Evangelionland

Chapter 1: The Nerviest Place on Earth

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"Hi there! Please come on in! We're so glad you decided to visit today! We'll strive to make your stay a memorable one! If you need assistance finding the nearest nationally rated restaurant or world renowned amusement, please don't hesitate to ask! We're here to serve! Because it's people like you who make everything possible! You can experience the deep mysteries, pulsating action and true-to-life characters you know and love, right here in a myriad number of ways! We'll 'synch' our best efforts to your wishes! So take a step forward into a world of excitement and intrigue, waiting just for you!

"Now without further ado, welcome to Evangelionland!"

"You don't need to tell me all that. I'm not a visitor. Or a tourist. I'm Kodama Horaki. I'm supposed to start working here today in some capacity."

At least, that was what she was led to believe, starting with an abrupt text late last month. "Come to Evangelionland." She thought it was some manner of solicitation until a following string of messages directed her to a time and location of entry to begin an extraordinarily long, thorough and invasive vetting process. Background dives, school transcripts, social media presence, drug tests, IQ evaluations, psychological work-ups and a brief fitness exam produced a glut of information that somehow persuaded HR to bring her aboard.

Yay.

Kodama tried to convince herself. Yes, working at the sprawling, ever-expanding compound dedicated to the long-running multi-media franchise phenomenon Evangelion was a drastic pay hike compared to her usual odd jobs. Even an entry-level position here boasted improved wages and benefits. Finally, a dental plan that consisted of more than remembering to sometimes floss at night, when she could afford floss and food at night to floss out.

But it also meant working at Evangelionland. And that meant mingling with people like the woman sitting across from her. Seemingly civil, but still a loyal cog in the cult machine.

"Right," the woman was saying. "Sorry about the speech. It's like a reflex at this point. I'm so used to seeing guests around here I forget how to interact normally."

"You're doing a great job," Kodama lied. "Don't worry."

"Thank you. You're kind to say so."

"… You know, a name would really assist things going forward…"

"What? Oh." She lightly rapped a knuckle against the side of her head. "Sorry. I'm Maya Ibuki. Nice to meet you, Ms. Horaki." She set about to find a name plaque on her desk, ground zero of a paperwork explosion.

"You too. So, when do I start?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. That's the spirit. I assume you completed all the checkpoints if you're here."

Here, meaning her cramped cluttered windowless office. Towers of files, three separate computers and four monitors, cabinets with drawers too full to shut totally, and merch. So much merch. Climbing up the legs of her desk, dripping off the ceiling on piano wire. Floating shelves hastily screwed into the walls to provide emergency flat surfaces to display a staggering amount of vintage and modern products, officially licensed and less than licensed, tie-in cash grabs and memorabilia from across the lifespan of the series. Even some of the knock-off Awanjellyun toys that nearly started an international trade war. Like a living museum crammed into a broom closet.

"Yup," Kodama answered. All three extremely intrusive checkpoints, passed. If she wanted to pay to be felt up, she'd go find her last boyfriend. "Is that an everyday thing?" she half-joked.

"You get used to it."

What am I signing up for? she thought, as Maya produced a stack of contracts and waivers.

That she signed, dated, and watched Maya cosign and emboss. Kodama waited for a ritual dagger to complete the blood pact to whatever dark god had kept this place running for so long.

"There we go," Maya said, finishing up. "All official. Now you're one of us!"

Dental plan, Kodama reminded herself. Forcefully. Biting the side of her cheek with the molar she was pretty sure had two competing cavities yearning to meet.

"Great. What are my marching orders? I got the impression I might be in a restaurant or something." Or a poison taster, given the loyalty oath-adjacent level questions lobbed at her throughout the hiring process.

"Let's see…" Maya began, deftly typing on a hidden laptop with one hand while the other strained to keep a towering inbox from toppling over as she still searched for her name plaque. "Ah. Here we are. What luck! I know the establishment well. The manager is an old friend. I'll show you the way."

They departed her office, out into a narrow, poorly lit hallway that stretched longer than Kodama cared to focus on. Up a flight of metal stairs. Down another hall. Up another flight of stairs. Through a security door, down a hall, down a flight of stairs. One more security door.

