Lo! the Star of Heroes falls to earth below.
The hand of the faceless clutches it.
Its light shines within their noble heart,
And banishes all the evils that oppose it.
- An excerpt from the Infant Island Fragments, as translated by Dr. Shinichi Chujo in 1962
†
The view out the window was certainly not a beautiful one- there was no beauty in the expanse of drowned and ruined city stretching out for as far as the eye could see. Yet, she found herself drawn to it, thoughts swirling as she stared out the kitchen window. Picturesque, her father had once called it, like a looming mountain or the wrinkled face of an old man.
She smiled wryly at that thought. At their ages, they were both picturesque.
The whistling of the tea kettle drew her attention away, and she hurried over to turn off the flame. It took effort to lift the heavy iron pot, now, but she ignored the burning in her old arms as she poured hot water over the tea leaves. A grassy aroma filled the kitchen as she stirred absentmindedly, her gaze drawn back to the window.
It was miraculous -or perhaps the opposite- how many trials the old home had endured. From the hilltop it sat on, she had witnessed countless terrors- the firebombings, Gojira, Ghidorah, and the hellish first year of the new millennium. They were uncomfortably close to the barbed wire fences that marked the border of where the radioactivity from the bomb was deemed too high, but as her father had all-too-cheerfully pointed out, they were too old to worry about that.
Setting the spoon down, she set the teapot and two cups on her bamboo tray, then carefully lifted it. The weather was promising for tonight, and she knew her father would enjoy sitting outside and taking his notes about how the foliage was reclaiming the city.
She barely took two steps before the sound came. A low, rumbling sound that made the teacups clatter on the tray, though that may have just been the shaking that overcame her. Part of her wanted to pretend that it was just an earthquake, or perhaps the rolling thunder of a storm. Indeed, many had likened it to thunder, the way it could come over the hills from kilometers away without ever seeing the source, but she knew all too well what it was.
A roar. One she hadn't heard in many years.
She didn't realize she'd dropped the tea until it crashed against the floor, drawing a yelp as hot water splashed against her ankles. She backed into the counter, hands clasped over her mouth. Her pulse hammered in her ears, and she forced herself to draw in a deep breath.
It couldn't be him. He was dead, gone like all the others despite what her father insisted.
She didn't know how long she stood there, repeating the well-practiced deep breaths her father had taught her as a child, when the American planes were overhead. Finally, she forced her hands to her sides, eyes closed. It had to be her mind playing tricks on her, long-eluded senility finally catching up. Then the roar came again, and she let out a sharp scream before she managed to contain herself.
It was then she realized her father hadn't come over when she had dropped the tea, and that seemed to break the spell. Brushing aside the shattered porcelain with a slipper-clad foot, she shuffled towards the living room.
"Father?" she called.
The living room was empty, papers scattered across the floor. Her eyes trailed to the open door.
A bead of sweat rolled down Emiko Yamane's face as she hurried after her fool of a father.
†
Shinji stared at the monster before him.
It was the only suitable term for what he saw. Not a pinnacle of scientific development, as Dr. Akagi had kept calling it as he was ushered through a battery of simple medical tests, nor a weapon, as Misato said en route to the locker room. Weapons didn't have a great blade-like horn protruding from its nose, so long as to cast a shadow over him. Pinnacles of science didn't rest shoulder-deep in what looked and smelled like blood.
"Is this what my father's been working on?" he murmured.
Shaking his head, he began walking along the gangplank that ran to the side of the Evangelion's head, though 'gangplank' felt like a misnomer as well- it was more like a pier sitting on a sea of blood. As he approached towards the back of the thing, where the so-called 'entry plug' was extended out for him, he had to fight down a pang of nausea.
Were those vertebrae?
He stepped towards the plug, painfully aware of the little squeaking sounds the absurdly skintight suit they'd given him made as he began to climb in. The technicians standing by didn't even seem to acknowledge him as he clambered into the oddly-shaped seat and grabbed the yokes, the plastic creaking under his gloved fingers.
He thought back to an arcade game he played once, some boring shooter he hadn't liked an iota. He remembered how small he felt in in the cracked leather seat, his tiny legs not even reaching the footholds.
This seat fit him perfectly. He liked that even less.
Looking over his shoulder, he could see into the control center some distance above him. Misato gave him a cheerful thumbs up, while Dr. Akagi looked rather exhausted as she read something unseen. His eyes scanned the room, searching, and he frowned in resignation.
The speakers crackled to life. "Alright, Shinji, we'll be commencing the synchronization test. Just stay where you are while the plug is inserted."
He nodded.
