(Pleasure)

Things simply continued onward.

We did not suffer casualties this time, and though we had known that there was a chance for that to begin with (low though it may have been) our survival was treated as a victory, an overcoming of the odds, as if the persistence of our being were some unexpected product of our actions rather than well within the parameters of the expected, a confluence of pure naked chance and large systemic through-lines of long-term processes that extended far beyond our individual actions – I believe this phenomenon is known as 'outcome bias', the belief that what came to pass was the direct result of our actions rather than of their interaction with chance, which could have gone in many other directions.

Each of our choices merely cast us in a role or a part which sooner or later someone had to fill, though it scarcely mattered who, because the array of circumstances was aligned to spark such actions. If it had not been Ikari-kun in Unit 01, it would have been me, and if not me, the previous clone.

Even so, we all lived, just this once.

The status quo in which our lives all intersected would continue on for just a little longer.

We were gathered up, retrieved from the sludge, extracted from our entry plugs and given medical care: Most improbably of all, none of us had been seriously harmed – my arms hurt, but it was only sympathetic pain, the nerves themselves still twinging in response to Unit Zero's though the connection had been cut. One of the nurses remarked that this should probably be watched, that if such 'hangover' pain took place more often, there was some chance of this turning into a chronic condition.

The concern was unfounded; There probably was not enough time left in the world for that to happen; I would be dead first, or instrumentality would come to pass.

I was given a painkiller, and the burning ceased.

The Second was completely unhurt – indeed the only one to climb into the helicopter send to retrieve us bearing marks of actual injury was Ikari-kun. They had removed the sleeves of his plugsuit and left his hands and forearms bandaged up.

It seems that to sustain the AT-Field strength necessary to hold back the angel, he'd needed to maintain a synchronization rate high enough for physical injury to be a risk.

The wrappings on his hands were rather thin, though, and by the time I next met him at school for the following week, they were already gone.

He did, however, retain a round, raised scar on both his palms and the back of his hands for as long as I would continue to know him – a small yet conspicuous mark, perhaps a striking portent… for did it not remember the stigmata with which the final human sacrifice was to be marked on the last day of judgment? The Lamb of God, not only in the sense of being carefully led by a shepherd, but with the meaning that their blood would seal an ancient contract. Depending on the circumstances and the various possible chess moves of SEELE, the Commander's plans were in flux as to who that was actually going to be, but, as the designated Third Child, Ikari-kun's chances were not bad.

It's hard to imagine what that might be like, to become the linchpin for the souls of all mankind, carrying all their destinies, all their sins. I suppose I would find out, if I made it to the last day.

I hoped that Ikari-kun wouldn't.

Though I hoped this in silence, as I could not exactly tell him, and not just because of the Second standing near.

There wasn't much spoken on the flight back, I suppose we were all in our own private worlds of thought. Ikari-kun hat sat long in a corner seat, just catching his breath, calming himself down.

But the Second too avoided us at first; It was hard to guess what she was thinking.

I don't know that her reasons were as simply as not wanting to endure the sight of our faces – it seemed to reflexive for that. She did not stop to gloat or taunt us. Perhaps she, too, was not completely immune to being somewhat overwhelmed by battle. Naturally enough. She was a human adolescent no different than Ikari-kun. It had all gone very quick and though she performed as admirably as she could have, under the circumstances, she had struggled to keep up with the events, which was uncharacteristic for her.

This last enemy was a far cry from the first few ones whom she had effortlessly skewered.

Not too long ago, she was boasting that she could take xem out on her own; By now, she must have realized that this would have been thoroughly impossible.

But whatever she might have been thinking, it seems she did not wish for us to see, and retreated to the backseat by herself, seeing as Ikari-kun was to distracted in the aftermath of his own experience to take much note of her.

Thus he and I were left in the same row, I in a window seat, him, slumped in the first one he could reach near the aisle.

I felt a warm stirring inside of me, accompanying the thought that perhaps I might do something to comfort him, but once again, I was not really certain how; Quite exhausted myself, I did not trust myself to handle with the necessary diligence what even in the best of circumstances would have been something I had no exercise in.

