," she said quietly, moving close to him. She held out her hands, but in the open palmed, reassuring way a man might when approaching a dangerous beast of unknown temperament.
She rested her palms on his shoulders. Her hands, her fingers were smoother than the sheets on which he awoke. An accursed, involuntary shudder passed through him, and his eyes locked on hers. Something about the twitching of his arms under her grasp made her mouth open ever so slightly, and her pupils widen.
"You're okay," she said in the sing-song voice she'd adopt if she spoke to an angered dog, "Everything is going to be okay. No one is going to hurt you."
"Where am I?"
She took her hands away. "This is the Geofront. That's Nerv headquarters behind me."
Nerv. He feigned ignorance. "What's Nerv?"
She looked at him blankly for a moment. "It's complicated. We… fight… bad things."
His eyes narrowed. "I'm not simple."
"Uh," she said, "Right, I… Look, it's really complicated. I'd rather not describe it to you outside in your underwear."
She meant to shame him, perhaps, or she may have meant it as a simple jest, as her cheeks colored and there was the ghost of a smile on her lips but more in her eyes, which, interestingly, drifted downwards. He contracted his belly instinctively, and that tiny gap between them formed between them again as she drew an involuntarily breath. She shook her head, vigorously, and her hair flailed.
"Come on," she said gently, taking his head. "Let's go inside, and talk."
He didn't move. "Not them. Just you."
She nodded and motioned with her hand, and one of them tossed her a set of keys. "This way," she said, leading him to one of the vehicles.
He opened the door and climbed inside. It felt and smelled alien- like oil and other things he'd never smelled before. There was a strange closeness with the woman as she mounted the driver's seat and sat next to him, their arms almost brushing. He was a little shocked when she started it up with a low, guttural rumble, fiddled with some device in between them, and it began smoothly moving of its own accord.
"Look," she said, now that they were alone. "I wasn't involved with the dart thing and the hospital. I didn't want that to happen."
"It did," said Shinji, shrugging. "Now they know I will not be chained."
"Uh," she said, glancing alternately at him and the road as she pulled out upon it, "Right. Listen, I-"
"Where is my sword?" he demanded.
"I don't know," she said flatly. "Look, I-"
"What did you do to my hair?"
She stared at him, then yelped and jerked the wheel, making the vehicle swerve. "I don't, look, they put that dart in your neck and picked you up, and nobody told me anything. I heard on the radio what happened and came to get you. That's it."
He looked at her flatly, then leaned back in the seat. "You are not in command here."
"No," said Misato. "I'm the operations director."
"What is that?"
"I'm in charge of combat operations-"
"Combat?"
He looked at him askance, stunned, it seemed, by his eagerness. "Yes. Like I said, Nerv is complicated. Lots of things go on here, but our main function is servicing and operating war machines called Evangelions."
He considered this for a moment, staring through the window. His memories of vehicles were limited to brief flashes, mostly the train and the bus. It had been so long that to move at such speed felt foreign to him, and staring out the window made him queasy, as loath as he was to admit it to himself. The woman was more pleasant as scenery, in any case.
She was clearly unnerved by his attention, constantly fidgeting, alternating between closing in herself and arching her back, almost intentionally twisting her body so that her garments tightened against her skin.
"Are you alright?" he said.
"No!" she almost shouted, "I'm not alright. I almost got eaten by a bear today, and then there's you, and I just…"
He watched her silently as she trailed off, grasping the steering wheel harder.
"I want you to put on some pants when we get back. Put on the pants, and keep them on."
"If you insist," said Shinji. "Where is my father? I spoke to him on the telephone."
"Yeah," she said, relaxing as her mind wandered to the new subject. "Yeah, you did. He's kind of an important guy around here. The, ah, the most important, I guess. He's the Commander."
"The Commander?" said Shinji. "He has no equal?"
"Well, no, not here," she said. "He's the commander of the Tokyo-3 branch. There are others. He's pretty high up, yeah."