There was a faint whirring of servos, and then the plug sealed shut, leaving him in darkness. Shinji breathed deeply, eyes closed as there was a sudden lurch of motion.
It was just a machine. Just something they needed him to pilot. He was not being sent into the cavernous belly of a great beast.
Then he heard sloshing beneath him, and looked down to see blood flood the plug, the smell of copper assailing his nostrils. A startled yelp escaped him, and he almost fell out of the seat as he inched back.
Light flooded the plug as a holographic vidscreen came up, showing Dr. Akagi's face.
"Shinji, calm down. This is the LCL we discussed earlier. It's an oxygenated fluid. Just stay calm and breathe it in."
The rising tide of LCL stopped for a moment, then renewed with a hum, becoming more transparent as it rapidly engulfed him. Shinji's heart hammered in his chest as he held his breath, writhing. The damn stuff was warm, and somehow far less viscous than water, which only added to the discomfort. The burning in his lungs began to intensify, but he refused to let go.
Then, he felt something strange overcome. Emotion? Not quite. It was something within, yet apart, assuredness and calm that was not his own laying over him like a warm blanket, a firm hand on his shoulder that said "you can do this". For a moment, he thought back to the madness of the Angel's attack, that same not-feeling as he made for the phone.
Closing his eyes, he finally exhaled, gagging as LCL flooded his lungs. It even tasted like blood. Smacking his lips, he took an cautious breath, and found that it was virtually the same as breathing in air.
"I feel sick," he muttered.
"You'll get used to it," Dr. Akagi said. "Beginning synchronization test now."
A moment passed, then there was a sudden stillness in the plug. Shinji felt as though something was beginning to press against him. Not his body, but rather another aspect of his self, like his very existence was being held against another. Colors began to swirl in the plug, and he couldn't tell if it was actually happening or if he was hallucinating.
Phantom sensations raced over him- a twitch of hands that were not his own, cool liquid running over skin that was not his, immense pressure both inside and outside his body. He squirmed in his seat, and a split-second later he felt it race down the body of the Evangelion, a distorted echo of the flesh.
Then the pressure lessened, replaced with a new one that seemed to worm between him and the machine, as if it had been roused from a dream. Again the feeling that was not feeling enveloped Shinji. Curiosity, confusion, creeping concern.
Is sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ?
The feeling suddenly receded, and the colors began to fade. Shinji relaxed as the phantom sensations died away, just as the plug plunged into darkness.
†
Misato blinked as the testing center suddenly exploded into activity, windows popping up on all of the computer monitors. She heard Ritsuko swear under her breath, and turned to see her friend hunched over one of the techies' shoulders.
"What do you mean, the A10 connection severed itself?" the scientist demanded.
"Readings were normal right until the moment of borderline contact," the technician, who Misato could've sworn was named Maya, replied. "Then they outright stopped."
"What's happening, Rits?" Misato finally asked. "Is Shinji alright?"
"Shinji's fine," Ritsuko said, running a hand through her hair. "I mean, his vitals are astonishing, but that's not the point. His sync is... well, it's nonexistent."
"...wuh?"
"He managed to briefly reach a sync of 49.1%, then all of a sudden-" Ritsuko snapped her fingers. "Zero. Even someone unable to pilot would still produce some manner of sync."
Misato glanced out the window, down to the massive form of Unit-01. "Maybe the Marduk Institute made a mistake?"
"No," Ritsuko said quickly, then added, "If he's truly unable to even sync, we would have to scrap every single theory related to the Evangelions. Even if he was having a grand mal seizure, or if there were other people in the plug producing static, there would be sync."
"Wait, someone had a seiz-" Misato shook her head. "Well, then it has to be an equipment problem, right?"
Ritsuko opened her mouth, as if to say something, then walked back over to the desk and activated the speaker. "Shinji, we're going to do some more tests. Just stay there."
Looking back at Misato, she nodded. "It has to be that. The Third Child fundamentally has to be able to pilot."
†
"The Third Child," Fuyutsuki declared some hours later, "is unable to pilot."
If that had any effect on the man sitting across from him, there was no sign. Gendo simply placed down his go piece, then resumed tenting his hands in front of his face. One of his gloves was off, the bandage wrapped about his palm stained red.
"I presume Dr. Akagi has exhausted every means of determining that."
Fuyutsuki nodded, faintly. "It's not even a low sync, but outright zero. That should-"
"Be impossible," Gendo finished. "Yes, I am aware."
A pause.
"Ikari, what are we going to do about this? If Akagi's correct, then the boy's been rejected. The Committee wants an Evangelion with a functioning pilot within the week, now that Gojira has returned, but I don't see what we can do, aside from letting the First pilot."
