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Neon Genesis Evangelion: GENOCIDE

BY ROMMEL

Prologue

Room 303 in the Cranial Nerve Ward was located at the far end of a long, brightly lit corridor deep within the massive underground fortress of Central Dogma. Shinji Ikari, the Third Child selected for the Evangelion Project, had little trouble finding it. He knew this place well, for many sad reasons. But now that he stood outside the door, his sullen gaze fixed intently on the metal knob, a sudden uneasiness made him hesitate. 

He didn't want to be here, Shinji realized. He didn't want to be anywhere. And yet he felt he had no choice. The weight of his loss had finally become too overwhelming, and he needed someone he could talk to. Someone who might understand. He’d murdered Kaworu with his own hands. Rei Ayanami was … not the same. Only one person remained.  

Shinji seized the knob and turned. The door opened with little effort, making no sound. He stepped through and closed it quietly behind him. Then he raised his head, slowly and carefully, almost afraid of what he would see.

Fluorescent illumination flooded everything inside the room with harsh light, reflecting off the abundant medical equipment and the checkered tile floor. Every warm color appeared to wash out into a white flash. The air was colder than in the corridor, loaded with the heavy scent of disinfectants—the same nauseatingly sterile smell he'd come to associate with the worst moments of his young life. The room was very large, intended for multiple long-term patients but presently occupied only by a single bed placed in the middle and the equipment arranged around it.

A single bed for a single patient, who might have passed away without anyone noticing if not for the constant beeping of the heartbeat monitor. She lay curled up under a white blanket, her distinctive orange-red mane visible at one end and pretty bare feet at the other. Several cable bundles connected her to the machines monitoring her vital signs. An IV hung from a stand by the bed, dripping into a clear plastic line taped securely to her wrist.

Shinji still had no idea what was wrong with her. The grownups, including Misato, had never bothered explaining anything about her current state. They probably considered him just a child who would not understand even if they did. And maybe they were right. It hardly mattered now.

He took a deep breath, his nerves tingling with dread and cold, as he approached the bedridden girl. She looked so small lying there, the blankets outlining her young form, completely unaware of his presence.

“Asuka.” Shinji’s throat felt dry. “Please, can you talk to me?”

There was no reply.

Shinji reached down cautiously and grasped her shoulder. Leaning over her, he caught a glimpse of her face. Her eyes were closed, her features peaceful in a way he had seldom seen them before, blissfully lost to her own sad fate. But she wasn't asleep—no such comfort could be found in the medications that coursed through her body and kept her from waking. He didn’t care. His need was too great, and too desperate. He tugged at her. 

“Asuka,” Shinji whispered again. She had always been proud of her name, but coming from him now it sounded hollow, meaningless. He shook her, hoping that perhaps it would trigger some response deep within her subconscious. Nothing. She didn't move or make a noise. 

Despite the fact that Shinji knew she couldn't help it because of her condition, her indifference produced a sensation like a cold stab in his chest. Had she been awake, he knew she would have called him stupid, and made his life miserable. That would have been preferable to nothing. 

“I killed someone.” 

The admission was an open invitation for the memories, and with them came a sudden rush of emotions—pain, disgust, anger, all directed inwards—so powerful they threatened to wash away his composure.

He could still feel the weight of Kaworu's body in his hand ... the bones crushing. He just wanted to tell her about that. Somehow, the thought that she might forgive him for what he'd done to someone else would make it better. He had not come for Asuka's own forgiveness. She could hate him, as she always had. He was used to that.

“Asuka, I killed ...” his voice trembled and faded. His heart tightened in the cold silence, and a rush of anger at the uncaring girl crashed through him. “Aren't you going to say something? Insult me like you always do. Yell at me. Anything, I don't care.”

Nothing. 

“Asuka, say something!” He shook her, his voice rising sharply to a desperate cry. “Wake up! Wake up! ASUKA!”

His fingers clawed into the thin material of her blanket and the soft flesh of her shoulder beneath. He shook her more, harder, violently, screaming. 

“WAKE UP! WAKE UP, ASUKA! WAKE U—” 

Tears running down his face, he pulled on her with all his strength, almost ripping her from the bed. Her limp body twisted around the waist and she rolled onto her back, snapping at the cables that connected her to the heartbeat monitor. The short gown she wore flew open with the sudden and violent movement. The blanket fell away, rustling quietly to the floor. 