Besides, it might be that both of them preferred to take advantage of this brief moment of silence to gather themselves before being obliged to summon up some semblance of cheer when having to interact with Major Katsuragi.

If it were me, I think I would have preferred to take this brief opportunity to be alone for a bit, but I was not the best example to compare against seeing as I was not exactly a typical human adolescent.

Beyond the window, I could eventually see us crossing the boundaries of the angel's crimson-stained burial ground, flying now over green country, toward the city in the center of the valley.

In taking its time, reminding us that what we conceptualized as separate places was in reality a continuous curved place on which two spots could not simply be jumped between, the journey had at least provided us with decompression time and ample opportunities for the painkillers to kick in, which could at least be supposed to exert its usual influence upon the relationship between interoception, mood and judgment.

By the time we arrived at headquarters, whatever spell the Second had been under had either passed or been rationalized away. She emerged from the back row of seats with a proud grin and a marked bounce her step. Ikari-kun, too, seemed for the most part calmed down, if still a bit subdued in his demeanor.

Thus, somehow, by some unlikely, unprecedented dice-roll of causality which one would never expect to repeat itself, we all made it back to the command room in Central dogma, all now back in our school uniforms.

Major Katsuragi was surprised at our arrival – her attention, it seems, had been wholly occupied by effusively thanking the bridge crew for taking part in her uncertain gamble.

Before, she'd had to steel herself to appear confident, both for our sake and her own, but now that the most acute danger had receded for a moment, the degree of disheveled relief she exhibited betrayed a degree of doubt and anxiety she must have kept concealed.

Nevertheless, the Major snapped right to visible delight when she finally saw us, though they no doubt must have long since informed her of our status:

"Great job, all three of you!"

The Second stood with her feet broadly apart, hands on her hips, and a wide, triumphant grin on her face, looking very very pleased.

Despite myself, I felt the beginnings of an earnest smile fluttering over my lips as well, as if it were the fact of our survival finally sinking in.

As I said, I had never before had anything to look forward to, so, neither had I known the delight of seeing it come true. So this was a first, for me.

Ikari-kun for his part certainly appeared relieved, but his demeanor was probably the most subdued between the three of us, something of which Dr. Akagi seemed to have take note:

"You know, Shinji-kun? This especially goes for you. I must confess that I wasn't too convinced about this plan – I was certain that you would let go when the angel kept putting the pressure on you, but you didn't. You were definitely the MVP for today."

As far as Ikari-kun was concerned, this seemed to embarrass him more than it pleased him.

Did he fear retribution from the Second? Or perhaps, for all that she simplified it, she was not so wrong about his uneasy relationship with responsibility, or the power that was entailed in such praise. If his presence did nothing, he could easily leave, but, if he really were the 'Most Valued Player', the burden of responsibility was heavy indeed, for it meant that, if he were to leave, he would probably feel as if he were depriving us of this 'MVP'.

Being without skill might almost be preferable.

Then you would not have anything worth taking.

Though, neither would you have any bargaining chip that would give you the right to remain near others.

But what was to be done? If nobody told him the value of his contributions, it was unlikely that he would increase in confidence as much as he had in perseverance or skill, but if praising him just made him feel awkward, it seemed like punishing him more than helping.

If there was an answer to this at all, I would probably be the last to know it.

The handling of human resources was ultimately what Major Katsuragi's salary was supposed to pay for. At least, she spotted Ikari-kun's unease and swept in to move the moment along:

"Shinji-kun did great. But I wouldn't underestimate the contribution of Rei, either. The OP went as seamless as it did 'cause she kept her head level. That was very perceptive of you to try grabbing the core."

Was it?

I couldn't say.

I just did what I was for. In the grand scheme of things, I don't think that any action of mine greatly influenced the results.

I'm certain that the Major intended this comment mostly as a segue way to relieve Ikari-kun of the unwanted attention, but for the Second, this seemed to have been one instant too many in which the center of the universe wasn't fixed on her:

"You guys can coddle the Nepo Babies as long as you want, but just so we're clear: I'm the one who killed it."

"Sure, sure!" the Major conceded, placating her good-naturedly with a small wave of her hand. "Don't you worry, no one's going to confiscate to your laurels on that account."

