BEFORE
RED WASTELANDS, EASTERN EUROPE, FIVE MONTHS AFTER SUBJECT BM-03 ESCAPED IMPRISONMENT
The tea was calming, although his lip still hurt from when he had first burned it on the lip of the cup a few minutes earlier. He couldn't place what type of tea leaf it was, although it was pretty bitter, so maybe black tea? It had been steeping for quite a long time, so green tea was also possible. Did the land for growing tea even exist anymore? Probably not. He knew tobacco was likely hard to grow now too, considering how expensive it was, so he wouldn't be surprised if tea was a luxury nowadays.
The last time he had traded for cigarettes, he had managed to find a scavenger who had stockpiled some older stuff. The carton of cigarettes currently in his ruck had been in reasonably good shape, if not a little stale when he had bartered for them. They were a decent deal, although he would be lying if he said that he still didn't feel a little bit of buyers remorse from the trade, having given an older hunting knife for it.
Man, he really missed that blade.
He broke himself from his internal musings, deciding to put down the cup of tea on the wooden table. Bringing his arms behind his back and clasping his hands together, he pushed downwards, groaning slightly in relief as multiple pops sounded in his back. The release in joint tension did next to nothing to help the almost ever present soreness within his body nowadays, but he supposed it was better than nothing.
He turned his gaze to the other still steaming cup across from him, the chair in front of it empty. The currently missing occupant had gone out to run an errand, having forgotten about it and only remembering after having made the hot drink. He had left Shinji alone within the small dwelling, telling him he would return soon and to stay put. Having no reason so far to not trust the other, he had obeyed. Now, here he was, alone, and bored out of his mind.
Having nothing to do, he decided to bide his time the only way he really knew how to nowadays, reaching for the ever familiar small cardboard box within his pants pocket.
The cigarette took the flame from the lighter easily, the slightly stale burning tobacco crackling loudly as he drew in a lungful of smoke. Removing the cancer stick from his mouth, he exhaled the processed carcinogens through his nose, savoring the slight feeling of lightheadedness that washed over his senses. Reaching over with his free hand, he grabbed the ashtray on the other side of the table, dragging it over and tapping the cigarette's excess ash into it. The small ceramic dish already had a sizable amount of ash and stubbed out butts in it from the other occupant, the thin gold line wrapped around the white filters indicating that they preferred lighter cigarettes. He pulled his own cancer stick out of his mouth, observing the orange filter and the logo, printed in thin silver lettering above it. The brand was an American brand, a familiar one. He had seen it before, when the third impact had been only a worry, and not a reality. It was the preferred brand of a familiar Japanese man, somebody he had known years ago.
Ryoji had been an odd fellow, shrouded in mystery. Looking back, it was obvious the man had been a spy in some capacity. Too smooth talking, too charismatic. He knew how to extract information from someone without them even realizing. The man was the walking definition of nondescript, plain business style clothes and typical Japanese looks made the man practically wallpaper in Tokyo-3. Despite that, the man was far more intelligent than he looked, and was obviously skilled at what he did. In a lot of ways, Shinji had come to look at him as a father figure, considering his real one had decided to relinquish that role long ago. Over time, Shinji's young mind had naturally been influenced by the man's actions and habits, Kaji's less admirable habits being no exception.
After his return to the world after the fourth impact and his subsequent imprisonment, he had found that unsurprisingly, most of the world still hated him. Those that met him tended to wish that his face was behind the clear glass of an execution chamber, rather than the rusty iron bars of a prison cell.
Smoking had been an expected development for a man in his mental state. In the confines of the international prison, where joy was a scarce resource, the unhealthy habit was widespread, and while it wasn't technically allowed, the guards turned a blind eye to it, making a healthy profit off of sneaking in and selling packets of cigarettes to the inmates for money, goods, or favors. As a result, most willfully ignored the ashes and stubbed out butts that littered most inmate's cell floors. Shinji had himself quickly learned the value of the substance, the cancerous items managing to help provide a brief reprieve in the otherwise hellish facility. Despite that, one thing the majority of the prison seemed to forget was that to a crafty inmate, the hot, burning ashes of a lit cigarette could very much be used as a weapon.