"Why did he not come for me himself? Is he craven?"
"Things don't work like that," said Misato, "He's an important person, and…" she trailed off. "I don't know."
"Why did he not come to me in the hospital? I have not seen him since I was a boy."
"You're still a boy," she said, idly, though she didn't sound as though she believed it. "I know this is all strange and scary-"
"I am not frightened."
She ignored him. "I know this is all strange and scary, but you're home now, Shinji. You're safe. No more bears, no more crazy old man. You'll be taken care of, I promise."
"By who?"
She blinked. "Uh, what?"
"So far, you are the only one who has not aimed weapons at me or bound me to a bed. I will suffer no one else."
"Um," said Misato. "I don't know if… actually I don't know where… are you saying you want to live with me?"
"I have nowhere else."
He watched her carefully as her eyes flicked from him to the road and back. He could see her jaw tighten, almost feel her indecision. He fought to keep his face a mask, to hide his true meaning. He could see it. She carried a weapon and had some martial training by her gait, but she was surely the girl that Fuyutsuki told him about, the one they meant to feed to their dead god. This great cavern was a den of wolves and she a lamb, a hoary temple of dead gods and she the sacrifice to placate them.
He realized he was staring at her. She did not seem disturbed, as such, but she squirmed ever more in her seat and her cheeks were red and her breathing quickened.
"You fear me."
"I…" she said, "No, not really, but you… I mean…"
"Good. You need not."
He leaned back and closed his eyes. "Where are we going?"
"Actually," she said, "I really don't know. I guess we should-"
She trailed off. He sat up as he heard the sound, a low thrum that built to a high, screeching wail. The pyramid loomed over him, and he saw a light at the top brightly flashing, like a torch. There were other vehicles all around them, and activity.
Misato pulled to a stop. Her hands were still on the wheel, and shaking. "It's started," she said.
"What?"
"The end of the world."
Ritsuko shrugged into her lab coat and rushed down the corridor towards the Evangelion cages. She could only hope that Misato wouldn't get lost, or that they had some kind of a plan coming together to deploy Unit One. The test type, Unit Zero, was still sheathed in frozen, rock-hard Bakelite in the testing facility. She glanced at her watch. The alert had been issued almost an hour ago, and Misato was nowhere to be found. The last she'd heard, Misato was gathering up the boy and bringing him in after he woke up in the hospital and went on a rampage- she wish she knew whose ideas it was to chain him to the bed and sedate him, strip him of all his possessions and cut his hair. Letting him keep the sword was obviously out of the question, but…
She focused her mind, trying to screen out the dozen problems she had to deal with at once and put them into some kind of manageable order. She pulled her tablet out of her labcoat pocket and flicked it on to check the latest data. Fortunately, the approaching pattern was slow moving, appearing first off the coast, picked up on the furthest early warning sensors. The creature was already being tracked by satellite and the Self Defense Forces were, pointlessly, trying to stop it. They seemed to be slowing it down well enough, which was the best she could hope for.
The tablet chimed and a full motion video image of the Commander appeared. She almost jumped, and missed a step, cursing herself for putting on heels.
"Akagi."
"Yes, sir?"
"Has the pilot been secured?"
He couldn't ask if they'd found his son.
"Yes," Ritsuko said, nervously. "Are you sure you want to put him in-"
"Yes."
The Commander vanished without further explanation, leaving her with a blur screen flickering with white text- messages from her staff, updates on the startup process. Unit One had sat idle for years. She slid the device back in her pocket and clenched her teeth in annoyance. Sixteen years to prepare, and it still came down to all this, at the last minute. She was scowling when Misato walked out of an elevator in front of her, the boy walking at her side in a bathrobe.
She felt a moment of panic when she saw him, and briefly wondered why he wasn't handcuffed. Misato seemed at ease, though, so Ritsuko relaxed as much as she could.
"Mis- Captain Katsuragi," she said. "Is the pilot ready?"
"Pilot?" said Shinji.