"You better not! - and this makes our score even, do you understand? So you better not start slacking off if you don't want me to leave you behind in the dust!"

Ikari-kun had no further response to this than a forced little smile. As usual, he was none too interested in the Second's one-sided rivalry.

A disinterested observer might have been puzzled that the Second considered this kill a point for herself when she had ruled Matriel's destruction a Team Kill – whether one wished to use terms such as 'MVP' or not, arguably Ikari-kun's catching of the angel had contributed as much to our survival as the Second's battle plan did in our last battle.

But in the end, this didn't matter.

There was no harm in letting her have this 'win' since she was the only one who wanted it.

So long as it keeps her motivated, what's the harm?

No one else here cared much for the accolades.

Or so it had seemed.

For it was just around then when the satellite connections were finally restored.

There was an incoming transmission from Antarctica. From Commander Ikari.

For the moment, just 'sound only'.

At once, Major Katsuragi stood at attention -

From her tone, to her word choice, even to the way she stood, there was a distinct shift, a stark contrast from her earlier stubborn confidence.

She had taken her gamble, but now it was over, and the results on the table, so now she stood ready to take full responsibility.

For a moment, I thought she might actually bow, though without a video feed, the Commander had no means to see any such gesture; It must be a psychological thing.

She need not have worried.

For all that Commander Ikari was sometimes considered a rather demanding superior by the staff of NERV, this was only because he was so devoted to rationality and pragmatism.

He of all people understood that collateral damage was sometimes inevitable, and would have known to appreciate that the present level of damage to the EVAs was realistically very close to the best possible outcome.

All things considered, both him and Subcommander Fuyutsuki were more satisfied than displeased.

So far, this was all what I would have expected.

But then, something anomalous happened, or, at least, something unprecedented.

I was sure that Commander Ikari was about to hang up, but instead, he appended to his response a question wholly unrelated to business:

"...by the way, is the pilot of Unit One listening in?"

It should not be unusual for a human parent to seek to speak to their children, of course, but I don't think he had ever done this before – he'd adressed Ikari-kun to give him orders, of course, but aside from that, I don't recall that I'd ever seen him speaking to Ikari-kun of his own accord -

Was I mistaken?

I still couldn't claim to understand this human family business, besides, I only saw either of them for a short fraction of their day, as a fairly small part of their lives. What would I know about what they do when I'm not around, outside of business hours?

No. My impression must be right:

I looked at Ikari-kun, and he was distincty surprised, even startled.

"...yes, Sir?"

"I've seen the reports. Well done, Shinji."

"...yes? Thanks-?"

Commander Ikari cut the connection without saying anything to me – or the Second, who seemed mercifully to surprised to go prattling about nepotism again.

But of course not.

Ikari-kun could have left; The two of us were merely doing what we were trained or, in my case, outright created for.

When I assumed that Major Katsuragi and the others were about to proceed to the steakhouse, I was going to excuse myself, but before I had the chance, the Second Child pulled me aside.

This itself was not unexpected, but once it did happen, I braced myself for having to sit through another litany of complaints, and then walking off once she was done.

This, however, did not happen.

At first I didn't quite catch was she was meaning to imply with her various remarks, though her repeated emphatic winking suggested that she expected me to.

She seemed a bit frustrated that she had to spell it out – but what she said surprised me.

Apparently, she had chosen to forego the fancy steakhouse and instead settled for an affordable yet reputable Ramen stand, both to spare the Major's tight budged, and because that place also served vegetarian dishes.

How uncommonly generous of her.

Perhaps, scoring the kill on Sahaquiel had made her feel more at ease, and this is more representative of how she might act if she felt free to be generous, rather than feeling herself embroiled in what she must see as a desperate struggle for existence.

Maybe that was the version of her that Horaki-san got to see, and why she liked to call the Second a friend.

I hadn't expected Horaki-san to be completely mistaken about the Second, I just didn't think that I'd ever get to see any confirmation of her being right.

And once this had taken place, I could no longer find any reason to say no.

Before long, we were all sitting in a streetcar.

I distinctly remember Ikari-kun smiling to himself in satisfaction, no doubt relieved that everything had gone well, that we were now all going out together without further conflict.