"As far as the Committee is concerned, the First Child will be unable to pilot until past the deadline established. Hence why they will be forced to transfer the Second Child to our jurisdiction."
"So early?" Fuyutsuki frowned. "We may be pressing things. They'll attempt to kick a fuss over the costs of transferring Unit-02 ahead of schedule."
"Unit-02 will arrive at its intended time," Gendo replied. "We simply need the pilot. If the Third has indeed been rejected, then I imagine the Second will be a suitable replacement."
Fuyutsuki readied to say something, then instead slumped his shoulders and put down his go piece. Gendo quickly replied with a move of his own, and captured three stones.
"In the meantime, the Third will continue to undergo contact tests with Unit-01, and will be treated as a pilot. Biweekly training sessions using AR equipment will also be placed on the itinerary."
Fuyutsuki furrowed his brow. "Ikari, he's been rejected. Wouldn't it be better to send him back? He'd be safe there."
"I am not wholly convinced that the Third has been rejected. At least not permanently. Keeping him here will also assuage the Committee's worry over information about Godzilla's return being leaked to the public."
"Leak...?" Fuyutsuki blinked. "Everyone within a hundred kilometers probably heard him fight the Angel."
"As far as three hundred and forty eight kilometers, actually, depending on terrain," Gendo replied. "Unless the old man's voice got hoarse during his nap, that is. Virtually all of Japan knows by now."
"And it seemed you knew before anyone else," Fuyutsuki said. Despite knowing of all the counter-espionage devices in the office, his voice quieted. "She actually managed to do it?"
"Her link is clearer, now that he's more active, but still not optimal. Doctor Akagi is taking advantage of the recent battle to acquire more material for the First's treatments."
"I also presume any surprise reappearances will be a complete surprise to NERV," Fuyutsuki supplied.
"Yes. Let the old men handle public reactions to any future surfacings." A faint smirk crossed Gendo's face. "I imagine this week will have a spike in heart attack cases."
"Count me among them," Fuyutsuki said, slumping in his chair. "We were too close with the boy. He's lucky to be alive."
Perhaps he imagined the slight tension at that. He decided to press it.
"If we are indeed keeping him here, what shall we do for his living arrangements?"
"Our Operations Director has already proven her usefulness in that regard," was all Gendo said.
†
"With you," Ritsuko repeated.
"Mahara, you sound like I just told you I'm opening a pink lemonade stand in the LCL production plant," Misato said, her voice echoing in the helmet. "I'm just letting him stay at my place."
"Becoming his legal guardian is not the same as him just crashing on your couch." Ritsuko gestured at Maya to hand her a pincer rod. "Are you sure you can handle taking care of a boy while maintaining your line of work?"
"If I wasn't good at multitasking, I wouldn't have this 'line of work', Rits," Misato retorted. "I can take care of him! He's just a kid."
Ritsuko bit her tongue on that last one. "Well, it's not like I can talk you out of it."
"Nope."
"Just..." she paused, trying to think of how to phrase it. "Report any unusual behavior. For our psych evals."
"Gotcha," Misato said. "See ya, Rits. Try not to grow a third eye while you're there."
The line went dead, and Ritsuko chinned the call button. Maya was returning with a pincer rod, and she took it from her, then used it to pick up a thick glass phial from her supply crate. Holding the rod by the very end, she swung it over the congealed brown blob that had dripped to the street from the crushed rooftop above. Honestly, it was miraculous so little of the town had been destroyed.
"Maya, if you will," she said.
"Understood, sempai," the younger woman said, grabbing a pole of her own with a long scalpel attached. "Ready to make the incision."
"Make it."
She did as told, slicing open the thick 'skin' of the congealed blood. Ritsuko dipped the phial in, then pulled it out. It was much like how volcanologists collected samples in the field, though in this situation it wasn't the heat they had to worry about. Already her dosimeter began to tick up, ever so slightly, as she carefully popped a lid on the phial.
Maya sprayed the sample clean with green decontamination solution, and Ritsuko delicately placed the phial inside a lead-lined crate. For a moment she studied the glass tube, bright red with the blood of a god. Governments had fought and killed and died for a few scant drops -which was usually all there ever was- and now she was tasked with collecting liters of the stuff. The security detail would have hell to pay if a microliter went missing.
"We'll fill three crates, then have the CBRN unit run a torch op," she said to Maya.
"Understood, sempai."
"And be sure to take a chem shower after. This is a Level-2 biohazard."
"I already know, sempai."
Ritsuko grabbed a fresh phial, and swung it back over the congealed blood. Theoretically, there was enough material here for years' worth of serum. Then she thought of who was to receive the serum, and suppressed a shudder.
