Disclaimer: See prologue

Well well, I wasn't sure if I would EVER get this finished, but I finally have! I haven't shown this final version to my pre-reader Sideris, I hope I won't offend him by not doing so. I just thought it was about time I released this bugger to the public.

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SHATTERED: Interlude

Shanghai – People's Republic of China

"Gentlement… please be seated." The room was quiet with the exception of the rustling sounds of people making their way towards their seats. After a minute, quiet reigned. After making sure everyone was paying attention, the leading spokesman broke the silence. "Let me start off with some unfortunate news."

He cleared his throat a moment, then continued. "It has become apparent that our operative inside NERV has either been killed or captured. As you all know, he was in charge of supplying us with any relevant info regarding SEELE, but most importantly NERV on a monthly basis. It was decided to keep his updates as rare as possible, as not to arouse any suspicion amongst our targets."

He looked over the faces of all representatives in a moment of silence. "Sadly, this also means we did not become aware of his elimination until recently." He looked over the room once more. "We are, however, quite confident that our operation is not at stake. In order to safeguard our secrecy we've planted 'evidence' that he was working for the Ministry of Interior of Japan. Of course the Ministry of Interior will deny this, but it will at least keep them looking in the wrong direction. Sad though it may be, sometimes a pawn must be sacrificed for the greater good. He was a good man, loyal to us, and will be duly recognized after all this is over."

Some representatives nodded at the truth behind his words, others remained silent. "Now on to the most important facts we have uncovered lately. In the past two weeks, it seems our suspicions, and with that, our greatest fears have become reality. UN Special Forces have been pulled out of important combat areas throughout the world in the past week and a half."

He picked a remote control up from the table before him, and operated it. The room went dark, and the screen behind him came to life. "We believe SEELE is considering a military operation directly against NERV, and they have mobilised their best troops for this task. We have come to this conclusion after we intercepted a conversation between the Commander of NERV, Gendou Ikari, and the SEELE Committee."

The man fumbled with the device in his hand a moment, then pressed another button.

"IKARI!" The speakers in the room boomed suddenly.

"I see no use in further discussion, I have more important tasks to attend to."

A faint sound of echoing footsteps faded into the white noise of the audio file, then silence for a long time, just white noise.

"It seems Ikari has finally betrayed us… Tabris… why haven't you warned us sooner? Have you forsaken your task?"

He disengaged the audio fragment, then spoke again. "What worries us most, is the mention of the one named 'Tabris'. Tabris is described in the Dead Sea Scrolls as the final messenger. We are still piecing together the puzzle that lays before us, but the picture we have uncovered so far is disturbing."

"The fact that SEELE might be using an Angel against NERV has stunned us, and the fact that they have mobilized their most elite troops has left us with little choice but to challenge them. According to our sources the troops that were deployed in the 14 Day War against Iran in 2012 are being withdrawn from the Middle East. We all know what happened there, these are no ordinary soldiers. The massacres amongst civilians then are without a doubt an omen for what is to come, were they to be deployed against NERV."

"Now that you are aware of the situation, you also understand the reason for our request for troops. I wish to thank you all for your cooperation, and a safe journey home."

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Tarin Kowt – Uruzgan, Afghanistan

Water rushed through every hole and crevice in the house, and all he could do was get to high ground as quick as he could, in this case, his roof. His parents weren't home, it was just him and his little brother. Quickly they made their way down the hall, but the water was quicker than they, and quite nearly knocked him off his feet as it sprayed across the floor, and around his feet. He finally made it to the stairs, and ran up a couple of steps when he realized he hadn't seen his brother follow him.

Terrified he ran back down, yelling for his brother. "Tim! Tim where are you!" He could barely hear himself over the all consuming noise of the water, rushing past him and taking away all their belongings, ripping away furniture, appliances, and small things like photographs. Childhood memories, flushed away in an instant. But he couldn't think about that right now, he needed to find his little brother. "Tim! Answer me please!" He couldn't cry, he just couldn't believe his little brother was gone.