Ritsuko swallowed. Great. "Come on, follow me." Misato was ever getting lost in the labyrinthine tunnels of Nerv headquarters. No argument was given.
Shinji looked around, watching the walls, and he looked alternately annoyed with them and confused by them. He was barefoot still, his steps curiously silent, his way of moving both graceful and somehow dangerous, like a wild animal. He didn't seem to give much of his attention to keeping his robe closed, either- it was loosely tied, and he had nothing but underwear on beneath it.
What a strange person, Ritsuko thought. She could barely see any of his father in him.
She stopped at the heavy blast door that led to the Evangelion cage.
"I need to prepare you for this."
He looked at her and said nothing, and she felt a tickle between her shoulder blades, and a sudden, irresistible urge to keep talking, to drown out the silence with sound. "There's nothing in the world like what you're about to see."
"Once place is much the same as another."
"Not like this, I-"
Shinji reacted first, dropping into a kind of stance- feet wide, angled slightly out, hands at his sides for balance, fingers spread. The ground rolled and Ritsuko fell against the wall. The lights flickered, and Misato stumbled. Shinji had her around the waist with stunning speed, and took Ritsuko by the arm to lift her up. His grip was like an iron clamp, solid, unmoving, but he did not hurt her. She shook herself free, mostly because he was willing to let go, and leaned against the wall. Her tablet chimed and she pulled it out.
Her assistant, Maya Ibuki, was calling her. She tapped the "answer" button and the wisp of a girl appeared on screen.
"Doctor Akagi," she whispered, "they dropped an N2 mine on it, but it's not stopping! You have to hurry!"
She nodded, closed the call, and put the tablet away.
"Sorcery," said Shinji.
She looked at him askance for a moment. "Come on."
Ritsuko put her hand to the palm reader next to the door. It scanned down her fingers and palm prints, and the door hissed open with a rush of cold air. It was always cold in the cage from the cooled LCL bath, and she shivered involuntarily, goospimples rising up on her legs. Shinji didn't seem to notice. He simply walked through the door.
It was dark in the cage. It took Ritsuko's eyes a moment to adjust. Shinji kept walking, almost as if he knew where to go, until he stood in the middle of the gantry. He seemed to relax a little, more at home in a less confined space- much less confined, actually. She could start to see the outline of the Evangelion in the darkness when the lights came up. Shinji winced and blinked, but stood his ground.
The Evangelion stared him down. Eyes as big as he was tall, flat and black like a doll's eyes, gazed back at him. Hunched forward with the neck armor open to admit the entry plug, it seemed to crane over the walkway to peer down at him. Unlike the utilitarian, almost elegantly minimalistic design of Unit Zero, Unit One was almost overly ornamented, in her opinion- painted in high gloss purple enamel with bits of green here and there on the tall, fin-like shoulder pylons and the arms. Standing up to its shoulders in cool, quietly circulating LCL, its true size was masked.
"What the hell are you?" Shinji whispered.
"This is the Evangelion," said Ritsuko. "We call it Unit One."
"That does not tell me what it is," said Shinji.
"It…" there wasn't much she could say. "It's our fighting machine."
"You want me to pilot this?"
A second bank of lights flicked on. Gendo Ikari stared down at them through a pane of glass from the upper control room, silhouetted darkly by the fluorescent lights behind. Technicians were rushing in behind him to begin the startup process. Ritsuko needed to be up there, herself.
"Correct," he boomed, voice amplified by speakers.
"Father," said Shinji.
"Yes. It's been a while."
Shinji ignored him and looked at her. "What would you have me do?"
"I better get up to the bridge," said Misato, turning.
"We don't have time for a plugsuit… look, it's complicated, just follow me."
She turned and headed for the set of stairs running the side of the Eva's neck, her shoes clang-clanging on the metal while Shinji moved in silence. The entry plug jutted out like a spear in the Eva's neck, the pressurized hatch hanging open. She turned to him.
"You'll pilot it from in here."
He peered inside. "There aren't any controls."