Whenever Godzilla and humankind intersected, the theoretical may as well have been palm-reading.
†
The sea calls to her.
It sings to her in a language she is not meant to know, plying instincts she is not meant to feel.
And yet, she knows them as well as her own.
It is not her muscles that she feels sliding under someone else's skin, straining with unimaginable power. They were not her scales that welcome the embrace of the cool waters, yet she winces all the same.
He is expanding his senses, honed to a degree no human mind could experience, and yet she still drinks in what he sees, what he hears. He tastes for the foul stench of human ships, listens for their rattling metal.
Feelings swim in a heart that is not hers. Contempt, weariness-
-loneliness-
-giving way to iron determination.
There is work to be done.
To break, to mend, to find.
But he will never find her.
For there is no true her.
"Rei."
A familiar ceiling greeted her, half-obscured by the scratchy and unnecessary gauze on her left eye. She rose to a sitting position, arms to her side.
The Commander stood at the foot of the bed, hands in his jacket pockets. The harsh fluorescent lighting of the hospital room reflected off the lenses of his glasses, obscuring his eyes from sight, yet she could feel his piercing stare all the same. The room was silent, save for the incessant beeping of useless machines.
"Status report," he said.
She straightened. "He is swimming towards Old Tokyo."
"He intends on cleaning the fallout, then. Has he attempted to contact the others again?"
"As of yet, he has not."
"You will inform me when he does so." He paused. "The Third has arrived."
"There was someone new in the medical wing. Was it him?"
"Find that answer for yourself," he said.
She did not ponder the odd nature of the request. She reached out, and distance was no object as she traced the thread she had felt earlier and found a young boy at the other end. He was in a car with Major Katsuragi, a backpack in his lap as he studied the glittering skyline of the city, bathed in the glow of the afternoon sun.
Deep reaches into a mind could be noticed, but the surface impressions were enough for her. Confusion, exhaustion, loneliness, all filtered through youth, peppered with deeper memories- practicing a cello alone in a room, the whirring of a tape player. For a moment, she thought there was something else, but the impression was already gone.
"It is the Third," she said.
"That is good," the Commander said, his tone different from before. When he spoke again, however, it was back to normal. "In time you will meet him. You may find his scent off-putting."
"I cannot be put off." It was not an assertion, as far as she knew.
The Commander smiled imperceptibly. "Excellent. You will be discharged tomorrow, after receiving another injection. The dressings and cast will stay on for another week. You are to continue your observations on the Leviathan."
"I will not fail you."
"No." He adjusted his glasses, and now she could see his tired eyes. "You won't."
Without another word, he left the room. She watched him go, blankly, then laid back down on the bed. Closing her eyes, she breathed in deeply.
I do not exist. I cannot feel, for there is no I. I am not I.
She repeated the mantra, over and over, until once more she could feel cool water against skin that was not her own.
†
The apartment door slid open with a soft sound, and Misato stepped through, before turning to face him.
"Well, aren't you coming in?" she asked, hands on her hips.
Shinji stared at the metal line in the floor, the division between the concrete hallway and the tile of Miss Misato's apartment. Except it was no longer just her apartment, now. It was his as well, or at least that was what she had been insisting.
He stepped through, and despite himself felt a small and awkward smile come upon him.
"I'm home," he said, more to convince himself than anything else.
"And with that, I'm back out again," Misato said. "Godzilla showing back up makes a pile of paperwork almost as tall as he is, and guess who has to go through all of it?"
"You?"
"Cute and smart," she said. "Yeah, you're definitely a keeper."
"Um?"
"I'm just teasing. Goddess, this is too easy." She walked past him, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "I probably won't be back until midnight, if I'm lucky. There's some food in the fridge, but feel free to order takeout if you want. We'll do a proper housewarming tomorrow."
"Thank you again, Miss Misato," he said, bowing his head.
"Don't be so polite. We're roomies now!" She ducked out into the hallway, then popped her head back in. "Oh, and there might be a little mess. I just moved in last week. See ya!"
The door shut, and Shinji was alone in the apartment. At least, he was eighty percent sure he was alone. Maybe seventy. Slouching a little, he walked down the hallway and surveyed the kitchen. Or rather, the sea of used laundry and empty beer cans that called itself a kitchen.
"This is a little mess?" he mumbled to himself.