It swung wide and they were outdoors, comparatively speaking. Acute sunshine cascaded between densely packed buildings with the look and feel of a near-future metropolis. Meticulously planned and crafted to resemble the fortress-city of Evangelion, but filled with unique attractions and amusements. Under the glow of the eternal summer sun from the show, every day, all day, manufactured by a series of mirrors reflecting natural and artificial lighting. A minor technological marvel, all for the sake of recreational illusion. Like a casino. The point of both being to separate people from their money. And around here, the odds were always stacked in favor of the house Evangelion built.

The park was bright and loud and jammed full of people. It was still bright and loud and jammed full of people. The only time Kodama set foot in it was for her middle school class trip. They were supposed to go to Okinawa but the principal was suckered into a publicity stunt free pass excursion for Kodama and her classmates. Not that the park needed to gin up sales or support, despite some of the more questionably safe attractions, or the public relations scandals the director was prone to. Evangelion was an established, immutable institution. But periodic tokens of goodwill did help everyone accept that reality.

So she went, got food poisoning at a beef bowl stand and threw up upside down into her PE teacher's hair on a roller coaster the first day. She was sent home with extreme prejudice and vowed never to voluntarily come back.

And yet.

She traversed the park with a dreadful sense of déjà vu. The particular attractions might change and update but the feel, the sense of surreality, of walking through a living cartoon, remained. Her memory of the original show was hazy but she could recognize certain landmarks, turned into cash sinks and tourist traps. There, the shoreline where the third Angel made landfall was a massive water park with spiraling slides and Olympic-sized pools called Sachiel's Aquatic Incursion. On her left was an arcade with a strange techno-organic motif, Iruel's Playroom. In the distance, a towering roller coaster with a nearly vertical drop down the Main Shaft. A small café on the street corner they passed was simply named Za Bistro.

And a billion other spots of interest. And gift shops. So. Many. Gift shops. All individually themed. A school classroom. The innards of the MAGI super computers. The surface of a blood-splattered moon. Each filled to the brim with mountains of merchandise, tumbling off the shelves into the waiting arms of a diehard fanbase desperate to feed the monster.

It was all as oppressively over-stimulating as she remembered. Even the street lamps were stylized to look like cross flares. Why did they need more lights?

"Here we are!" Maya announced, sweeping an arm towards a squat building next to yet another gift shop.

"Beast a la Mode," Kodama read the sign over the restaurant façade, featuring a smiling mecha mouth ready to chomp through the lettering spilling out from a sundae dish. "So, an ice cream shop?"

"Among other things. This is one of our most popular specialty eateries on the east side of the second district on off days. After you!"

She sighed. Dental plan.

They entered. It was a typical family style restaurant, with a heavy coat of Eva globbed over everything. The booth seating along the windowed front was fashioned after entry plugs, and looked wildly uncomfortable. The tables were semi-transparent to simulate the view from the cockpit, and were sure to be impossible to clean properly. To their right was a counter with metal shod hands jutting up from the floor acting as stools.

It was all but dead inside. Fitting, Kodama thought. The lone patrons were a family of three in a booth back by the restrooms, composed of a fatigued father, a mother glued to her phone, and a child of indeterminate age and gender. Crying, not in pain, and not terribly loud, but enough to draw unwanted attention from strangers. It had a lulling effect on the parents, neither of whom appeared totally aware of where they were.

"Mr. Hyuga is the manager here," Maya said, leading her to a man with glasses behind the register. He offered a corporate-sanctioned smile and wave at their approach.

"Stopping by for lunch, Maya?" he asked.

It's noon already? Kodama thought in mild alarm. It was impossible to tell the real time in this artificial sun-soaked nightmare.

"Not today. I'm here to show Kodama Horaki to her new station."

Hyuga just smiled. "Who?"

Maya just smiled back. "I sent you the file. Ms. Horaki starts here, today."

He quickly thumbed through his phone. "Um…"

She quickly thumbed through her phone. "Um…"

Kodama reconsidered if she was real or just a figment of someone else's imagination.

"Oh, dear," Maya said. "Uh, I, I seem to have neglected to file all the pertinent paperwork on time." She noticed Kodama's muted horror. "No worries! I'll trek back to my office and get it all sorted out before you know it! Promise! I swear!" As she back-sprinted out the restaurant door.

"Do I still get paid for today?" she asked Hyuga.

