BEFORE

His lungs begged for air, thanks to the fact he hadn't stopped sprinting for the past 20 minutes. Not that he could oblige their request, unless he suddenly decided that he wanted to be a corpse in his near future. The person that had been chasing him, that... thing, felt more like a living force of nature than a person.

It never tired, it never seemed to lose focus, even in intense pain, as evidenced by how it had effortlessly barreled straight through a concrete wall, even after having an entire magazine of 5.56 emptied into it's torso.

If the files he had managed to steal were to be believed, these beings dubbed "Retainers" were test tube babies made by daddy dearest with a healthy splicing of angel DNA to create borderline supersoldiers. He honestly would have found them interesting to say the least, if his father hadn't created them with the sole intent of dragging his son back to complete his own personal apocalypse.

Looking behind his shoulder, it seemed the being had lost him for the time being. Taking the opportunity, he ducked into a storage closet, praying to whatever deity out there that it didn't find him. A tense silence passed, nearly 20 minutes going by before he even dared to move an inch. Finally, he decided to lightly crack open the door and look. Nothing. Poking his head out entirely and looking, clear on all fronts. Seemed luck was on his side for today.

Checking what little gear he had, a hodge podge of mismatched colors and camos, a mix of weapons and combat gear swiped from abandoned armories and dead SEELE grunts. His rifle had run dry, the last magazine had been spent blindfiring during the chase. Heaving a sigh, he unholstered his handgun, a nine millimeter he had found in a run down apartment complex, gripped firmly in the cold, dead, hands of a man who had used the weapon to excuse himself from the land of the living. Dropping the magazine into his hands further soured his spirits, the spare he had was empty, the one within the gun with only 4 rounds left, the fifth nestled within the chamber.

Gathering what little hope he had left, he opened the door quietly, and began to retrace his steps to the exit. Eventually the door he had entered through became visible, the "EXIT" shining like a beacon of hope. He disregarded constantly checking his six, and began to rush towards the door, focusing solely on leaving.

Oh, how he wished he hadn't done that.

An unseen blow connected to the side of his torso, throwing him into a nearby wall. The kevlar vests internal padding doing nothing to stop the cracking of multiple ribs, and the subsequent breaking of many more as he impacted the hard concrete wall. Pain flooded him in droves, the pain almost blinding. A blurry figure approached him, and he fought through the fog of pain to grab his handgun. Just as his hand closed around the grip, he was bodily lifted against the wall, another flash of pain as his body protested.

His eyes focused just enough through the pain to see his attacker in full detail before him, the deformed thing staring at him with a single minded intensity. It stood wordlessly, holding him up like a toy. Before Shinji could think to ponder what it was going to do. It grabbed his face, the large hand gripping his lower jaw. Prying open his mouth, it fit its fingers inside it, grabbing the chin with its thumb. Shinji stared with wide eyes, too weak with pain and exhaustion to even fight back.

The grip suddenly tightened, nearly crushing the lower mandible, eliciting a half gurgled screech of pain from Shinji. Tears pooled in his eyes, feeling as if someone had put his lower teeth in a vice.

With its grip locked firmly in place, the figure stared into Shinji's eyes one more time, savoring the fear. Sure, Gendo said to try and bring back, but he didn't exactly specify in what state. This human had been an annoying capture, after all.

And with that thought, it began to pull.

Skin tore as it was stretched beyond its natural limit.

Ligament and muscle tore, tendons snapping under the force.

A loud crack echoed as the cranium and mandible became two, the lower jaw only now kept in place by the skin surrounding it.

The being paused, observing its handiwork. Moans of agony broken by sniffles were the only audible sound in the otherwise silent building.

After a moment, the Retainer readjusted its grip on Shinji's mouth, and tore.

"Alright sweep the building, each two man team takes a floor. We'll take the first floor. Understood?"