"I know. I'll run you through the process."
"As you say."
"You'll have to take off that robe, I'm sorry-"
With casual indifference, he shrugged the robe off and it pooled around his feet. He stood there in his underwear, staring at her, as he did a moment before.
"Okay," she said. "Let's go ahead and have you climb inside. There's handholds-"
He didn't need much instruction. He sat on the edge of the hatch and swung his legs in, craning his neck to see the places where hand holds were bolted to the curved metal. He slid into the pilot's seat, the surface squeaking against his bare skin, and slipped his legs under the control yoke.
She stood up and gave a wave to the control booth.
"Okay," she said, leaning into the plug. "When I close the hatch, the plug is going to flood with LCL."
"What is that?"
"It's a breathable liquid," she said, pleased with how she gave the lie of omission without a waver in her voice. "Once it's electrolyzed, you can breathe it in and out, just like air."
"I have read of such liquids," he said, leaning back. "Then what?"
"Then you'll synchronize with it. I'll talk you through it. Just try to relax."
She stood back, swung the hatch closed, and the system did the rest, the emergency release handle spinning wildly as the servos closed the seal, followed by a hiss of pressure. There was a deep thrum and a hollow pouring sound as the fluid flooded the inside of the plug. She stood up and bolted for the lift that would carry her up into the control room, jogging quickly down the stairs. The Commander had left when she arrived. She could see him in the plug, eyes locked forward, breathing deeply but calmly.
The control room was two panels of monitors and workstations running up to the large picture window where the Commander had stood. She took his position, staring down at the Eva's back. "Okay," she said, "Seat the plug."
Shinji didn't make a sound as the metal tube slid home, bouncing into place, and the Eva's neck gently, smoothly lifted up, the armor plates locking into place over it. She glanced at Maya, who'd taken a seat next to her.
"His vitals are good. Actually, they're exceptional," she said, blinking. "Heart rate, blood pressure… he's like an Olympic athlete."
Ritsuko nodded. "In a way, that old bastard did us a favor. We couldn't ask for a more ideal candidate. Patch us into the plug so he can hear me."
Maya nodded.
"Can you hear me?" said Ritsuko.
"Yes," said Shinji.
"Good," she folded her arms under chest. "This is going to feel really weird. You're going to synchronize with the Eva, and make it move with your thoughts."
"I see," said Shinji. "Do it."
She blinked. She thought she'd have to explain, or get some kind of argument, she glanced at the monitor and saw him placidly awaiting instruction.
"Start the process," said Ritsuko.
"First stage boards are all green," said Maya. "Vitals are still at baseline. Second stage connections beginning."
"I see colors," said Shinji.
"That's normal."
"Third state connetions beginning," said Maya.
Ritsuko turned from the window to watch the neural connections on Maya's monitor. The connection was represented by a series of green lines that combined a sea of data from the Eva into a simplified interface. The lines traced across the screen and all took off at once, gently rising. "His synchronization ratio is being calculated," said Maya.
The monitor blinked. Fifty-five percent. No plugsuit, no neural connectors, just sitting in the plug. Fifty-five percent.
"Unbelievable," she said.
"I feel strange," said Shinji.
"That's normal," said Ritsuko. "You'll get used to it. Sit tight, you're going to be launched in a second."
"Launched?" said Shinji.
"Yes. There's an angel… a giant creature approaching the city, and you have to stop it."
"Stop it?"
"Yes," she said quietly. "Kill it."
"I can do that."
Misato tapped her foot impatiently as she waited, humming tunelessly to herself. She could feel an immense pressure on her- techs all around the vast space kept shooting glances at her, and there were three generals from the Self Defense Force staring down at her back, and behind them, the Commander himself. It was all too heavy, pressing her forward, towards the huge screen at the front of the room. The space was laid out on multiple tiers, with the Commander at the top on a small platform, a ring of consoles where she stood to give orders and communicate with her pilots, and the lower level where the interface with the MAGI system stood.