She did not wake up.

Shinji straightened up slowly, his mouth open and his eyes wide as he stared at the exposed girl now sprawled in front of him. Under the gown, she wore only a pair of plastic panties. Her bare skin was almost as white as the sheets she lay on. Her breasts rose and fell gently in time with her breathing, capped by pale pink nipples quickly made stiff in the sudden cold. 

With the cables disconnected, the monitor flatlined into a single drawn-out, interminable whine. It wouldn’t be long before the nurses came, but Shinji remained frozen, his eyes fixed on the naked girl.

How many times have I wanted to see her like this? He thought. How many times did I ...  

Asuka had always gone out of her way to tease him, only to call him a pervert and shout at him, both offering and denying him what they both knew he couldn't have. But despite the pain and humiliation he had endured at her hands, she was the object of his fantasies—the thing that fueled his sexual urges more than any other.

He was only vaguely aware that it was normal for boys his age to have these sorts of feelings. It was all part of being a teenager, of growing up. He had heard all of that in the sex education classes the students were forced to listen to in school. The teachers would go on about unprotected sex and abstinence and hormones. Nobody ever paid any attention. It was all normal.

But he didn't feel normal, and this was no fantasy. Asuka lay so obscenely before him, more open than she had ever been before, as if she were waiting for him to act. The girl that would fight and belittle him was gone, replaced with a frail, exposed body. All he had to do was reach out and ... violate her.

Shinji took a step back, feeling his chest tighten horribly with guilt; the sad expression on his face twisting into one of revulsion.

This was his fault. He should have helped her when the Fifteenth Angel broke into her mind; should have done something other than sit in his Eva, hearing her scream as her psyche was torn to pieces. He should have been there to comfort her, to let her know that she was not useless and need not be alone.

Instead he’d done nothing, just as she would do nothing for him now. She couldn’t.

“I'm ... sorry, Asuka.” 

The sickening feeling of self-disgust rolled through him, forcing him to choke on his words. Once again a gloomy, heavy silence enveloped the room, broken intermittently only by the EKG's electronic wail and his quiet sobbing.

Shinji didn't try to call for Asuka again. He rushed out of her room a moment later, still in tears.

"Man is the measure of all things." — Protagoras

Genocide 0:01 / Dispositions

THREE MONTHS LATER

Central Dogma, Tokyo-3

Sub-Commander Kozo Fuyutsuki was always impressed by the cold and precise manner in which his superior handled himself whenever he conducted his business. Even now, months into the charade, he found it quite surprising that Gendo Ikari, a man who did not know the meaning of the word compromise, had proven so very adept at politics.

Watching from the secret surveillance room next to Ikari's office, Fuyutsuki could sense more than see the contempt NERV’s Commander held for the new bureaucratic pawn the Ministry of the Interior had sent to replace Kaji Ryoji. Ryoji at least had been useful, if somewhat naive and misguided at times. He had information they could leverage and certain personal relationships to exploit. His replacement, however, left much to be desired in those areas.

It’s good they agreed to send someone, at least, Fuyutsuki thought. If they were not willing to talk with us, it could only mean one thing. Perhaps they are not ready to consider that. Bloodshed makes for nasty headlines.

Ikari waited patiently for the government agent to reach his desk and stand at attention before turning away from the rectangular window spanning an entire wall of his office from floor to ceiling. The office itself was a massive, intimidating space, furnished only by the heavy desk and lit, for the most part, by the window. The Tree of Life, that sefirotic staple of mystics and alchemists through the ages, decorated the floor. The topmost of its circles, Keter, was placed right beneath Ikari as if to suggest his dominance over life and death, and even Heaven itself.

The man he was meeting likely did not appreciate or understand the symbolism, although that perhaps stemmed from a lack of interest rather than intellect. In truth, Junichi Nakajima simply had little reason to be philosophical about anything he did in Central Dogma. He might have been appointed liaison between NERV, the Reconstruction Council and the Ministry of the Interior, but they all knew his real job was that of a spy, and hardly a very good one. 

Fuyutsuki saw Ikari’s lips move. A speaker came to life beside a nearby monitor and brought him the words. 

“I trust you have brought what we agreed on.” Ikari’s voice had a distinct mechanical tone as it was picked up by the hidden microphones. “Otherwise, the purpose of this meeting is merely a courtesy to those you work for.”