I'd seldom seen that kind of unabashed bliss on his features.

To my surprise, I realized that I was relieved, too.

I had expected that I wouldn't end up coming along to this, one way or another.

I expected something would get in the way.

Or at least, I didn't want to count on it, to entertain a silly hope just to have it ripped away, or to give it up when it didn't seem worth the unpleasantness.

But in the end, all I had to do was to go along with the others, follow the path of least resistance.

It had been easy.

And I was relieved that it was easy.

I was relieved that I didn't have to give it up, though I know I would have, if things had been otherwise.

I was relieved, because last time they brought me along to one of their activities had been nice, and I know I would have just spend the rest of the evening staring at my ceiling, not managing to do anything useful either way, wondering what it might have been like.

None of this, of course, erased my awareness of how unlikely this outcome had been, even if it was never impossible.

I could easily imagine that we would each be doing very different things now, if even one of us had been destroyed.

If it had been me, would Ikari-kun have missed my absence at the dinner?

Would they have canceled it, if only as a basic common courtesy?

Or would Ikari-kun be sitting next to a fresh clone right now, talking to her as if nothing had changed?

I had never looked at the act of feeding or the need for sustenance as anything other than a bothersome biological process.

A basic, mechanical function of the body.

It was with little more than mild annoyance that I would acknowledge when stray pangs of hunger might distract me from my reading, forcing me eventually to snap out of concentration and get up to attend to that nettlesome necessity, another sink of strength and effort, another something that needed to be done just to keep my sour, joyless existence – because as of now, I was still needed. Still obligated.

I had preferred to get it over with as quickly and in as uncomplicated a manner as I possibly could, preferably, while accompanied with some other activity so as to minimize the loss of time, paying it little heed.

I saw no point in glorifying or expending resources on such a basic activity – whatever did the trick, whatever eliminated the distraction of hunger, would serve.

So, it had not occurred to me to dine in a ritualized manner with others, or to even take the time to go to a specialized commercial establishment that existed only for people to arrive at so that they could conduct their social dining rituals in this location.

When Commander Ikari had required me to come along with him, I'd done so, but only because it was his order.

I had not seen the appeal, or the interest in it.

Yes, I was aware that the refreshments offered in such locations would generally be nicer looking and more pleasurable to consume, but I had figured that it did not matter, for the point of eating was simply to absorb nutrients, everything else being basically superfluous.

Nor had I seen the appeal in ritualized social pleasantries, in sitting together and pulling the trivial details of one's days out of one another's noses.

I never would have had anything to tell, nor did I find the stories of random strangers to be especially stimulating or interesting.

I would always rather be on my own, reading a book.

And this had held true while the fine food in question was but a theoretical idea, and the people involved just interchangeable silhouettes, the generalized idea of an average person.

While it was a faint, sketch-like imagination, containing only the elements that I could explicitly conceive of.

But now I stood here, surrounded by smells, sounds, lights.

Unknown textures.

All manner of things I had never truly witnessed up close before.

Newness and strangeness.

Now the people were not indifferent shades, but people I knew of, that I had considerable mental models on, whose reactions or simple preferences stood to fill out, complete or refine the ideas that it was about it.

I knew still that all this was really nothing special, that my actual physical presence should make no difference compared to what I thought this was when I had contemplated it before, and found it to arouse nothing but indifference.

A faint curiosity tugged at me – a thought that I might as well observe this, find out what it's like, if I had the chance to see it.

And perhaps something more.

I didn't quite feel a part of it, only an onlooker, a guest.

But even in that position, I was experiencing it, not just hearing about that.

The little stand was nothing special, a small business, a semi-enclosed space.

The food was good.

I didn't think that a simple sensory stimulus could be that pleasant.

I was reminded of a passage in a book where the narrator saw a beach, or a person, and expressed wonder that an image could create such a strong impression, at the power of beauty.

Cooking was considered a kind of art, too, right? A means to create not just sustenance, but an experiences.

I found myself quickly taking in the noodles despite myself, feeling the pleasure on my tongue, the warmth of the fragrant, garlicky broth filling me, the bowl warming my hands, the craving for more of it.