Shinji himself had learned that lesson the hard way.
"Can I help you?"
He didn't speak much these days, and for good reason. He had to force himself not to cringe at the sound of his own voice, the slightly raspy baritone an almost carbon copy of his fathers. Having aged 14 years physically during his absence, he had also finally found out what he looked like as an adult. Unfortunately, it seemed his fathers genetics had won out in the looks department as well.
Looking at the mostly European men before him, he knew his English wasn't the greatest, the foreign language unfamiliar to his Japanese lips, but judging by the way the scowls on the men's faces around him only deepened at his sentence, he supposed it was passable.
Looking around himself he saw that he was surrounded on nearly all sides by other inmates and thankfully, from a cursory glance, none of them seemed to be trying to hide weapons within their hands or pockets. The last time he had been approached like this, one of his attackers had managed to get a boxcutter for themselves, and the results hadn't been pretty.
The 30 or so stitches spread out among his arms and chest were supposed to be taken out in the next few days, although if the way the guards treated him was any indication, they would likely conveniently "forget" to bring him to the infirmary, and he would end up having to find some way to remove them himself. Either way, he hoped what would happen next would at least not reopen any of the stitched up cuts, or worsen the existing injuries he still had.
He looked back up and past the small group surrounding him, noticing how the security officer almost always posted near the end of the hallway was missing. A larger man of Germanic descent, who Shinji supposed was the de facto leader, noticed where his gaze landed, and smirked slightly, understanding what Shinji had realized.
"I see you understand what's about to happen. It's best if you just accept this, Ikari." The sentence sent chills down his spine, his suspicions confirmed.
They had planned this.
The least he could do right now was at least try and stay cool, and try to ignore the way his heart seemed to want to explode, or how much he wanted to vomit in fear. He brought his hand up and took another deep drog of his cigarette again, trying to desperately slow his racing heart. He brought his hand up to take another drag, before it was snatched out from his hand. He looked up to see the man holding the cigarette between two large fingers, sneering at it.
"Could I have that back?" He tried to remain civil, although it likely wouldn't work with these guys. The other man looked up from the burning stick of tobacco back to Shinji, eyes burning with an unmatched hatred. Shinji noticed how the man's free hand was balled up into a tight fist, the knuckles turning white from the pressure. The man was obviously only a moment away from attacking him. He had to say something now, before things got bad.
"Hey, look I'm s-" His world went white with pain as a fist slammed into his temple, the force throwing him to the ground. Before he could even comprehend what had happened, pain exploded all across his body, the entire group now ganging up on him, raining down blows on Shinji. He could only groan in pain as he was assaulted, desperately trying not to pass out from the pain. He cried out as a kick landed in his groin, the pain almost unbearable as he threw up what little he had eaten beforehand. The blows continued.
After what felt like hours, the beating ceased, and he felt himself roughly dragged up by his arms to a kneeling position. Blackness danced at the edges of his vision as he looked up to see the same man staring down at him, cigarette still in hand. The other squatted down in front of him, blowing a cloud of smoke into Shinji's face.
"Don't worry, the party isn't over just yet." The man stood back up to full height gesturing towards somebody out of Shinji's field of vision. He could only just barely interpret what the other man had said to him, most of his senses numbed by overwhelming pain. As it was right now, most of his energy was being spent on staying conscious. He flinched weakly as he recognized movement near him, expecting another beatdown. but paused when no blows came. Were they leaving?
A hand painfully gripping the back of head said otherwise. The fingers roughly grabbed his head, pulling his head back and eliciting a painful pop from his neck. He could faintly make out the feeling of blood beginning to drip from his forehead. He was definitely concussed, and by how difficult it was to keep his eyes open, he could tell he was going to lose the battle to consciousness soon. Despite how dulled his senses were, he could still make out the faint sound of a laugh.
"Getting tired so soon? Here," The Germanic man was in front of him, still smoking the stolen cancer stick. "This should wake you right up." Taking a final deep drag, he removed the cigarette from his lips, holding it in his left hand. Deciding that it was time to stub out the cigarette, he grabbed Shinji's head, and dug it into his left temple.