Hedorah would've had to order a doggie bag for the leftovers after trying to eat the contents of this kitchen. The long-gone brako would have taken one look at the mountains of trash and decided that operations director was too low a station for Misato, that she must've been the Thousand-Year Empress of the planet Earth-
He blinked. He had no idea what a brako was, or how long-gone they were, or why they would've decided to make Misato an Empress. He pressed his fingers against where the wound had been, and closed his eyes, trying in vain to recall where that thought had come from. It gnawed at him, familiar yet so different, as if it was not his own.
Shinji pushed it aside. For now, he had more immediate concerns- there was no way he was going to eat in a kitchen this filthy. Taking care to not step on anything, he made his way through the kitchen, through the living room -only slightly less filthy- and finally found one of the spare rooms Misato had told him was his. Dropping off his backpack, he then tiptoed back to the kitchen and rummaged around until he found the trash bags.
Flapping one open with a flourish, he set to work, starting with clearing off the table. Empty takeout containers, candy bar wrappers, and beer cans -so many beer cans- quickly filled the bag as he got to work, and he soon tied it off and grabbed another empty bag. As he turned back to the table, however, he paused, frowning slightly.
He'd cleaned it off much faster than he was expecting. Sure, he'd been feeling a bit more energetic than usual, but when he looked at the clock, he saw it hadn't even been a minute, and he didn't recall actually grabbing all that much. Cautiously, he opened up the new bag, and started clearing the trash off the floor, not bothering to look at the sack itself.
Then, before he knew it, the bag was full once more, and now he began to get suspicious. He couldn't have picked up more than a dozen pieces of garbage, yet now a huge swath of the floor was clean. Slowly, he tied it off, and this time as he opened the new bag he was sure to look at it as he put trash in. One, two, three, four, five cans.
There were five cans in the bag. Maybe he was just imagining things.
He looked back to his work, but decided to keep counting as he picked wrappers and boxes off the floor. One, two, three, four-
He swore he saw something move in his peripheral vision, and he turned, but nothing was there. Quite literally- the floor was clean, now, and when he looked into the bag he saw that it was full yet again. He didn't even recall getting to work on those parts of the room yet.
Dropping the bag, he pressed his fingers into his temple again. Maybe seventy percent was too optimistic.
†
This had to be the least impressive pursuit she'd ever been in. She could remember how she could run in her youth, strong legs pumping as she scaled rocky hills alongside her father, searching for remains of prehistoric times, both dead and terrifyingly alive. Now, she could barely manage a swift walk up a polished stone path, traitorous knees screaming at her.
All the more frustrating was that she could see her old man up ahead, close enough that he was obviously hearing her increasingly exasperated calls. For a man who'd turned 108 two months ago, he still trudged forward with determination akin to a child who'd seen a candy store up ahead. For as long as she could remember, he'd always been like this when he saw something that piqued his curiosity, whether it be a strange piece of shale or the footprints of a monster from the Permian era.
Still, he was old man, and the damned tweed jacket he wore no matter the weather had to be nightmarish in this summer heat. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she pulled out her phone to call medical services, only to see that the cell was down. Swearing, she pocketed the useless thing and tried to redouble her pace.
Her father finally reached the top of the hill, then sat down on a particularly large boulder. A few minutes later, Emiko finally reached him, panting.
Kyohei looked over, brows raised. "Oh, Emiko! I didn't know you decided to join me. Did you bring the tea?"
Her reply was to give him a half-hearted slap on his shoulder.
"Crazy old fool!" she gasped. "You scared me!"
"Ah, no tea," he said, sounding quite disappointed. He scooted over, slapping the boulder. "Come sit with me."
Emiko hesitated for a moment, then plopped down next to him, rubbing her knees. Kyohei took off his old walking cap and put it on her head, as he had done for nearly eighty years.
"Don't want you to get a sunburn," he said, absentmindedly. His eyes scanned the horizon.
"As soon as I catch my breath, you're coming back to the house with me, and I'm calling the doctor," Emiko panted. "You're too old for this, father."
"I'm not going back until I see him," he replied. He glanced over. "I know you heard it, Emiko. It was him."
"You don't know th-" she cut herself off. If anyone alive would know, it was the two of them. "Even if it is him, what makes you think he'd come here?"
"The old man can't resist cleaning up our messes," Kyohei said, gesturing out to the broken city before them. "And we've certainly made a mess of things over the years."
He frowned. "I've heard whispers of some particular messes, ones I pray are not true. I worried they would be too much for us."
Emiko chewed her lower lip, studying her father's face as he continued to peer at the horizon. It hit her, then. He was excited, a barely-constrained glee clear in his eyes. It was something she hadn't seen since the waves.
And so, she sat with him, occasionally looking towards the ruins of Old Tokyo, but more to him. Despite the creaking in her knees and the pounding in her chest, it was easy to think she were a younger woman, watching the city lights with her father and Ogata and Shinkichi...