"Status," she said to no one in particular.
Hyuga, the bespectacled technician that gave her data on the Eva's function, turned slightly. He was pale. "The pilot is synchronized and ready for launch."
"Very well," she said. "Launch, and put it on the big screen."
The main display, actually a two dimensional hologram projected into the cavernous space, changed from a wireframe overlay of the city to camera footage- the sky had clouded, and it was getting dark. Unit One arrived on the surface with a tremendous bounce, the machine's head snapping up, alert, as it arrived. The launch clamps unlimbered themselves from its hips and shoulders, and it swayed on its feet. Her breath quickened.
"Shinji," she said, quickly.
"I hear you."
"Okay, just concentrate on-"
Unit One moved forward with an alien, eerie grace. He took two quick steps and dropped into a crouch, one foot under the machine, one out behind, like a sprinter, arms to his sides for balance, the big armored head sweeping from side to side, looking for threats. The entire room went silence. She heard on of the general drop a pencil on the floor.
"Where is it?"
She glanced at the wireframe overlay, watching the blue marker for the angel and the red triangle for the Eva. "It's to the east, but listen to me first."
"Go on."
"The umbilical, on your back. Keep it there. If you lose it you got to auxiliary power, and you've got about a minute of combat time, five minutes if you're just walking around, maybe a day on low level standby. Got it?"
"Yes. I see it."
She saw it too, at a dozen angles, through Shinji's own sight and from cameras placed around the city. Wide shouldered and lumbering, it moved slowly on short, stiff legs, trailing long spindly arms at its sides. It had been badly burned and broken by the bombing. It had no head to speak of, but on its chest was a bony mask, like a caricature of a bird, broken and blistered and weeping luminescent blue blood.
"It's bleeding," said Shinji. "If it bleeds, I can kill it."
A shiver went down Misato's spine. "Okay, you're not ready for weapons yet, but there's a knife…"
"I have all the weapons I need," he said, and charged.
Unit One jumped into a sprint, the heavy footfalls of its vast feet shaking the camera and radiating down into the Geofront itself, so that she could feel it under her feet, just slightly out of tune with the displays. The effect made her queasy and she had to fight to keep looking.
"Slow down," she said, calmer than she thought she would. "Don't-"
He ignored her, plowing headlong into the creature. He cried out, gurgling from the LCL, and his furious cry made the speakers in the command center squeal. He lifted the angel bodily from the ground, planted his feet, and turned at the hips, bringing back down, hard, on its side. It rolled away from him, confused, crying out in pain in a wail that made her teeth rattle. It moved with surprising quickness now, more like an animal than anything, skittering about on all fours.
There was flash. The screen fuzzed as a great light bloomed across Unit One's chest, and the Evangelion stumbled backwards, putting its elbow through the top of a skyscraper. Thankfully, most of the inhabited buildings were retracted into the ground on long runners- the city could draw in on itself in an emergency and sink into the ground to hide. The buildings that remained on the surface where either pieces of armor plating or weapons deployment platforms disguised as civilian structures, or should have been emptied during the evacuation.
Unit One stood up quickly, dropping into a crouch again, and didn't give the angel time to press its attack. Shinji grabbed for it, arms wide, and the angel moved and there was a sudden rush of air and judder of impact as their hands met. They pushed against each other for a moment, grappling hand-to-hand, and then two long beams of light extruded from the angel's bent elbows, stopped, and slammed forward like pile drivers.
Unit One's hands exploded, sending chunks of metal, bits of synthetic flesh and red, red blood spraying out, painting an x-shape over the angel's body as Shinii flailed, screaming. Misato's breath caught. Then, she remembered.
"Shinji!" she shouted, "They're not your real hands!"
She heard him bite off his cry of pain, but before he could move, the angel grabbed Unit One's head in both hands and repeated its attack. There was a tremendous crack and the Evangelion shuddered. Shinji was screaming. The angel didn't let go, but hit it, again, and again, and again.