He had to get up higher on the steps every few seconds, the water already filling up the house almost up to the ceiling. He had to bend down to see anything, and even then he saw very little, the darkness of night combined with the absence of man-made light making it very difficult to see anything. "Tim!" He yelled once more.

Suddenly he saw his little brother's face bobbing up from under the water, getting pulled in the stream down the hall, towards him. He made his way, neck deep in the water, back down the steps, and was nearly swept away in the current. He yelled his brother's name once more, and reached out, trying to grab him before he swept past him, and out of his reach.

"Vik…" His little brother was cut off, his head bobbing under water momentarily, then resurfacing. Spitting up water, he yelled again. "Vik help me!"

Abel tried to catch him but he had to keep himself from getting pulled away. Their fingers barely touched as his brother was pulled downstream, and out of the house. "Heeeeeeeelp!" His little brother screamed in agony, still reaching out to his big brother as he was pulled further and further away into the darkness, and away from that life saving hand.

"Tim! NOOOO!" Vik yelled. He screamed so loud his lungs hurt. Hot tears streamed down his face, but he could do nothing. In a jolt he awoke, screaming his brother's name.

Rubbing his tired eyes, he looked around and found himself in the sleeping quarters of his barrack. Every night the same dream, that horrible dream of second impact. He'd lost everything that night, his entire family, all his friends. Of the 16 million people that lived in his home country, 14 and a half million died in an instant.

He had nothing left, making his way to Germany on foot when the water had receded enough to make the journey safe, with nothing but the clothes he was wearing. He'd stayed in Germany for two years, then returned to his home country, Holland. That of his country, that hadn't been claimed by water, had been partially rebuilt. But, with nothing left, no home, no family, he felt lost, and had lost the will to live.

Feeling that he should somehow avenge his young brother, and parents he'd joined the Army, quietly wishing he would die in the next mission every time he got sent out to fight, a common occurrence since 2nd impact. Hotspots across the middle east, governments toppled, civil war raging throughout Africa. He'd thought, at first, that with all the problems in Europe and the US itself, there wouldn't be much interest in matters thousands of kilometres away, but he had been wrong. Perhaps the aftermath of 2nd Impact had been worse in the end. The political situation across the globe changed in an instant, and for the first time in nearly 60 years nobody seemed to care about the loss of innocence anymore. Insurgencies, terrorist attacks, rebellion against oppression. It was chaos, and it was commonly accepted amongst the so called 'developed nations' that anything should be done to return to order. Once again, governments allowed any and all means to their, and their allies' ends.

He didn't care about all that, about politics. All he cared for was his new family, the young men at his side, fighting with him, for him. For them, he'd go through hell, and he had. He was now 27, but the horrors he had seen made him feel like he was 40. All he had to hope for was to die saving his brothers in arms, then he would be even with his brother. For letting him slip away he had to make amends through sacrifice.

He rubbed his face for a moment, putting his head back on his pillow, then cast the thin blanket that lay across him to the side, and stepped out of bed.

"Same bad dreams again, Vik?" His friend asked from behind him. He turned around and saw his friend, Daryll, standing behind him, concern written all over his face.

"I'll live, like I always do…" Vik replied, turning around again to put on all his gear. He still had an hour of sleep, but he didn't feel like it, rather going outside and breathe in some fresh air before their next mission. Done with his gear, he walked outside and into the camp. He was greeted by a beautiful sight of the sun creeping over the mountaintops ahead of him. Even with all the fighting, Afghanistan could be a beautiful place.

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his chest pocket, took out a cigarette, and replaced the pack in his pocket. 'Another step towards self-destruction' He thought as he lit the cigarette.