He didn't even have the energy left to scream.
He gently rubbed the scar tissue running across the left side of his face that stopped at his left eye, letting his finger feel the rough and sandpaper-like texture of the skin there. He couldn't feel much there, the whole area nowadays was mostly numb, the nerves having been dead for a while now. It wasn't great, but it was far better than the nights after the event, when the pain was so unbearable all he had wanted to do was pull the skin off.
"When I said, 'stay put' I didn't mean you had to stay in that exact spot, son." A voice cut through his thoughts. Looking up, the familiar face of the other met his gaze, having now returned from their errand. Shinji shrugged as they closed the door behind them, walking back towards the table he was sitting at.
"Didn't want to disrespect you sir. You've already been nice enough to me." The older man scoffed at the civil reply, rolling his eyes in annoyance.
"Son, If I cared about that I wouldn't have let you in." He clapped Shinji on the shoulder, and walked towards his side of the table, deciding to not comment on the way the other stiffened at the contact, something Shinji was thankful for. He reached towards his tea and took a long sip from it. After a moment, he put the cup back on the table, turning his gaze towards Shinji.
"So, a Japanese fellow out here huh? Seiko, right?" The man spoke in a friendly tone, attempting to initiate a conversation that Shinji frankly didn't want to have, but still, he nodded at the fake name he had given the older man. He didn't distrust the man, and he didn't think the other would even know who he was if he gave his real name, but he decided it was simply safer to err on the side of caution.
"What brings you around these parts?" Shinji looked down in thought, thinking up of what to say. He didn't want to lie, but he didn't exactly want to tell the truth either, so he decided to do both.
"Well, I did some… things I regret. I'm not exactly welcome by the people I know anymore, so here I am." He scratched the back of his head, trying to disguise his slight anxiety as shyness. He looked at the other again, seeing the way they were listening intently, gaze seemingly observing him.
"You're a fugitive." Shinji nearly fell out of chair in shock.
"W-what makes you think that?"
"Only people who come through these parts are bandits and fugitives, and you sure as hell don't look like a bandit. So, am I right?" Shinji stared at the other man for a minute, before wilting under their gaze. Sighing and hanging his head, he responded, his tone resigned.
"Yeah. I am. Sorry for not telling you." The old man hummed at that, an inquisitive look on his face. After a moment of silence, he spoke.
"Which prison were you held in?" He looked back up, at first hesitant to respond, before noticing how the other man's eyes held not a hint of judgement, only curiosity. Swallowing a small lump in his throat, he decided to tell the other.
"It was some old refurbished prison in what used to be Slovakia, I think it was called… Facility 18?" The older man's eyes widened at the final words, letting out a low whistle.
"18? Damn, no wonder you left. You know, there's a reason that place has the nickname, 'Alcatraz East.' Hell, if I was in your shoes, I would have made a break for it too." At the other man's response, Shinji remained silent, mostly ignoring the other man to try to find the right words to say. After a moment of contemplation, he spoke.
"I understand you probably want me gone now, but I figured you at least deserved the truth." He scratched his chin nervously, fingers running along the sandpaper like stubble on his face as he averted his gaze, awaiting what the other had to say.
"Alright." He looked up in confusion at the other, who didn't seem to have a hint of disdain or anger on his face at the revelation. The other stood up before he could respond, going to a small cabinet nearby and grabbing a small pack of cigarettes within it. He walked back to the table and sat down, holding his hand out. Shinji understood the gesture, handing him a lighter and watching as the other lit up a cigarette, inhaling deeply. The older man sighed, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he did so.
"Before you speak, I don't care what your past is. You told me about it when you had no reason to, so you aren't obviously that bad." He reached over and gently tapped the cigarette, letting the white ash fall into the glass ashtray in front of him, leaning back in his seat before continuing. "We've all done bad things. I'm certainly no saint, nobody is these days, not in this world. It's not my place to judge."
"And you're just trusting me like that?"
"Considering you haven't tried to kill or attack me when you very easily could have, yes, I do."
"Hmm."