A chorus of "Yes!" Was enough for Tanaka to turn away, and let his group work alone. This was the 5th scavenging party their small village had done. While a good portion of the world had become core, there were still buildings and areas that had been spared the fate that were closer to the villages. He had been almost immediately chosen as a leader on these missions, his previous profession as a police chief meant he knew how to keep men in line. The village was hoping to find firearms of some kind, the tools value skyrocketing after the almost complete disappearance of most organized governments post third impact.

They had dealt with too many bandits, and apparently now, the foot soldiers of SEELE, had grown ballsy enough to begin armed raids on smaller villages for resources. The few police revolvers and hunting shotguns the village was equipped with, next to useless against them, their modern weapons, body armor, and vehicles rendering them effectively useless.

So, here he was, before the crack of dawn, in a damp, abandoned apartment complex. What a wonderful day.

His musings were broken by a subordinate calling him.

"Boss, I think someone came through here already!"

Sure enough, it seemed that way. Layers of dirt on the floor removed in patches from footsteps, dust removed from hands gripping a doorknob, numerous bullet holes within the wal- wait, bullet holes?

"Damn. Looks like a damn war happened here."

"Must've really pissed someone off."

"What a waste of good ammo."

As his men were talking amongst themselves, he noticed a faint reddish stain on some of the walls, the color easily identifiable on the grey concrete. On closer inspection, his eyes widened. Blood. A lot of it, and reasonably fresh, considering it wasn't completely dry yet.

Tanaka recomposed himself.

"Alright, listen up! There was likely a shootout here a few hours ago, stay on high alert. Do NOT enter a room alone. Check your corners. Understood!"

Another chorus of "Yes!" And they began to move away, heading towards the stairs to clear the rest of the building. Turning to the man still with him, he motioned for him to follow him, and they began to move.

After a few minutes, they had reached the other side of the building. The area was poorly lit, sunlight filtering in through the few dirty windows there. As they prepared to turn around and search the rooms, his eyes caught something. More blood. A lot of it. As he moved closer, he noticed a faint outline. A body.

He tapped the shoulder of the other villager, and pointed. After a sharp inhale from the other, they nodded, and moved forward with him, weapons raised. The weapons were lowered once they reached touching distance, however.

"Oh Jesus."

The amount of blood was staggering, a pool of it surrounding the corpse, the clothes of the body dyed crimson. The mouth and jaw mutilated beyond repair. A face, likely no older than 30. Plain Japanese features, brown hair, light colored skin, skinny, but tall. Maybe facial hair, but it was hard to tell. Most of the skin that grew hair was gone, anyway.

"Well, looks like we found the reason behind those bullet holes."

He heaved a sigh, and decided to squat down and search the body. It seemed this guy had some weapons on his person, and well, it wasn't like he was going to use them much anymore. He pulled out his radio and decided to call the medic, maybe in a futile hope to at least figure out what had happened to the poor bastard.

"Oshiba, come down to the first floor, right side of the building, we have a dead body here, looks pretty fresh. Need you to figure out what happened here." A confirmation came over a moment later from the man.

A cold hand gripped his wrist.

"HE'S STILL ALIVE!"

He tried his best to hold down the man while waiting for Oshiba, the man clearly in a state of severe panic, flailing in terror. Tanaka let go once he felt the doctor grab the man, his practiced hands frantically working to try and sedate the struggling man. The others that had arrived to help were downright terrified at what they had seen.

"Jesus Christ, how is he even still breathing!"

"What the hell did that to him?"

"Come on, stay with me son!"

"How the fuck are we supposed to fix that?"

"Wasn't the doc working on some new prosthetics?"

"It's his fucking mouth, not a goddamn finger!"

As a stretcher was eventually brought out to transport him to the village, the unknown man made eye contact with him, if only for a second. Those eyes were saddening to say the least. Lost, filled with a fear that only came when one knew they were on the verge of death. He had seen that look in the line of duty a few too many times for his liking.