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Outside Fallujah - Iraq

The air inside the APC was humid, and smelt of sweat. The vehicle vibrated intensely as it passed over the broken road, shaking it's passengers roughly from side to side. The morale, however, was good. The soldiers inside the vehicle we're bustling with conversation, all happy that they had a pass out of this shit hole for the time being. Command had requested their presence elsewhere, that meant that at least the next 48 hours they would have a well earned reprieve from the fighting that had been constant for the past 2 weeks.

"I can't believe we've been pulled back, I was beginning to think I'd die in that stinkin' town!" One of the younger men in the special forces squad, Jefferson, said.

The lieutenant, an older and well experienced combat veteran, knew better than to get his hopes up, but he knew the break from all the fighting they had done was welcome amongst the men, and kept his mouth shut as he looked around the cabin, even though he feared they would be called out to do an even more dangerous job.

"Say lieutenant Dan, why do you think they pulled us out of there?" Taylor spoke, the youngest of the eight men under his control.

He turned towards the young man, and said: "Do you want my honest opinion, or do you want me to lie to you?"

Taylor laughed a bit. "Well, it depends… do I want to hear the honest answer, Sir?"

The lieutenant repositioned himself, his butt gone sore from all the potholes the APC wasn't exactly doing it's best to avoid. "I think we're in for another job, probably more dangerous too." He said finally, thinking it best to just speak his mind.

The mood settled down a bit after that, but the men couldn't say they hadn't been expecting it. Being pulled out was just too good to be true, especially under the circumstances.

After a while Reynolds spoke up, trying to lighten the mood, and the subject. "Well, at least we don't have to go back home and watch them shitheads protesting us back in the States."

It stayed silent, the subject he decided to bring up not what the men wanted to discuss right now. "Hell, you know what I'm talking about! It's not like it's not on your minds… those fu-"

"Shudup goldielocks!" Taylor scolded, using the blonde man's nickname. "You know as good as any of us we don't need that shit right now. I'm not disagreeing with you, hell not at all, but right now we all need a break from your goddamned whining!"

Dan shifted his eyes towards Reynolds, he didn't need this right now, and he was about to interrupt the verbal quarrel. Before he could speak, Reynolds was consumed by a bright flash, completely disintegrating before his eyes.

For a moment, time stood still, not a thought on his mind, just a bright spot burnt on his retinas, even visible behind his shut eyelids. He thrashed wildly, not knowing up from down, his hands over his bleeding ears. Getting a hold of himself, he immediately forced his eyes open, an action that made his head pound painfully, and his eyes sting.

The lieutenant's ears buzzed loudly as he finally got up on his knees. The world spinned wildly before his eyes, disorientated by the blast wave. The world finally came into focus, and conscious thought found him again. Conscious thought that told him that he still couldn't see, or breathe for that matter. Pitch black smoke was pouring into the cabin, the smell of gunpowder, burnt metal and flesh leaving a disgusting odour in his nostrils.

Shaking his head for a moment, instinct and training kicked in. Blinded by the thick smoke, he crawled forward, hands reaching out to find the hatch. It didn't take him long to find the lever, and in a moment the bright afternoon sun lit up the interior of the APC. He crawled towards the opening and rolled out of the cabin, still deaf from the blast, heaving and coughing loudly from the smoke he'd inhaled.

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Base camp – Green zone, Baghdad

It turned out he was lucky. He was, but four men under his command weren't. Reynolds was blown to pieces, Lucas decapitated by flying shrapnel, both Jefferson and Ivory suffocated to death. The six others, himself included, had come off unscathed, safe for a bad headache, and another traumatic experience burnt for eternity on their souls and minds.

"To think, that on their way to blessed relief, they'd die by a goddamn roadside bomb." The lieutenant cursed under his breath, not getting his shaking hands to get a hold of his lighter. He looked down, the four bodybags already tagged and sealed. 'An honour, to die for your country…' He thought sarcastically. 'Not like this… not peaceful, not honourable… just blown from the face of the earth like that, or simply choked to death by toxic fumes.'