The small dwelling was silent, save for the sound of the faint crackle of burning tobacco. Shinji remained silent, having nothing else to ask or tell the other. He instead sat quietly, letting the faint buzz of nicotine wash through his senses.
"You've seen combat before, haven't you?" At the man's sudden question, Shinji's eyes shot back up at the question that the other broke the silence with, alarm and confusion evident on his face at the blunt question. The man ignored his reaction, instead only observing Shinji's face.
"That's a yes, I suppose?" The older man asked. Shinji didn't respond to that, deciding to ask his own question.
"What gave it away?" The other remained silent, contemplating his answer before responding.
"Other than that?" He pointed to the rough mixture of scar and burn tissue on the left side of Shinji's face. "It's a violent world out there, I'm sure you know that. Most people who don't live in those cushy UN sanctuaries have had to pull the trigger on someone at some point." He took another deep drag of his cigarette, pausing to gather his thoughts before continuing.
"I was infantry during the impact wars. Got deployed to the fighting in Belize against the insurgents there, mostly urban combat. As you can imagine, none of us came out of that with clean hands. You obviously haven't been in the military, but I'm willing to bet you've still seen your fair share of shooting."
Shinji remained silent for a moment, deep in thought, before speaking.
"Yeah. I did. I'd rather not talk about it."
"It makes normal life seem so boring, doesn't it?" Shinji raised an eyebrow at that, confused as to what the other man meant.
"Once you experience it, it makes normal life seem so unimportant and pointless. It's a rush, ain't it? It's addictive, almost like a guilty pleasure. It's so instinctive and primal, and afterwards, you can't help but just want more." He leaned forward slightly. "Am I right?"
Shinji stared at the other for a moment, seemingly deep in thought, before nodding. The room was once again silent, the older man letting Shinji gather his thoughts. After a moment, the younger man answered, his gaze on his hands.
"So what does that make me then?" The older man hummed at that, and leaned back.
"To most people? A monster." He raised a hand, cutting off any sort of retort the younger man would give him. "But, as long as man exists, war will." The man smiled as he leaned forward.
"And last time I checked, pacifists aren't the ones picking up rifles."
Shinji wasn't sure how to respond to that.
Without warning, the older man abruptly stood up from his chair, motioning for Shinji to do the same, which he obliged, albeit warily.
"Alright, considering I can see the pistol on your hip, go and grab the rifle I just know that you have hiding in that backpack of yours, and show me your shooting stance."
"Huh?"
The older man chuckled at Shinji's dumbfounded response.
"I said grab your rifle, and show me your shooting stance." The older man repeated himself.
"Why?"
"I know you're going to go back out there, and the least I can do before throwing you back into the fire is give you a crash course in weapons handling. At the very least, if you die out there, you'll be a well trained corpse. I wasn't a Gunnery Sergeant for nothing. Now, grab your rifle and let me see your footwork."
The older man patiently waited for the other to grab the smaller carbine length AK hidden within his pack. As he pulled the rifle out, the older man let out a low whistle at the weapon.
"An AK, huh? Well, we didn't exactly use those, but I suppose the same general principles of putting holes in people still apply." The older man chuckled slightly as Shinji walked back to the table, removing the magazine from the weapon and placing it on the table. The folding stock was swung out, the metallic piece locking into place with a click. Flicking the safety back on, he looked back up to see the other now looking back at him, a slight grin on his face.
"Well, you seem to already know your manual of arms, so that should make things easy." The man coughed slightly, clearing his throat before continuing. "Alright. Now, have you ever heard of the term 'high port'?"
PRESENT
LOCATION UNKNOWN
TWO DAYS AFTER THE HIJACKING OF UNIT-01
Upon regaining consciousness, the first sensation to greet his senses was pain.
A lot of it.
He was floating, or at least he felt like it.
Was this death? If it was, it was far more painful than he had imagined. He had always imagined it would be far more peaceful and serene.
He opened one eye to check, and instead of the sweet embrace of nothingness, white was visible in every direction. His vision was hazy, but focusing further, he noticed the telltale signs of a blizzard surrounding him.
Snow? How long had he been unconscious? Where was he?