Shinji's scream cut off. She heard him take three quick, deep, rasping breaths, and he gave a wordless, gurgling cry of raw fury. With the stumps of Unit One's arms, he forced the angel's grasp away, planted a foot between its legs, and stepped forward, putting the whole weight of the Eva behind a punishing headbutt that sent the angel stumbling backwards.
"Does it have a weak spot?"
Misato's mouth was dry. She opened her mouth and closed it again, silently.
Calmly, but very clearly, the Commander said, "The red sphere in its chest."
Misato blinked, and turned around.
She saw what he meant, the luminous sphere embedded in the creature's midsection, below its face. Shinji must have heard, because he caught the angel in a crushing bear hug and lifted it from the ground, then pounded it down into the earth. A great plume of dust and smoke rose up, obscuring them for a moment. Her knees went weak.
He pinned the angel, reared up, and with a cry of rage and pain, rammed the broken, splintered ends of Unit One's arms into the core. There was a horrible grinding sound as he pushed, his guttural cries almost an animal's snarl, and the angel was on the defensive now, almost pitiable as it tried to wriggle out from underneath him. She saw cracks forming in the core.
The angel shrieked, expanded, and its body went liquid, losing its shape. Shinji pulled back, but it was too late. It swirled around him, clamping down on Unit One like a great pair of jaws, and the core grew brighter until it was not red at all but blindingly white, and then it burst. The screen went to static and the shuddering boom rippled through the Geofront a moment later. The ground under her feet swayed lightly, and she put a hand out to steady herself.
"Get it back on!"
The view came back, fuzzy at first, snowy with static, and then clearer. It was raining, somehow, and it was not water that fell but blood. A dark shape moved in the downpour of gore, striding forward resolutely. As it drew nearer, she could see Unit One, battered but unbroken. It took a few steps, fell to one knee, and then collapsed forward.
"Shit," she said, forgetting herself, and then quickly, "Get the recovery crews out, now! Is it down?"
"Blue pattern gone," Hyuga said quietly.
Shinji woke up once again under the bright lights, but this time unbound, and without the annoying machines and needle in his arm. He sat up immediately, gazing around the room. There was no way to get his bearings- if this place was not the same, it was identical. Again they had garbed him in the curious gown. He smelled his hands, working his fingers to make sure they were still there. He smelled like blood.
It was not an unfamiliar sensation.
"Hey."
He was taken by surprise, and recoiled, but only for a moment. Misato stood at the entrance to the hospital room, wide-eyed. He sensed some misgiving in her, as she stood on the threshold, unsure whether to enter, the fingers of her hand twitching slightly. She moved closer, albeit nervously. She had a white plastic bag in one hand.
"You have nothing to fear from me."
She remained tense as she drew closer, and sat on the edge of the bed. "You're okay? I mean, you -"
"I felt like my hands were ripped off," said Shinji, "yet they are still here."
She looked at the floor. "I'm sorry, I should have warned you."
"It doesn't matter. That which does not kill me makes me stronger."
She looked looked up at him, though it seemed she was trying to hide behind her hair. He brushed it out of her face, and the movement seemed to shock her.
"You don't have to do this, if you don't want to."
"But I do," said Shinji.
"Are you sure?"
He was. There was pain, but it was swallowed in a sea of exhilaration. He felt like a god when he was in the machine, its body one with his, towering like a titan of old. The pain the enemy gave him only made his will to overcome it stronger, his rage deeper. He had never felt anything quite like it. Misato studied him, leaning back slightly.
There were many things he felt today he had never felt before.
"Are you ready to leave?" she said. "The doctors say you're okay. I can get you out of here."
"And go where?"
"Home," she said, "with me. I took care of it. You'll be my ward, and-"
"Where is my father?"
"I don't know," she said, softly. "Working, I suppose. There's a lot to do."
"All of it more important than me," he said, bitterly. He surprised himself.
She looked hurt. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," he said, "It's not your fault. What's that?"