"I'll make sure. In the meantime, let me give you the grand tour." He glanced around. Despite the total lack of action at the front desk, he seemed reluctant to abandon the post. "Hey, Shigeru!" he called into the kitchen.

A man with long hair poked his head out. He absently wiped a hand on his apron. "Yeah what?"

"This is Ms. Horaki. She starts here today, supposedly." Uttered like a grateful prayer to a deaf god. He turned to her. "Mr. Aoba is head chef. And the sanitation commissioner. And the trash disposal technician. And—"

"You're short staffed. Got it."

"But less so now. Ms. Horaki, until Maya gets things in order, you'll be lending a hand wherever you're needed here. Okay?"

"Sounds like a plan."

And since Hyuga was required by company bylaw to keep one eye on the register at all times, maybe plucking an orb out to leave sitting on the front desk when his shift was up, it fell to Aoba to complete the tour.

The counter opened into the kitchen, a long room lined with ovens and stoves and refrigerators, with an island for prep in the middle beneath an assortment of cookware hanging from a rack. Aoba sort of waved a hand over some of it, then returned to whatever he was doing by the second fridge.

"Thanks for the exhaustive walk-through," Kodama said. "Is that rack just for pots, or can I fashion a noose from the dish towels?"

Aoba did not respond.

"Is this music piped in all day?" She referred to recognizable tracks from the Evangelion franchise, but muzak'd, like the composer got stuck in an elevator for a few decades. "Can we at least hear the real stuff?"

Aoba did not respond.

"… So, do you want a hand with that…" She peeked around him. "… banana split you're crafting?"

Aoba did not respond.

"Hey." Kodama kicked him in the leg. Not quite hard enough to make him fall.

He turned, plucking out an ear bud. "Yeah what?"

"Do I get a 'hi' or anything?"

He briefly appraised her. "Welcome to Evangelionland," he greeted. "You know, we're already dead. This is hell."

"Don't pay any attention to him," Hyuga said from the front. "He might talk nihilism but he has a good heart. Deep down. Somewhere."

"That isn't dissuading the nihilism."

Kodama hopped up on the stove beside Aoba and watched him delicately fashion a shockingly well made pyramidal banana split, complete with a tiny plastic mecha toothpick atop its peak.

"So… Just us here, huh?" she asked.

"Yeah. Our last waiter died a couple weeks back."

"Oh, God. I'm sorry—"

"Or got a job outside the park. Either way. Lucky bastard."

"Huh." She observed the disconnect between his demeanor and work proficiency. "Why are you still here?"

"I ask myself that every day."

"No, I meant—"

"Order up," Aoba announced, sliding the banana split out along the counter. Carefully, as not to deconstruct the ice cream panorama.

Before Kodama could deliver it to the family, the child appeared out of thin air to stop crying and devour the sundae. She couldn't help but feel a little invalidated.

"… And what's your name?" she asked during a lull in the inhalation. Kodama spied the parents still at their booth in varied states of disassociation.

"Junoichi," the child responded.

"The sundae's pretty good, yeah?" What made it into the kid's mouth.

"You didn't make it. You just sat there."

Wow. "I was just making conversation—"

"Hey!" Junoichi cried to Aoba, back in the kitchen. "This lady is stealing your credit, mister!"

Aoba approached. He eyed the child and the remnants of the dessert. "This is a communal effort, kid. Credit is shared."

Junoichi considered that, frowned. "What a doormat."

"… You know, we're already dead—"

"Dead-set on making the customer happy!" Kodama jumped in. "Please don't hesitate to ask if you need anything else!"

The child wiped its mouth dismissively, then wiped that on one of the stools by the counter. It wandered back to its parents, who may have noticed the return of their spawn.

"Soft spot for kids?" Aoba asked.

"I have a soft spot for keeping my new job. One trip to the HR dungeon was more than enough, thank you very much."

He shrugged. "That's what I thought my first day. Before you know it you have seniority and responsibilities. Before you know it you can't afford to get fired. Like I said, this is hell."

"Dental plan," Kodama muttered.

"You say something?"

"No."

There were no further customers that undying day. Maya did not return, but messaged Hyuga that certainly, by tomorrow, everything would be sorted out. Promises. Emojis. Dental plan.