Opening his second eye, he was met with the image of the telltale spider webbing of cracked glass, the eye protection for his left eye having been damaged. He slipped off the goggles he had been wearing and let them fall to the floor beneath him, shards of polycarbonate flying in multiple directions as the impact shattered the already damaged lenses.
Upon gazing downwards, gunmetal gray filled his vision as he glanced at what he was seated in. The familiar feeling of a cramped metal seat was unmistakable, and the orange tinting in his vision confirmed it. He was still sitting in an entry plug. Well, it at least explained why he wasn't currently freezing to death.
Looking down at the controls, he allowed himself a small sigh of relief at the sign that he had managed to turn off the tracking systems before passing out. Considering a few hours at minimum had passed, WILLE likely already knew at this point what had happened. Considering he hadn't woken up in a cell, it seemed that for the time being they couldn't find him, although he wasn't sure how long that would last.
Scanning the snowy snowscape, he managed to pick out a small cabin in the distance, likely about a mile away or so. Likely an older hunting cabin, considering it seemed like it was beginning to rot on the side facing him. Hopefully it was abandoned.
With a new objective in his head, he let his eyes search over the controls, his gaze landing on the button for opening the entry plug. Reaching over, he moved his hand to touch the command, before he paused at the sight of his hand, noticing how the LCL was around it was slightly crimson. Upon closer inspection, he noticed something different about his left ring finger from the second knuckle and up.
Or rather, the lack of it.
Guess the one security guard who had shot at him hadn't been as inaccurate as he had thought.
Deciding to put the missing digit on the backburner, he pressed the entry plug ejection button, listening as the familiar hiss of hydraulics and mechanical systems began their work, eventually jolting him forward as the metal tube came to a stop. A digital ping rang out as the built in hardware began to automatically drain the LCL liquid, his vision losing it's orange tint as the viscous fluid went below his eye level. As the last of the liquid drained away, another ping rang out, a digital message flashing on the heads up display, confirming that the exit hatch had now been opened.
Lumbering upwards, he reached for his pack stowed to the side, mentally grumbling at the added weight thanks to the soak in LCL. Turning towards the light now streaming in, he stumbled towards the exit, forcing step after step. Upon reaching the edge, he poked his head out, looking down at the escape ladder and the accompanying 100 meter drop to the ground below. Unslinging the heavy pack, he tossed it out the exit, far too exhausted to care if the subsequent landing would end up breaking the equipment inside it. Mentally bracing himself for the long descent, he turned and stepped on the first rung, beginning the long trek downward.
Shivering as he made his descent, he cursed himself for the thin field jacket and cargo pants he was currently wearing, the material being next to useless in the well below freezing temperatures. The cold was something he was familiar with, thanks to his time spent on the run throughout most of what was once Central Europe. The cold, dry and windy weather there was a far cry from the brutal heat that he had experienced growing up within Japan. Despite that, he had quickly been forced to adapt to the new climate after being spat back out by Unit 01 years later, and even more so after his breakout. When items like a sleeping bag or bedroll had turned into a rare luxury, one quickly became used to weathering less than ideal temperatures.
Despite all this, he still couldn't stop the involuntary shivers that ran through his body, or the feeling of numbness in his hands that while helpful in keeping the pain of a missing digit at bay, still hurt like hell. What little hair that still grew on his arms between scar tissue stood up straight, goosebumps clearly visible below them. The only item that provided some relief from the biting cold was the heavy body armor he wore, the normally uncomfortably hot nature of the stolen hunk of heavy kevlar and ceramics helping fend off the cold from his torso to some measure. Even then, he could tell that if didn't get out of the elements within the next 20 minutes, he was likely a dead man. Eyeing the cabin in the distance, he picked up the pace of his descent.
Unfortunately, in his haste to escape the cold, he had forgotten about one of it's many environmental effects. Thanks to the sheer height of the climb, Shinji had spent nearly 10 minutes slowly climbing down the escape ladder, and with the bottom of it mostly undisturbed, the flat surfaces of the steps were prime real estate for the formation of ice. At about 15 meters from the ground, Shinji's foot had finally met a rung where a patch had begun to form, and he slipped, the remaining distance being rapidly traversed by way of falling.