I had only regarded my body as a site of pain or at best, just a cumbersome vessel for navigating my mind around.

I'd rarely considered that it could also be a vessel of pleasure.

I looked at the various garnishments in the bowl, slowly picking up a little bit of each with my chopsticks, trying out each one, slowly and deliberately, bit by bit, as if wanting to savor the moment, to string it out as a thinning thread of liquid.

Not far from me, conversation took place – animated talks, lightness, humor and banter, as if our earlier brush with death had never taken place.

Perhaps this was a necessity, a defense I was lacking, a mechanism that kept people moving despite the harshness that surrounded them.

What Commander Ikari might call a foolish illusion that kept them from waking up from their dreams and cut themselves loose of their suffering.

Major Katsuragi was teasing Ikari-kun with some effusive compliments about his battle performance, offering to feed him since his hands were injured from the fight and jokingly suggesting for the Second to join in, who blanket refuse and cracked some joke at their expense – Ikari-kun mumbled a half-hearted complaint, but there was no real sharpness to any of those interactions. They were just glad to be alive, having fought to live another day.

Clueless of the ritual sacrifice that was already pre-ordained.

It struck me suddenly that it was a kind of heavy, leaden thing, to be among brightness and merrymaking that you could take no part in.

I thought to speak up myself once or twice, but I had little to say, nothing to contribute; I didn't see a topic coming up of which I could speak with confidence, and I had no answers I could give them if they were to ask questions.

Coming nearer into their world just made the gulf between their and mine ever more apparent.

And yet, I was there, tasting the noodles and all.

Still I watched. Still I listened, as the conversation gradually tipped from casual joking to things that were perhaps too serious to say any way but lightly.

It was not nothing that I was present there, that Ikari-kun said it with me listening, rather than saving it from the privacy of their household as something too delicate for just anyone to hear.

He mumbled of it casually, just releasing it into the ether as if we were just incidentally sucking in the words with the air, but there was a profundity to it…

I wasn't looking then, being busy with my noodles, but I could heard.

"...you know, Misato-san… earlier, when my father said that I did a good job, that was the first time that I wasn't embarrassed of being praised."

I noted that the Major was watching him intently, a half-eaten noodle hanging out of her mouth as proof of an interrupted motion, coordination ceased as attention was pulled elsewhere.

The Second Child, too, curiously leaned forward, filling the corner of my eye with her copper hair.

But Ikari-kun wasn't noting this, he was smiling, mostly to himself, looking ahead into his bowl, as if to avoid seeing our responses, as if he wished for nothing to dispel the morsel of happiness that he had, at last, reluctantly allowed himself.

Nonetheless, one could witness that little nervous habit of his, the repeated clenching and unclenching of his hands, though his injuries must have stung.

As he kept speaking, he eventually formed a first, despite the bandages, so as to put a stop to all the buzzing uncertainty that remained:

"You know, I think this is what I've always wanted…. This might even be why I stayed, all along. Why I became an EVA pilot in the first place..."

"What?! Just because of him?!"

It wouldn't have surprised me if this was just the Second's usual mockery, but, I don't think that was it. There was like, a sudden, soft gasp there at the beginning, some realization, before she presumably crushed whatever feeling there was with violence, and spoke instead with some long refined bitterness lingering in her voice:

"If your only goal in life is something like that, you must be even dumber than I thought!"

I couldn't really fathom what she must be thinking, or the Major, or even Ikari-kun.

Family bonds between humans are evidently complex, and I knew nothing about them.

Those were the concerns of alien beings, insofar as I was concerned.

I suspected that there may be some meaning there, some evident charge in the air, but it wasn't something that I could possibly relate to.

I was a cuckoo in their midst, a bastardization of nature wearing their likeness, a fey changeling child that had no father and no mother.

...

Major Katsuragi ended up driving me home in the end, bidding me farewell through a series of effusive gestures and exclamations, before that entire world of noise and light and scents disappeared squarely behind the car door, all the sound of her, and of the other two pilots, leaving me behind in the cool of the nighttime air.