He fumbled with his lighter, not getting his cigarette lit. Frustration took a firm grip of him as he yanked the cigarette from his lips, grinding it to pieces between his fingers. He swatted the remains to the floor and stomped on them with a loud 'thud'. "Goddamnit!" He cursed, catching the attention of his men.

They all stared at eachother, a pained expression on their faces. Simultaneously they looked down at the bodybags laid out at their feet. After a long moment of silence Taylor spoke up. "Well… shouldn't… shouldn't we say something?"

"What?... It doesn't change the fact that they're all dead…" The lieutenant said after a few moments. He sounded cold to his subordinates, but they couldn't be angry or shocked by it. In truth, there wasn't anything that would justify the death of the four young men before them, and there wasn't anything they could say that would bring them back, or save their parents, family, or friends from their grief. Nothing they could say that would lighten the hurt they themselves felt at this moment, so they would just live and fight on, waiting to die another day, or, if they were lucky, the end of their tour of duty.

"Well… I guess I'll have to write the letters now… get to your quarters, and get some rest. We're being pulled out at 0900 tomorrow, so get all your stuff ready for the ride to the airfield." The lieutenant said finally. The men nodded, saluted their officer, and went to their sleeping quarters.

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Dan sat motionless behind his desktop, an empty piece of paper in front of him. He must've sat there like that for half an hour, the pen held firmly in his hands, pressed to the paper where he had first put it. He knew he'd promised his men to write to their loved ones personally if they would die in action, but he couldn't think of anything to say. What could he tell them, that their sons died as heroes? That they died protecting their comrades? He knew it would be better to lie to them then tell them the truth of their horrible death, but he couldn't. So he just sat there, staring at the blank paper, thinking of something he could write.

His mind started to wonder off as he recalled a conversation with Reynolds. He'd just asked him this favour which he was determined to fulfil, and Reynolds had offered him the same in return where he to be killed. It had been a tough moment for him, remembering all that he had lost. Had he been killed, Reynolds would have had no one to write to.

The image of his wife, and two sons flashed before his eyes. The terrorist attack on Boston, his hometown, and his birthplace, had claimed two hundred thousand lives in an instant, and another twenty thousand in the aftermath, felled down by radiation poisoning. God, now he thought of it, all the guilt and pain of his loss came back rushing in. He hadn't even been able to hold his son's hand as he slowly succumbed. 'If I had just been there, to die with them, or to at least see them, watch over them as they died.' He squeezed his eyes shut, the painful memory bringing him to the brink of crying.

Sometimes it was hard for him to remember why he fought, but now it was clear again. The action of writing this letter was like dusting off an old picture, the image displayed letting all kinds of long forgotten emotions resurface. He had seen pictures in the news of victims of the radiation poisoning, their skin blistered and black all over, and to think his own son went through that, that was worse than dying in a flash, much worse.

As if Second Impact had not brought enough suffering to the world, a terrorist organization had decided it would strike hard on American soil. All the chaos in the world that followed the impact of the micro meteor had left their foe with it's back towards them, and they had taken that very moment to strike. With four airplanes, and one small warhead, they had reigned terror.

'Those fucking animals…' He thought, his hand tightly pressed to his mouth, trying to suppress the sound of his sobs. That day, late summer of 2001, many people had died, and those who were responsible had to pay. He didn't need to join the army for that, he had already stepped in his father's, and grandfather's footsteps before the attack. But when he heard of the American retaliation, he was first in line to ask for a reassignment. There was no way in hell he would miss his chance for revenge.

He shifted in his seat, and took a deep breath, the hand previously covering his mouth now wiping at his eyes furiously, his grief subsided, and replaced by anger. A snap brought him back to reality, and he looked down at the source of the abrupt noise. His hand held the pen firmly, so much that his knuckles had turned white, and the pen had broken under the pressure. He hadn't broken under pressure, he was still here, after years of fighting he'd survived. Only 39, and already old according to his subordinates.