She closed her eyes, a long sigh escaping her.
She didn't know how much time passed before she heard it. At first, her mind wandered to the times she spent huddled away, listening to the incessant din of American bombs. Quickly, however, she realized what they were.
Her eyes darted open, and she instinctively reached for her father's hand, squeezing tight. She knew what she was going to see, and yet she still sucked in a gasp.
He was there. He was so far away, so small, enough that she could have obscured him with an outstretched hand, yet the way he dwarfed the ruins around him dispelled the illusion.
There he strode, each step made in mockery of all the claims of his death, all the memorials and the celebrations. A faint scar on his chest, shaped like a broken cross, was the only mark of the passing years, the only concession he made.
He surveyed the broken city, head held high, and for a moment she swore his gaze fell upon them. Her grip on her father's hand tightened.
He was alive. Defiantly so.
A soft sound drew her attention back to her father, and she saw that his eyes were brimming with tears. His face was dreadfully pale, and yet a smile crossed it, a genuine smile she hadn't seen in years.
He looked to her, and took her hand in his.
"It's all right," he said, a tremble in his voice. "It's going to be all right."
Then Dr. Yamane closed his eyes, and never opened them again.
†
His feet sank into warm mud as he trudged forward, occasionally crushing abandoned vehicles or fallen towers underneath. Each thunderous footstep brought weakened structures tumbling down, leaving only dust and rubble as evidence of their short existences.
Memories were strong here, aeons and moments layered atop another, themselves laid over the land. He was old when this island was young, when it was not even an island, but merely a piece of the unbroken land of his earliest memories. He had fought countless battles here, even before the humans had claimed it as their own.
He realized his gaze had been absently drawn to a particular part of the ruins, close to the water. Before he could stop himself, he marched towards it, bowling over decaying skyscrapers that dared to stand in his way. Coming to a stop, he looked down, and saw what had once been a small home. It was nothing more than drowned foundations, now.
Miki had lived here, when she was not with him. Memories that were not his welled up in the back of his mind- the smell of the stewing vegetables, the laughter of a child, the sight of a glittering metropolis in the rain. They had become more distant, cold.
He'd known that she was gone for some time, along with her offspring and so many others, and yet he felt a fresh ache in his chest. At times, it felt as though she was still in his heart, only to fade.
He turned away, and continued his march inland. Sometimes, he paused at a particular spot as memories became stronger. Miki had loved this human settlement, and even told him its name. Tokyo.
It meant nothing to him. However, apparently he had meant something to it. The old stomping grounds, the inhabitants had wryly called their home. He had no love for their polluting and destructive ways, but their refusal to leave it had been something he could almost respect. It'd been the epicenter of many battles, but it endured it all. Even when the smaller creature had leveled the city, or when the golden one itself had come to lay waste, they simply rebuilt and pushed on.
But now, there was nothing but a tumbled expanse of rubble and mud. After countless invasions and attacks by monsters beyond imagination, it'd ultimately been themselves that'd broken their resolve.
He came to a stop before the twisted remnants of the great red tower, the only thing left that was taller than him. The fire that gave him life was rich in this area, tingling against his skin. Eyes closed, he willed it towards himself, heat running down his spine as power flooded into his veins. In mere minutes, the land was as pristine as it had once been.
He looked around the ruins once again, a low rumble escaping him. Rejuvenation of the body and restoration of the land- that was why he had come here. Nothing more.
Liar, Miki would say.
Turning around, he began the march back to sea, having given Tokyo one last gift.
†
Gendo sometimes ruminated on the absurdity of the fantastic becoming the mundane- considering his line of work, he had more experience than most in that regard. There was a time where a clandestine meeting in the heart of an underground base, each member disguised with holographic monoliths evocative of that which had made their historic efforts possible, would have been surreal, terrifying. Now, he found it just as trite and soul-sucking as the faculty meetings he once attended in university.
"The Leviathan wakes," Kihl said, hidden behind the inscrutable mask of his monolith. "He has risen from the half-dead seas like a phoenix from the ashes."
"He has survived the passing of the world before," Gendo said, his face a mask of its own. "There was no reason to assume this passing was his last."
"If only that were so," SEELE 04 said. "I fear his power may yet be too great for Man to tame. There may come the time where we shall need to cull him."
"If it is possible," SEELE 06 retorted.
"Anticipation would serve us better than antagonism." Gendo glanced between the monoliths. "His is the way of the storm. We need fear only a guiding hand."
"I have confidence in your ability to avoid the path of the storm, Ikari," Kihl said. "However, I expect you to continue your research, should the need to meet the storm head-on be made known."