Kodama departed at the end of her shift, out of the restaurant, out into the blinding sunlight that she forgot the park bathed under at all times. She managed to find a path to an employee exit, and, two security checks later, she was out. Into a moonless night, its edges scratched bright by the blistering conflagration of the park at her back. It created a disorienting halo around the surrounding city, erasing the stars until you were a few miles away.

Which was where Kodama headed. To the outskirts, as far away from Evangelionland as her weary feet and emaciated wallet would take her.

She found an unfamiliar pub abutting a park and stumbled inside. Hopefully, there were no ice cream encrusted children waiting for her here. It was dim, almost hazy. The air smelled vaguely of wood. Down three steps was a long bar that curved around the kitchen, all facing a series of tables. In the far corner was a small stage for live music, currently empty. There was no theme, no fanciful décor or uniforms for the staff. It looked bargain basement. Perfect.

Kodama planted herself on a stool at the bar. There were a few other patrons that paid her no heed, busier than she would have thought for a Tuesday night.

"Hey there."

A burly, bearded man approached from behind the bar, stereotypically wiping a glass clean. He smiled easily enough. No corporate mandates on cheerful helpfulness on his person.

"Hey," she answered.

"What can I—"

A resounding crash tore out of the kitchen. The man shut his eyes and breathed a heavy curse.

"Excuse me," he said cordially. He called out over his shoulder. "New kid. See to our new customer." He left.

"Good evening," the new kid said as he hurried around from waiting a table. "Welcome to Barefoot."

He was cute. Not that she would tell him that. His unassuming youthful naiveté invited that kind of flattery from the other drunken slobs. And she was not in the mood for romance. Just a little liquid self-love/harm.

"Hit me," she said.

"… What should I hit you with?"

"Your roughest and cheapest option." So, her last last boyfriend.

"Okay."

He poured. She drank.

Already the day was gently dispersing in her memory banks, breaking apart and derezzing under the persuasion of impending inebriation. Not that she planned on getting absolutely hammered. Maybe halfway nailed. Before tomorrow when she'd claw herself out, bent and barely usable, and returned to Evangelionland without remorse.

She didn't expect to get hired when she applied. It came as a genuine surprise. She knew her resume, such as it was, was not park material. She didn't fit the profile. She just squeaked out of high school and held no degrees. Her skill set was diverse but unpolished. No relatives worked at the park, so no hope of a nepotistic in. All she had was what she carried.

Which currently included two rounds and counting.

Kodama groaned into her empty glass, letting her nose kiss the rim. "What's your name, new kid?"

"Shinji."

"I'm Kodama. How long have you been the 'new kid' here, Shinji?"

He grinned at his own expense. "This is my third day."

"Congrats on staying the course that long. Something for me to aspire to. Hit me again."

Shinji obeyed. She gulped it down in one swig. Then immediately demanded a refill. Shinji obeyed.

"Good God, my teeths hurts. Like a rusty needle scratching down through the enamel into the root of my soul. If my water is anything colder than room temperature I double over."

Gulp.

"You've been here three days, huh? Three three weeks ago I was being fired from two separate jobs and thinking about begging to move back home. The bad good old days. Then… then."

Gulp.

"I hate the park. I hate the park. I hate working at the park in a dead restaurant alongside emotionally dead chefs and managers and wearing a too-tight apron stitched up like a plug suit. I don't have the ass for that kind of thing. The money is not not worth it. Maybes."

Gulp.

"Do you have any freaking idea how long it's been since I got some action? Good action. Repeat offender action. Splurge on floss action. I'm three spools alone. Like, like, what else am I supposed to do? I'm already on the low income diet. Does I talks too much?"

Gulp.

"You're cute. Not, not, not, not like effeminate cute, or twink cute. Understand me. You're solidly cute. Like, like you got masculine defined cute features. And your eyes are, are eyes."

Gulp.

"I'm not going to with the, the… It's too bright in here. It's too bright there, too. Everywhere. I just, just need to close my eyes for a few minutes. Wake me up when it's over."

Spill.

Kodama laid her head on the bar by her tipped over glass oozing cheap dark liquid onto the floor at a metronomic drip.

"Um," Shinji said.

He gently poked her on the top of her head. Zero response. Besides the snoring. He looked around for the no help coming. He sighed.

"I'm going to get in trouble for this, aren't I?"

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Next chapter: Ask not for whom the drum machine drums. It drums for Kodama.