I had been intending to go head straight to bed, to fade out of consciousness with the warmth of the soup still in my belly and the garlicky aftertaste still clinging to my mouth, leaving no time to mark these temporary feelings passing, as everything must, whether this be sooner or later.

But even though I set myself down on the bed with no delay and attempted to clear my mind of thoughts, I did not quite succeed.

The featureless blackness of sleep did not swallow me up as was its wont – something kept tugging at my consciousness, sparking off waves of attention, detaching drifting trails of thought like sand from a rock in the surf.

The images of the dinner kept popping into my head.

In particular, impressions of the people present – what I had heard today of their motivations, their reasons, their drives.

I had never spent all that much thought on the Major or the Second Child, other than what would be prompted by our inevitable interactions, or incidentally observed, same as any other phenomenon in the field of my awareness – they just filled necessary roles, required tasks, parts in the grand stage play of instrumentality that required to have warm bodies filling them.

Their only relevance to me was in their relevance to the plan.

But now the pictures did not fade, as the moment pressed to be addressed.

The chains of thought seemed to prolong themselves of their own accord, like a river of sticky substance, sweeping along whatever had got caught in it.

I don't really think that their actions made that great a difference, in the grand scheme of things, though they did not act as if this were so. Of course I'd always been aware that they simply did not know much of what I did, but this time at least they should have been aware of our poor odds of survival.

It is a basic psychological bias, of course, in which the weights attached to options in a decision do not generally the same as their probabilities. Behavioral economists like to call it the 'Fourfold Way'. I'd read about it in a book once, a brief fractional insight into yet another of the countless rabbitholes that one could follow down on this earth, yet another world that I would never touch until the moment of its erasure came.

When faced with a great and costly loss, human beings are willing to take great risks for even a minuscule chance to escape the loss.

Today, it just so happens that this small chance came true.

So it was not their choice to pursue this strategy that surprised me.

It was their defiance, even in the face of such unfavorable odds.

They had not trudged in resigned to the inevitable, risking the plan because it was simply 'worth a try', but rather, the Major and the Second had stood determined to alter their fates, so long as there remained even the most minuscule of chances.

One might of course account this as merely self-serving denial. As delusion.

But to do this seemed somehow incomplete to me – hearing me say this, though true, also prompted me to feel a little sorry for them.

I noticed the feeling welling up a little, just at the edge of my consciousness.

They were fighting so hard to keep their lives, and all the things and people they treasure, and everything they like to do, though in the end, they would lose it anyway.

It struck me that this would probably be sad for them.

Not even just that – without a doubt, they might even be enraged.

Though their wrath would, of course, be a futile one – Even if Instrumentality had not been scheduled to come to pass within their lifetime, they would still lose it all when they would die of old age. More of them might remain after Third Impact.

I wonder if this is what the poets of old had referred to as the 'rage against the dying of the light', though it was something that I could not understand.

I thought of Ikari-kun, and how much he had come to cherish the new life that he had built here for himself, even despite the great pain that it had cost him to maintain.

I couldn't understand why he would stay, if being here only caused him to go through agonies, but I think I was beginning to see the pull from the other side, the voice that calls him to stay rather than leave.

I think I was also beginning to understand why Commander Ikari had thought it necessary to deceive his underlings – though for the first time, I was also beginning to appreciate that they would probably not thank me, once I came to reap their soul.

At least not right away. Maybe not at all.

I could well picture the Second clawing at my face to the last before I led her into the fold, as someone so ardent on distinguishing herself from others.

I suppose some of them might welcome me in the end – or all might differ, some welcoming it, and some refusing, in many different gradations of acceptance.

This motivation of theirs to preserve their lives, be it a false belief, a parochial emotion, a shapeless primal drive that knew no time or reason – it was nonetheless a fount of power, a thing that kept them fighting, more than any dim hope for the lesser of two evil might have.

The human will to live, though futile, was without doubt a source of their greatest determination, the fuel in the tank of NERV's endeavors.

I suppose it must be driving the Commander's actions, too, though he simply believed in a different definition of survival, other ideas of necessity.

No matter one's feelings or desires, what one knew might change one's entire view of the world, and hence how to go about those very same goals, the cause and effect.

I suppose that I was acting upon the ideas and knowledge that I had, as well, which may well be an incomplete part of the picture.