"Of course."
"There is another matter." Gendo could hear the creaking as Kihl leaned into his microphone. "The Third Child's inability to pilot."
"I would say this is more concerning than even the Leviathan's resurgence," SEELE 02 said. "This may very well render our efforts to acquire more pilots impossible, and when we are still without a pilot for Unit-01, a possible death knell."
"This whole matter should be impossible," Kihl added. "Unless there are factors we are unaware of."
It was a pointed comment. Gendo was sure to choose his words carefully.
"We are still researching the matter. The exact cause is unknown, but we are confident that it shall not hamper the findings of the Marduk Institute. Should the Third Child be found truly unable to pilot, the Second Child can take his place. Therefore, I am requesting her transfer."
"I think your confidence may be misplaced, if you have not yet found the cause," SEELE 04 said.
"Hmm." There was a pause, then Kihl said, "Done. However, there is still the matter of the boy himself."
"If he is unable to pilot for the reason we theorize, then he shall play no part in our scenario," Gendo said. "There is nothing to fear from him."
†
In his new room, Shinji stirred.
With near-dramatic flourish he threw the thin cover off himself and spread his limbs, staring at the ceiling. Misato apparently loved to put the air conditioning on blast, yet he felt as though he was roasting in an oven, sweat soaking through his nightshirt. It seemed the newfound vitality of earlier in the day was not to last.
The thought gave him pause. Sitting up on his sleeping mat, he leaned over and grabbed his school uniform, staring at the hole in the breast pocket. No charred fabric, no ash, and yet it was as though something had burned through it, without burning him. The strange thing he found had been there- there was no doubt it was responsible. But where had it gone?
He threw the white shirt against the wall, then laid back down on the mat, running a hand through his damp hair. It felt like he should know the answer, yet it was lost on him, like forgetting something he'd never learned. That went for so many things- the incident in the entry plug, the idea that was not his, and above all the mystery of his recovery.
For the hundredth time that day he pressed his fingers into his temple, teeth gritted. He could still remember the blood, the dull ache and the alarming absence of pain that followed. It had been bad enough that Misato had thought he was going to die, yet now there was not even a scab. Even Dr. Akagi had been surprised at how quickly it had healed.
A tremble came over him as he thought of the strange dream, of the boy across from him in the train, and again the feelings that were not his made themselves known, as though something or someone was rousing from their sleep. Maybe he himself never did. Maybe he was in a coma from a traumatic head injury, or even-
Nᴏ
He froze. Who'd said that?
I ᴅɪᴅ
Shinji turned on the mat, and saw that someone was standing over him, half-hidden in the shadows. Yet he could still recognize the blue eyes and mop of black hair that framed a delicate face, so familiar and yet so alien. The feeling that was not his own receded, returned to its boundaries once and for all as the sleeping presence awakened.
"You," he whispered.
The boy from the train smiled.
Hᴇʟʟᴏ, Sʜɪɴᴊɪ
He didn't say it, and neither did Shinji see anything. It was as though the words simply manifested into existence, making themselves known.
"You're the one who saved me
"Who are you?"
The boy's smile faltered.
Mᴇ? I ᴀᴍ ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ
"Then... what are you?"
Pʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴏʀ. Wᴀʀʀɪᴏʀ. Gᴜᴀʀᴅɪᴀɴ. Mᴀɴʏ ᴛɪᴛʟᴇs ᴀᴄʀᴏss ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅs
"Many worlds," Shinji repeated. "That means..."
Yᴇs
He suddenly felt very cold despite the feverish heat of before. In a moment, the sky had been opened, and the world became so much smaller. What could he say in the face of such a thing? He was not a poet, or a holy man or scientist. He was the wrong person to be in this historic moment.
I ᴅɪsᴀɢʀᴇᴇ
Shinji started. "How did you hear me?"
Tʜᴇ ʙᴀʀʀɪᴇʀ ᴏғ ᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛs ᴀʀᴇ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴡᴇᴀᴋᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀs
"You've done this before?"
I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏ ᴘʜʏsɪᴄᴀʟ ғᴏʀᴍ. Iᴛ ɪs ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴀ ʙᴏɴᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴇ ɢʀᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴀɢᴇɴᴄʏ.
"Bond?"
Wʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ Tᴡᴏ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇ Oɴᴇ. Tᴡᴏ sᴏᴜʟs, sʜᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴏɴᴇ ʙᴏᴅʏ. Yᴏᴜʀ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ, ᴍʏ ᴋɴᴏᴡʟᴇᴅɢᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ. I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛʟᴇss ᴛɪᴍᴇs ᴏɴ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛʟᴇss ᴡᴏʀʟᴅs. Iɴᴄʟᴜᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪs ᴏɴᴇ, ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀɢᴏ.