The contact was broken once they rushed him out the door, leaving Tanaka and the few men who had stayed behind around in silence. Once again left to his own thoughts, he pondered how they had managed to stay alive after that. It seemed like they had been there for a few hours, easily. By all accounts, he should have been dead. But yet, there he was, stubbornly clinging on to life. Anybody else would have died, there was no doubt in his mind.

But now that he thought about it, he also hadn't seen another person who had red eyes.

Waking up in a cold sweat was not something Shinji liked, despite how it had become seemingly almost standard whenever he tried to get more than an hour of sleep. He slipped out of the thin sleeping bag he had been using, the material barely proving adequate for the harsh weather. Running a hand along his face, he tried to ignore the phantom pains that had been brought back in the land of Morpheus.

Staring out into the harsh landscape, he let out a sigh, the barren red landscape a constant reminder of his failures. He began his day, packing his gear, having a small freeze dried ration pulled out of the lower pocket of his pack, both courtesy of a now dead SEELE assassin. The supposed "Chili" flavor of the sludge was nonexistent, the taste having more in common with the cardboard it was packed in.

The small "camp" was cleaned up, any trash or waste burned in a small hole, dirt kicked up over the ashes. 25 pounds of Kevlar and ceramic were thrown on his torso, the weight a comforting feeling. A handgun and a spare magazine concealed under the thin jacket in a shoulder holster. A backpack thrown atop, a carbine hidden inside, the stock folded and safety on, ready at a moments notice. The setup was inconspicuous, the armor and holster hidden underneath a thin jacket, the backpack plain in looks. To most passerby's, he was barely worth a glance, the work boots and heavy duty pants a common sight in most villages.

A hand reached inside the long jacket, producing a book of matches and a pack of cigarettes, the only real luxury he allowed himself nowadays. The cancer stick was gummed while a match was lit, letting it burn for a moment before lighting the tobacco. The inhale was far deeper than most would do, compensating for the lack of air seal intact lips would normally make. The cigarette faintly glowed in the early morning darkness.

Aside from the light noise of the waves crashing against the earth, it was silent. Of course, his mind wouldn't allow that.

Hey, remember when we weren't insane? He poignantly ignored it, beginning to walk wherever his feet would take him. Despite how it seemed to play devil's advocate all the time, the talking indicator of his dwindling sanity was better than nothing. Better than complete isolation, he supposed.

You know they do want to see you again, right?

Shut the fuck up.

Ooh, someone is in a good mood today. But seriously, you do realize they want to see you again, right?

That was two years ago. They wouldn't care at this point, not like they did in the first place.

Do you realize you ended the world intentionally or not? Of course they would be mad. Wouldn't you? Hell, if they didn't care, they would have put a round in you as soon as you were extracted.

Go away. We aren't having this conversation right now.

He could almost feel the other crossing his arms in annoyance, before disappearing.

He let his gaze wander to the landscape in front of him that was the earth, or at least what was left of it.

The red sea, the destroyed cities with the failures of infinity wandering aimlessly through them. All would have been thriving cities, filled with people, if he hadn't been such a coward.

Humanity had been reduced to barely a few million, that portion barely surviving as is.

And of course, NERV and SEELE were still around, attacking what was left.

And all of that, thanks to him.

Before he could let his thoughts spiral any further, he was interrupted by fierce coughs. Falling to his hands and knees, splotches of blood spattered the ground, his lungs screaming in pain, feeling as if he had inhaled thousands of glass shards. The cigarette had fallen to the ground, forgotten in the haze of pain.

Oh, right. He had almost forgotten about that.

The exposure to the red earth was slowly killing him, the lack of respiratory protection meaning his lungs were slowly but surely being coated in the deadly core material. It seemed as though with each passing week, the coughing fits became worse and worse. Looked like time was running short.