If what I knew was different, I too might be rejecting vehemence what I now knew as inevitable.

I knew only what the Commander had taught me, what he thought it necessary for me to know.

I do not know why he would not tell me only precisely what would make me act as he saw fit.

It did not even require any ill intention on his part, merely that he truly believe in the necessity of what he did.

Him, SEELE, Major Katsuragi… most likely, all of them sincerely believed that they were laboring for the salvation of mankind, and all of them saw themselves as having good and valid reasons for their actions. All might have seen the others as ignorant if they somehow were to learn of each other's plans.

All saw their path as the only outcome with any merit, and may dismiss the views of others as but self-serving rationalizations…

Once that thought had occurred to me, appearing finished inside my consciousness in a stroke of intuition, there was at once, a great resistance to it.

I wanted to crush that thought, and all who would echo it. I felt this sudden intensity pounding in my temples, so suddenly and strongly that it scared me, that I expected to just keel over for a moment, that some blood vessel might finally pop, even if I knew that it would probably not have been rational to indulge that thought, that it seemed very much like the product of some diffuse anxiety, in a textbook description of such.

The Commander couldn't be the same as those people. He was different. He stood for all those different things. There is no way that he could be the same!

Yet, when I pulled back to reappraise this thought, I found that I could not justify it with reason.

To keep doing so would have been to fall prey confirmation bias. That well-documented refusal to accept any information that runs contrary to one's sense of identity...

Sense of identity. To think that I would even have such a thing. What use was there in my having it?

Sure, I could come up with counterarguments if I tried. But how did I know they weren't rationalizations?

How would you even truly tell the difference, between the objective truth, and a rationalization, between a sincere reasoning and a skewed one?

For even if you were correct, the mere fact of being accused of self-servingness would summon up defensive feelings.

The subjective experience might be precisely the same – just as a parent working hard to buy their child medicine would not feel much different from one who labors to obtain a fake cure laced with mercury in some superstitious country.

Humans sometimes like to think that, if an unfavorable outcome occurs, it must have been through some impurity in intention, but that is simply Outcome Bias. The Fair World Fallacy.

Everyone has a mix of idealistic and self-serving intentions, and a varying degree of awareness for them. Believing the truth for a self-serving reason would not make it less of the truth, nor would a lie sincerely believed for noble reasons become less of a lie.

There is seldom just 'one, true' reason – and the happiness of people was a subjective quality to begin with, something that can't be measured with a device.

Nor can so-called 'sincerity'. There might not be such a thing as an altruistic motivation to begin with, if doing good feels good and makes you hold yourself in good regard.

I do believe that the path that I'm on is the only one possible – if I go through all the facts available to me, I cannot arrive at any other conclusion.

But that means little – after all, most people hold their opinions to be right.

It might well be that nothing means anything, and that 'truth', or 'good and evil' are just self-serving stories, like tales of a distant paradise.

It's just that nobody has noticed it yet, each of them wandering in their own different fool's paradise, cut off from all others in a world created by their own beliefs, for there could be no two people who think exactly the same thing in all manners.

Even between the Commander and me, there might be some differences, that we have not even communicated because it never occurred to it.

Still, I must keep moving.

I must act; I must decide.

Even if my decisions barely matter – for even if it is the decision of another, I must decide what to believe. I must decide what I take the facts to be, how I interpret the instructions.

In that send, each and every one of us is utterly alone, and will remain so until Instrumentality comes.

So I have no choice but to rely on my own understanding, to make the best decision that I can with my flawed, biased mind and the limited, incomplete information at my disposal.

That is all that anyone can do, since nobody knows everything.

Nobody can even fathom how much it is that they don't know yet, what things might make them turn around and go in the opposite direction if they ever were to learn of it.

All any of us can ever really do, all that human consciousness really amounts to, is probably to stand watch and bear witness to the inevitable unfolding.

It must have been quite late when I at least sank down upon the sheets, deeply exhausted.

The world, insofar as I knew it, had just become yet another bit colder and emptier.

Though it had not really changed at all.

The world was still as it had always been.

I had just not known about it yet -

though I really should have figured.