"But then something went wrong, this time around. Because..." Shinji rubbed his temple. "You had to heal me."
Yᴇs. Yᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ʙᴜᴛ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ I ʙᴏɴᴅᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ.
"And now I'm perfectly fine," Shinji breathed, eyes wide. "I'm alive thanks to you."
Oɴʟʏ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ I ᴡᴀs ᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀ ʟɪғᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏsᴛ. Mɪɴᴇ.
"What?"
My life is now yours. Should I break our bond now, I shall perish.
"How long will it be before you can leave?"
I do not know. All I know is that your world is in danger.
"You mean the Angels that Miss Misato was talking about."
The creature? Perhaps. I do not know what the danger is, but I do know that my presence on this world is still required. I am pulled to those who need me, like gravity, and still I feel bound here.
"That's what you were talking about earlier, with your power," Shinji supplied. "You give someone what they need to save the day."
Yes. Should you choose, my power shall become your power. Together, we can fight for peace and prosperity for your people.
Shinji averted his eyes. The weight about him grew heavier, pressing in on his skin, suffocating, crushing.
"I can't. I'm... I can't thank you enough for what you did, but I'm not who you're looking for."
I know I ask much of you, Shinji.
"You're asking too much!" he blurted out, then recoiled. "I didn't ask for this. I don't want to be a part of this."
We do not get only that which we ask for. All we can do is learn how to still forge our paths through life with what we are given.
"But why me?" Shinji asked. "Why did you pick me?"
I didn't.
Shinji looked back to the apparition. The phantom reflection had a knowing, amused smile on their face.
I found you, just as much as you found me. And all my years of learned life tell me it is because you needed me, just as I needed you, even if neither of us know why.
"But now you're stuck here with me. That's the opposite of what you need." Shinji rolled to his side. "Maybe you shouldn't have bonded with me."
It was my life to give. I made that choice freely, Shinji, to save your life, and I would make it again.
"But I'm nobody," Shinji whispered. "No one would've cared if I died."
"I would've cared," a voice so much like his own said.
The words hit him like a slap to the face. Shinji turned to look at the apparition again, tears beginning to well in his eyes. They meant it. They really meant it.
"Know this, Shinji Ikari," the phantom reflection said. "I shall never force your hand in a matter. Should you choose to do nothing, I shall do nothing as well, until I am able to safely leave you be and find a willing host."
"And if I actually choose to do something?"
"Then you will have the power to save the world."
The apparition had something clutched in their hand, now, and they let it drop. Shinji reflexively reached out and caught it, and he saw it was the same object that hit him in the head.
"A symbol of your decision, when you make it. Should you agree to accept my power, you would not be my puppet. You would be my partner, my equal, my guiding hand."
Shinji looked at the strange capsule, then back to the apparition.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For everything," Shinji replied, haltingly. "For... for saving me. And for giving me a choice."
He weighed the capsule in his hand. "So what happens now?"
"Now, you get some rest. You have a busy time ahead of you."
The apparition disappeared, and Shinji saw that his hand was empty, now. He curled his fingers over his palm, then pulled the sheet over him and rolled to his side. The feverish heat was gone completely, and now Shinji felt dead tired, his eyelids leaden. It wasn't long before sleep found him.
†
In her own bed, Rei laid with closed eyes, but she did not dream. Even in sleep she had a duty to fulfill.
Thousands of tons of seawater cascade off iron-hard scales, as broad feet begin to press against the warm sand of a beach. The shoreline is still a shadow of its former self, saplings eagerly reaching for the sky among the broken timbers of their progenitors. Moonlight bathes the land in hues of silver, glittering on the waves.
The ruins of the human presence still linger- crumbled concrete walls and observation posts and maser emitters mar the coast. He is sure to take a meandering path that involves trampling them underfoot as he marches into the heart of the island, up the slope of the highest of the three peaks that separates the two halves.
She can feel the weight pulling at him as he climbs, one not of the flesh, for he is mighty. It only grows stronger as he ascends the peak, surveying the broken kingdom below. Then, she feels her ribs creak as he inhales deeply, and lets out a mighty cry. An ancient sound, a roar that had scattered armies and made so-called gods turn tail.
This time, however, it is not a challenge. It is a beckoning, the howl of a wolf calling for its pack. It is a call he has made time and time again, since the shattering of the world, and it is a call he shall make long after this one.
And just as time and time before, there is no answer.
†
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シン・Leviathan, Chapter Two: L'Hôte