After a few minutes, the choking subsided, and he reached to wipe the blood off of the steel plate that was in place of his lower jaw, letting his fingers linger for a moment on it, the cold metal a contrast to the warm skin it was attached to.

A ski mask was thrown on, hiding his face from others.

His stood up, and let his feet take him towards an unknown destination. What could be considered a laugh, if raspy wheezing could be considered that, escaped what was left of his lips as he headed inland.

Same shit. Different day.

ELSEWHERE

The situation on the WUNDER was to say the least, tense. Commander Katsuragi observed the crew performing daily maintenance on the ship, her cold attitude even worse since the news of her former ward's escape from incarceration. Her mind had been a whirlwind of emotions, anger, sadness, disappointment, but the dominant one, was guilt. She knew, as awful as the actions of the younger Ikari had been, she was as much to blame.

Her thoughts were muddled, a mélange of realizations.

You strapped a bomb to his neck, told him nothing, and treated him like garbage, what did you expect to happen?

She remembered hearing about his escape the last day and how surprised she had been. If anything it seemed like he had been accepting of his sentence, feeling intense remorse for what he had done. While she had not kept up with how he was doing, she had told the prison to inform her if any major changes or developments were noticed. She had not received any, so for him to suddenly leave seemed completely out of character for him. She demanded to know why, and had Aoba find her all of the reports and recordings with him, to possibly find a reason.

Pages of reports, incident after incident of every kind of violence and abuse attempted on him. Every report was neatly organized into single line reports, quick and simple with keywords to distinguish what had happened. For the prison, it meant for most inmates, anybody could see their entire report history in a single page.

His was over a dozen.

Incidents were ordered in severity, and by the time she had gotten to the fifth page, she had to force herself to stop reading.

She gripped the rail tighter remembering that, seeing the videos of the checkup interviews throughout the years. Deep bags under the eyes, sunken cheeks, face set in a permanent scowl, eerily like his father. The questions from the tapes echoed in her mind.

"Have you attempted, or plan to hurt yourself?"

"Do you think about suicide?"

"Do other inmates harass you?"

"Do you see things that aren't there?"

Every question answered with a simple "No, of course not." It was obvious he was lying through his teeth, but of course the interviewer accepted it, and so did the rest of the facility.

Most of the world hated him. A genocidal maniac who deserved a painful death. Why would they give a shit on his condition?

Her guilt came back in full force. She had been operating under the idea that he was, at the very least, physically fine, given that she had received nothing about him.

Most of the world would have preferred him as a corpse. Of course the prison wouldn't say anything, when they all wanted him dead.

So, the numerous bruises, cuts, abrasions, and scars went ignored. The almost soulless gaze, watching things only his damaged mind could see.

His face from the screen kept coming back to her, that hollow, empty gaze, a zombie.

The two pilots, along with Ritsuko were with her as she went through everything, the two normally loud and argumentative pilots unusually quiet throughout. Even the normally unflappable scientist had even seemed perturbed, her eyes furrowed, her lips set in a thin line.

Asuka had stomped out midway through, carrying an unreadable facial expression. Mari followed soon after, likely to make sure the other pilot didn't do something brash. Ritsuko had said nothing, the doctor leaving silently after her dismissal.

Misato herself had kept her expression neutral throughout the ordeal. Glancing back at the papers, the decision was made to remain in her quarters for the rest of that day, citing "classified work" to her crew. Once she had insured she had no more responsibilities for the day, she went back to her office, alone, and locked the door.

She couldn't even remember the last time she had cried that hard.

Even now, a day later she couldn't seem to fully get her emotions back under control, the reminders of him in her head seemingly not wanting to go away. The haunting, gaunt face of a child she had, at one point, almost considered her son.

And now he was gone, somewhere out in the wastelands, possibly long dead.

Her knuckles turned white as her grip on the rail she had been leaning tightened. She thanked herself for the visor she wore around her crew.

It did a good job of hiding the tears.