"Yes, I have, Commander Ikari," Nakajima said. He was athletically built, but not tall—at least not taller than Ikari—and wore the black uniform that was standard for Ministry field agents. His hair was black and closely cropped so that he looked more like a grunt fresh out of training than a bureaucrat. His features were narrow, and unmistakably oriental.

Gendo Ikari, on the other hand, cut a much more imposing figure. He was broad-shouldered and tall, his face permanently chiseled into a stern mask that demanded compliance even on the most menial of subjects. A short beard closely followed his jawline, and his glasses lent him an image of ruthless intelligence. He wasn't just NERV's commander, he was the organization's absolute ruler.

Nothing happened inside the Geo-Front without his knowledge or consent. It was only fitting; he was the reason NERV had endured as long as it had despite being surrounded by enemies.

Ikari walked to his desk, his footsteps echoing in the eerie silence.

Nakajima reached into his jacket pocket, producing a small, emerald-green data disk encased in a thick transparent plastic which he carefully set on Ikari's desk.

"I must admit I was starting to doubt you." Behind his thick spectacles, Ikari's eyes flashed briefly to the disk before returning to Nakajima. "A man in my position has to be wary of even the closest ally. No offense to you personally, of course."

"Of course,” the man repeated. “I would imagine that is why my superiors agreed to let NERV borrow the information on the disk, sir. We are in this together now, and we believe a gesture of faith such as this should go towards easing our relationship. We also believe it will encourage closer ties now that it seems the UN is pushing for disarmament."

Unlike Fuyutsuki, who had his doubts, Ikari had always been certain the Ministry of the Interior would try to insert another agent inside NERV following the death of Special Agent Kaji Ryoji. Information of the sort he had provided them with was surely worth more than the life of one agent, maybe more than two, or three, or a dozen. Human life was cheap, had been for a long time, but information could make or break nations.

Even so, Nakajima seemed like an odd choice. He was by no means the caliber of agent usually fielded by the Ministry, and since caution was the better part of valor Fuyutsuki had already sent people to dig into his background. It turned out to be an exercise in futility; his men had dug halfway to Mexico and still found it impossible to trace him to any intelligence training school. This left him with the conclusion that Nakajima was either the worst spy in the world or had the best cover in the world.

Ikari sat in his chair and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his heavy wooden desk and lacing his fingers in his customary manner. "Very well. If you don't mind, I should like this opportunity to have you answer a question.”

Nakajima stiffened slightly, but said, “Not at all.”

“The government has cut our budget again. Would you care to explain why?"

"I’m afraid it’s politics, sir,” Nakajima replied promptly. “They believe it would look suspicious for NERV to retain its priority on their funding program now that it is no longer vital for our security. Additionally, the funds for the reconstruction efforts have to come from somewhere and only so much money can come from other projects. NERV must share the burden, as it were. After all, it is because of NERV that Tokyo-3 needs to be rebuilt."

“It is because of NERV that the human race is still around to be concerned with money,” Ikari rightfully pointed out. “We are owed more than empty pleasantries.”

Fuyutsuki narrowed his eyes. The problem was not money; NERV would take what it needed for its existence from the Reconstruction Council's fund regardless of budgets, and from certain other private investors. What concerned Fuyutsuki was the fact that NERV, as Nakajima had put it, was no longer vital.

NERV's operations, and the incredible amount of power it wielded over all other civilian and military agencies, had always been predicated on the fact that it was indispensable. That had all changed in the last few months, making them vulnerable.

However, true to their word, interested parties within the UN had made good on their agreements and held up the removal of the Special Protection Order that granted NERV immunity in squabbling committees. Even though it was due for a vote, NERV was already assured of at least two full vetoes.

Fuyutsuki felt a grin curl on his wrinkled features. The old men of SEELE must have been furious at finding their so-called absolute power stymied by the necessities of a system built on international cooperation. But Gendo Ikari had something under his sleeve they failed to account for.

He had the Eva—the weapon itself, but also the technology and expertise to make it work. Possessing an Evangelion was a symbol of power and prestige, just like the nuclear bomb before it, and all the things that made men sell their souls. SEELE believed that giving up the Evas would dilute their strength. Ikari believed it was not so; what really mattered was who else wanted it, and what they were willing to give up in exchange.