Slamming into the ground, he could only wheeze in pain as the air was forced out of his lungs, the nearly 20 kg mix of ceramic, kevlar, and cordura on his person only exacerbating the impact of the force. After a few minutes of regaining his breath, he sat up, wincing at the way his back and chest screamed in pain at the movement.
If it wasn't for his lack of functioning vocal chords, he would've likely already been cursing up a storm.
Stumbling upwards, he tried and failed to suppress another shiver, realizing that his clothing was now wet from the snow. What little insulation he had before had been completely lost, his clothing now clinging to his body. Spotting his pack a few feet away, he slung it over his shoulder, every step sinking him up to the top of his boots in snow.
Looking back up at the ladder, he contemplated going back to the entry plug, but after thinking about how long going down had taken, he realized he would likely be a human icicle before he made it back up. Eyeing the cabin in the distance, he continued to move, ignoring the bone deep soreness that permeated his being. He only had to walk a few more minutes, and he would finally have some shelter.
10 minutes later, he was at the small winter hut, standing in front of the door, exhausted, but still alive. Grabbing the handle and pushing, it opened slowly, creaking as it swung inward. Whoever had previously owned this place likely didn't expect others to discover it, and didn't see a need to secure it. Reaching towards his hip, he drew his sidearm, clicking on the flashlight and sweeping it across the inside of the cabin. Aside from a small wooden chest, a rusty furnace, and a small camping cot, it was empty.
Closing the door behind him as he stepped inside, he sat down, reveling in the calmness of the space for a moment. Even without the heat of a furnace warming the place up, the simple addition of some walls and a roof that kept the snow and wind out were greatly appreciated by the borderline frostbitten Shinji. Removing the still activated weapon light off of his handgun, he reholstered the firearm and placed the item on the cot in the corner of the room, the angle letting it provide a workable amount of light on the majority of the small cabin. Throwing his pack on the floor beside him, he let himself sit, letting his aching muscles rest for a moment.
Within a few minutes, he greatly regretted that decision.
As the cold began to wear off, feeling began to seep back into his limbs, and with that feeling, came the realization that he was still very much injured, if the throbbing pain in his hands, chest, and arm were any indication. With far more effort than he thought he would need to use, he dragged his ruck to the front of him. Reaching into one of the external pockets of his ruck, he pulled out a medical kit. Unlike the rest of his items, the inside of his medical kit was still dry, thanks to the waterproof container it was locked within.
Grabbing some gauze, he wrapped what was left of his shredded ring finger, which thankfully stopped bleeding once the cloth had been tightened around it. Looking to his right arm, a long gash ran along the underside, and he remembered having gained the injury when his arm had grazed a sharp piece of metal in his haste to enter the entry plug. Sighing, he grabbed disinfectant and poured it on the wound, wincing as the liquid did it's job, albeit painfully. The wound was quickly closed up with medical staples, the item in the kit proving handy for one hand first aid.
The final issue was his chest. Despite the lack of blood, he knew he had been injured there in some way, if the intense throbbing on the left pectoral was any indication. Reaching to undo the velcro holding the body armor surrounding his torso, what sounded like the crunch of broken glass confirmed his suspicions, and upon lifting his shirt and seeing the black and blue bruise that covered most of the left side of his chest, it confirmed it doubly so. Sliding out the ballistic plate from the vest, he was met with the sight of a large hole within it that stopped halfway through, small chunks of ceramic falling out of it.
It seems the security guard was actually a pretty decent shot.
With his injuries treated, he stumbled over to the small cot and collapsed on top of it, his mind beginning to wander as he let himself relax just slightly, now that death was no longer a major concern.
Even then, he was still still battered and bruised nearly all over.
And he was tired. So, so tired.
How much longer would this go on? How much longer could he go on?
Nearly every step seemed to get more and more dangerous, and this time the only thing that had seemingly kept him alive was pure luck. When would that luck run out?
He shook his head, ignoring those concerns.
It didn't matter. He didn't matter anymore. He had given that right up years ago.
Besides, he wasn't even supposed to be here.
He let his hand absentmindedly drag along his face, the metallic lower false jaw cold to the touch.