She opened the bag. Inside it was a set of clothes- plain black pants and a white shirt, and a paper folder with more papers inside of it. She pulled it all out and spread it out on the bed.
"If we're leaving," she said, "You have to put on some clothes, this time. I have shoes, too. I hope they fit."
"The papers?"
"Terms of your, ah, your employment," she said. "You'll draw a salary for your services, I guess, and, well, there's not much else to it, really. It's mostly stuff or me to sign after I become your legal guardian."
"I see," said Shinji. "I would know these terms."
"Yeah," said Misato. "Look," she said.
He looked at her.
"You can walk away from this. You don't have to, if you don't want to. We can find someone else."
"There is no one else," said Shinji. "Not like me."
"No," said Misato, "I guess not."
With that, she left him to dress, although he was not sure why. There was little she had not already seen. He slipped into the pants first, and then the shirt. He found it too restrictive when he tried to button it, and so left it to hang open. When he stepped outside, Misato fussed over him insisting on buttoning the buttons anyway. She had to strain with the three under his neck, and gave up.
"Yeah," she said, "I guess they don't make school uniforms in your size."
"It will do," said Shinji, "until I can be rid of it."
Her eyes widened a little, but she said nothing. The shoes were a better fit, even as they chafed an uncomfortably isolated him from the feel of the ground under his feet while he walked. He earned some stares as he walked, including from a large man with a heavily bandaged nose. He smiled at that.
Misato's car waited for them in a parking garage. The roof was low and the whole place was made of unmarked concrete, and it had sepulchral feel he misliked immediately. All the sounds were made hollow, even their footsteps. She opened the door for him and he slipped into her car, much smaller and lighter than the others he had seen so far. He found it somewhat cramped. Her arm touched his when she sat down, and she coughed for no readily apparent reason.
"Well," she said, "Here we go."
She started the car with a low rumble, and pulled out of the spot. He was still unused to such rapid movement, and unconsciously gripped the sides of the seat as she made a series of quick turns. The ceiling seemed too low and the walls too near, but she only went faster, and the tires squealed, the echo making it a shriek. She seemed pleased with herself.
"Put on your seat belt," she said, absently.
It took him a moment to work out what she meant, grabbing the strap that hung by his side and fixing it in a buckle at his lap. She drove them through a long, long tunnel lit harshly by orange lights, for what felt like forever until emerging onto the surface.
"Can these windows open?"
She pushed a pair of buttons, and the windows slid down of their own accord. He breathed in the hot night air deeply, and closed his eyes to take it in. It felt far better than he expected, to be outside again. Once he opened his eyes, he stared openly at his surroundings- great towers of glass and concrete and steel, so high he couldn't see their tops for the roof of the car.
"How does the wind get in here?"
"Same way it always does, I guess," Misato shrugged.
He had difficulty following the route- the movement was too fast, and by the time they left the tall buildings, he had already crossed more open space than he ever had in his entire life. The sky was different here, the darkness not so deep, the stars almost hidden. He missed them already.
"You were out for a while," she said, absently. "I already got some other clothes for you to put on."
She pulled into an empty parking lot, and killed the engine. He got out before she did, looking at the place. It was a low, three story block of rooms, each the same as all the others.
"This is where you live?" said Shinji.
"Yes," said Misato. "Come on."
He followed her up a short set of steps to a door. She opened it with a swiped card and let him up yet more steps, to the second story. There she picked a door, seemingly at random, identical to all the others. The same card opened this door, and cool air rushed out. He stood at the threshold, looking in. It was small, compared to the openness of the wilderness, and dark until she reached in beside him to turn on some lights. He blinked from their intensity.
"Well," she said. "Welcome home."
"I'm home?" he said, phrasing it as a question as he stepped over the threshold.
She followed him in and closed the door, slipping out of her shoes. He did the same, eagerly, and flexed his toes once he was free of them. He walked further in, across plush carpet that reminded him of walking on moss. The apartment was a bombardment of unfamiliar smells, and felt small and unnaturally cold.