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Groznyy – Chechnya

He twisted the head of the lamp a bit to better shine in the eyes of the man under interrogation. It was successful, the man squinted his eyes shut and averted his head from the harsh light. His comrade grabbed the man firmly by the chin and made the frightened man look at it. Releasing his face, his compatriot moved his hand back and smacked the man hard on the back of his head.

He moved around the table and knelt down next to his victim. "You might as well tell us everything… if you want my comrade to stop this, you could tell us everything and it'll all be over." The man didn't respond, he just kept his eyes straight at the lamp. "You Chechnyan scumbag! Tell me everything now!" He yelled, his face inches from the man. "I know it was you, and your friends that attacked our convoy last night!" He slapped the man in the face, no reaction. "If you tell us now, we might be… lenient on you."

The man kept silent, further angering his interrogator. He punched the man in the gut hard, successfully making his victim double over in pain. With his hands tied behind his back he could do nothing but take the punishment. Another slap in the face, still no reaction. The last of his patience gone, he grabbed his face and forced the man to look at him. "You separatist pig…" The man interrupted him mid-sentence, spitting him in the face.

He pushed the man, still tied to the chair with his hands behind his back, to the ground and stood up straight. Wiping the spit from his face, his other hand pointed to the man on the ground. "You just signed your death warrant." His voice was level, his face blank as he said it.

His face contorted into anger once again. "Take this piece of shit outside and execute him!" His compatriot only nodded, grabbed the rebel by collar and dragged him out of the humid tent. For the first time in the entire interrogation the man started yelling as he was dragged off for his execution. "You Russian dog! Do to me as you will, I don't care for my life!" The man's yelling grew more muffled as he was drug out of the tent.

Pulling a bottle of vodka from one of the drawers in his desk that stood behind him he heard the rebel shout one last time. "For Chechnya!" A moment later a shot rang out, after that it was quiet. Filling a glass up to the rim with the liquor he downed it quickly, trying to flush away the memories of the day. Truly, he didn't know if the man had attacked the convoy, even though he was clearly sympathetic to the separatists. 'Orders… I will do as I'm ordered as always.' He thought grimly, wishing he could convince himself he was doing the right thing.

He poured himself another drink, and downed it quickly again. His eyes moved to the letter he had received from command that morning. 'I'll be out of here soon.' The thought comforted him somewhat. Apparently his presence was needed elsewhere, along with that of a few of his men. Anyplace would be better than where he was now, anywhere. He'd rather climb down to hell than stay here any longer, he was certain he'd either die or go insane if he stayed.

He stepped outside, a new filled glass in his hand already. The body of the young rebel was dragged away, darkening the dusty ground with a trail of blood. He had committed atrocities for his government, for a government without remorse. He had let himself be defiled by them, but he could no longer care. He would surely go to hell for his acts, and he welcomed it. He downed the glass in his hand once more, then threw it against the hard ground, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

The body of the young rebel was discarded on a pile of more bodies, all of which belonged to the presumed terrorists. Yes, he was sure he would not see heaven when he died. Before he was sent here, he was part of the Spetsnaz, part of an elite group to counter terrorism. He was Captain Aleksandr Ivanov, a man of honour. Now, he was nothing more than a war criminal.

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Well that was it, I hope you all liked it. I have to be honest, I didn't know if I was going to go on with this story at first. It's not up to standards in my opinion, but I felt obligated to finish the story. It keeps spooking around in my head, and I want to finish it even though I don't think it's that good. Anyway, enough rambling. I hope to release the next chapter soon. I have most of it worked out, just need to finish it.

PS: You might wonder why I added a character from Holland. Well, I'm from Holland (no, this is not a Self Insert) and the more I thought on the subject, the more I realized Holland borders the sea, and would be swept away by the tidal waves were Second Impact to happen. This would make a perfect background story for the Dutch soldier.