He couldn't even stand to look at mirrors anymore, not without seeing that mark of shame. Covering it helped keep the overwhelming disgust at bay, the almost ever present facial covering he wore protecting his identity as much as it did his own sanity.
The scar tissue that made up what was left of his vocal chords had rendered him an unwilling mute. The inability to speak an ever present reminder of his failures.
Memories surfaced, vicious and relentless in their assault on his mind.
Thing.
A purple haired woman, young and carefree, turned into a tired, bitter husk of a human due to his mistakes.
Demon.
A white haired boy dying for what were his sins.
Aberration.
A red haired girl, brought to the brink of death, suffering due to his inaction.
Monster.
All of it his fault.
Failure.
He blinked, letting his mind come back to reality. It was pitch black, Shinji having turned off his light source already. It was dead silent within the cabin, save for the slight ringing in his ears that never seemed to go away.
He shifted in the cot and turned to his side, ignoring the phantom sitting on the other side of the room, their arms crossed, a sneer on their face.
Facing the wall, his eyelids almost immediately began to close, his lack of sleep having finally caught up to him. After a moment of hesitation, he decided to give in.
As his consciousness began to ebb, he let himself slip into the land of Morpheus, bracing himself for the Hell that would greet him.
ABOARD THE WUNDER
"So why are we here again? Come to give us another 'reprimand' for something arbitrary again?"
"Wow, feels like it's only been a few days since we last met like this. Oh wait, we have?"
Misato stared at the two girls in front of her, and after a moment of contemplation, decided to give up on professionalism. She was tired, and these two were grating on her already strained nerves.
"You two, shut the hell up. I'm far from in the mood to put up with either of you right now."
Both girls went silent at this, Asuka stopping her ranting, and Mari remaining quiet, reverting back to her ever present smug smirk. It was clear something serious was happening if Misato of all people gave up on keeping up her military persona. Asuka was the first to break the quiet.
"Something big happened, didn't it?" Despite dropping her military persona, Misato still was a no bullshit woman, and decided to cut straight to the heart of the matter.
"A break in occurred at the Italy branch. Unit-01 was stolen." The silence she was given in response spoke far more than words ever could.
"By who?" Misato raised an eyebrow at the redhead, opening her mouth to speak before being cutoff by Mari.
"Damn, seems puppy boy really has gone off the deep end." Misato stared at the brunette, wondering how the hell she found out classified info this time. Mari smirked at her, speaking before the woman could say something.
"Don't worry, I didn't eavesdrop this time, I just put two and two together. Think about it, he's the only person that Unit has ever activated for, right?" Misato shook her head in exasperation, too tired to bother getting angry at the girl.
"Yes, that's exactly what happened. We don't know where it is, thermals haven't picked up anything and he made sure all of the tracking systems were turned off." Asuka surprisingly remained silent.
"We don't know what he plans or what he is going to do, so be prepared to deploy for possible combat within five minutes at any time from this point on." She brought back her commanding tone. "Dismissed."
Mari hummed, and grabbed Asuka, who was glaring daggers at Misato, by the arm and dragged the girl out. Rei, who had been quietly standing next to them, turned and followed a second later. Once the door closed, a voice spoke up.
"The analysts just sent us their data. Thought you might want to take a look." Misato had to suppress a flinch, having nearly forgotten that the blonde scientist had been standing right next to her. Turning to her left, she stared at the tablet that was being offered to her, then looked towards the woman connected to the hand. Ritsuko had a neutral expression on her face. If she had noticed the way Misato quickly recomposed herself, she made no comment on it.
Grabbing the tablet, she nodded to the other woman, who began to walk out, before stopping, and saying one last thing before leaving.
"A quick warning for you, I would watch out for the images that match with his blood samples. They aren't pretty, and that's coming from me." The woman continued onward, the door opening and closing behind her. Misato turned her attention back to the tablet, a slight apprehension now evident in her movements. With hesitation, she clicked, "Display Images" and began to swipe through.
After thoroughly reviewing it all, she was glad the other had left her alone.
After all, it wouldn't exactly be professional for a captain to cry in front of their subordinates, would it?