"You okay?" she said.
"Yes," he said quietly. "You live here."
"Yup," she took him by the arm.
She led him into a small room. The walls were made of boxes. He recognized a cooking apparatus, though he wondered how it would work without wood, and how the smoke would escape. There were other rooms as well, a large room at the end of her space where she slept and too smaller ones, one of which was piled high with cardboard boxes and clothing. The other was empty, but for a small chest of drawers and a thin sleeping mat.
"I will sleep in here?" he said.
"Yeah," said Misato. "I just have a little guest mat there. We'll get you a real bed."
He blinked. To him, a real bed was a hammock.
"Do you want to take a bath?"
He considered that for a moment. He didn't feel dirty, but he did ache and some hot water would ease the hurt he felt in his hands. "Yes," he said.
"Good, you do that, and I'll make us some food."
He passed through the kitchen into the bathing room. There was a privy there, marked by its shape, although it had some sort of tank on the back. He touched a handle on the side, and the water in the bowl drained itself in a spiral and then refilled. He could see how that would be useful. There was a long tub, over which was two spigots, one low and one high, the latter full of many small holes. When he turned one of the nobs only cold water came out, but when he turned the other it grew warm, and he found he could adjust the temperature by turning them against each other. A curious device.
Once it was sufficiently hot, like the scalding fire baths he'd always taken, he removed his clothing and stepped under the stream. Water sprayed everywhere, until he realized he was meant to pull the translucent plastic curtain alongside him. Before he could, though, a curious creature approached him, a towel folded under on arm, or flipper. It was some sort of bird. He slid his hands under his flippers and picked it up. It stared at him.
"Wark," it said.
He put it under his arm and ignored its struggling as he walked back out into the kitchen. Misato was turned around at the stove, fussing over a pot. Her head tilted from side to side to a beat, and she had small speakers stuck in her ear, wired to a tiny box on her belt.
He held out the penguin. "Excuse me."
She ignored him, or else didn't hear.
"Excuse me!"
She took out one of the speakers. "What do you…"
She trailed off as she turned around. Her face turned a bright red and she yelped, hopping on one foot as if the floor had grown hot. She covered her eyes with her hands, flinging some sort of sauce from the spoon she held all over the kitchen, and her shirt.
"What are you doing?" she shouted.
He held out the creature. "This was in the bathroom."
"He was trying to take a bath!" she shouted, still shying from him. "Just put him down and get back in the shower!"
He shrugged, and put the creature on the floor. "Wark," it said, and waddled off.
"Why are you-"
"You're naked!" she shouted, "Stop being naked all the time!"
He scratched the back of his head, then walked back into the bathroom. As soon as he'd turned, her fingers spread, such that she could see him. She must have thought he didn't notice. Once he was inside, he slid behind the curtain and went about washing himself. She opened the door and put a pile of clothes on the turned-down seat of the privy without entering and quickly shied away, pulling the door shut behind her.
After a time, she banged on the door. "Come on, the food is going to get cold, and there's only so much hot water!"
He turned the valves off and emerged, drying himself with a towel he found hanging on the wall, and then dressed himself. While he bathed, she had changed her clothes. He found himself confused by her byzantine notions of modesty, as the attire she'd adopted now was even less conservative than her ordinary clothing. The pants she wore, if they could be called that, had no legs at all, and he was fairly sure she had nothing on underneath, and doubly sure she had nothing on under the loose yellow shirt she wore that left her arms exposed and barely covered her midriff, sliding up to show the small of her back as she sat cross-legged on one of the chairs at the kitchen table. When he passed her he felt his eyes drawn to the swell of her chest within the shirt and his pulse quickened. He tore his eyes from her as he sat down.
The plate of… stuff in front of him was most confusing.
"What is this?"
"Dinner!" she said brightly. "Real food! You'll love it."
He took a bite. He looked at her.
"Perhaps I should cook," he said.
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The Riddle of Steel: Director's Cut
Chapter Two: Long Tall Sally