So the Special Protection Order remained in place for now, bought and paid for with the Evangelions.

Yet Fuyutsuki and Ikari both knew this detente would not last forever. In the end, the old men would get their way, whether by legal means or otherwise. Time was a luxury NERV could not afford, and it was running out.

"We know, and are glad for your understanding of the situation," Nakajima said. "I will relay your concerns to the Council. Unfortunately, without a new budget from the UN, there's very little we can do.”

Ikari nodded. His face remained grim. 

“Of course, I don’t need to tell you, sir, that the UN has been very reluctant to cooperate in these matters,” Nakajima added. “They are not in a position to justify such a large budget anymore.”

The Commander let him hang for a moment, then finally said, “Very well. For the time being, I will accept the situation on the grounds of our compromise. But NERV's defense is more vital than the city's reconstruction. The Ministry of the Interior would do well to remember that.” 

If anything, Agent Nakajima seemed relieved. “We understand.”

Ikari nodded. “I have no further points to discuss. You are dismissed. Kindly tell your superiors that NERV looks forward to our further collaboration.”

“I will, sir.” Nakajima saluted respectfully and turned on his heels.

Fuyutsuki waited for him to leave before stepping through the hidden side door located in the far corner of the office and immediately noticed the contemptuous smirk that had appeared on Ikari's face. Ikari did not bother to explain and Fuyutsuki, who fully understood what had just happened, did not need him to.

He took the disk from his superior and carefully examined it. "I can't believe they would just let you have it."

"Ignorance is our ally, as I’ve said before." 

Glancing down at the tiny disk in his hand, Fuyutsuki tried to keep the sudden concern he felt hidden beneath the surface. The deep green material of the disk's surface reflected even the scarce light of the office, making it glint oddly like an eye.

"Do you disapprove?" Ikari’s tone suggested that he already knew the answer.

Fuyutsuki took a deep breath. He'd learned that it was acceptable to disagree with Ikari on a perfectly reasonable basis, but that didn’t mean he felt wholly comfortable doing so.

"I do not think we should be taking this kind of risk,” the former professor said. “If you are going to use Rei, then I would much rather get it over with before the Japanese or SEELE have a chance to intervene. As we know they will."

"Rei is not ready,” Ikari said. “The scenario did not account for us losing her again. Now that we have, we can no longer proceed as planned. Perhaps this was for the best. I was pained to lose her, but Rei had admittedly become too...”

“Attached?” Fuyutsuki finished for him.

Ikari ignored the interruption. "We made the mistake of allowing her too much freedom. However, human bonds can be molded. But that will not help if we can’t justify and defend our place. You heard what was said. The Ministry of the Interior is already openly aggressive."

“And you think this will help?” Fuyutsuki held the disk up between his thumb and forefinger. “Knowing what we know it is capable of? It could be suicide.”

"It will buy us the time we need. And if properly implemented, it will fight itself. The old men will know we have it, of course. Just as well. I believe that once we put the contents of the Emerald Tablet to use the UN will not dare move against us, regardless of what SEELE or the Ministry want. Fear will become our shield once again.”

“Or they will seek to destroy us all the more swiftly,” Fuyutsuki replied uneasily. “It’s quite a fortress of lies we have built already.”

“They would not be able to justify such an action to each other, let alone the rest of the world,” Ikari said, his voice controlled and hard as stone. “Now there is another matter I must tend to. Have you made the necessary arrangements?"

"Yes, but I don't think she will cooperate. She's become quite fond of your son. And Doctor Akagi—"

"Ritsuko will do what I ask. And we should not worry about Major Katsuragi. She’s had plenty of time to think about where her loyalties lie. She is still here; whatever her reasons, that means she is willing still to take orders and to see them through."

Fuyutsuki was not entirely convinced about the trustworthiness of either woman. Ritsuko Akagi had endangered everything they'd spent years preparing for no other reason than jealousy; Misato Katsuragi, on the other hand, seemed to have much more pragmatic motives. She was still here because she wanted to gain something—her sense of duty kept her loyal but only as long as she was still searching. Once she found what she thought she wanted to know, things would be very different.

Both women had made their relationships with NERV, and therefore with Ikari, deeply personal. And while Major Katsuragi still had the excuse of ignorance, Doctor Akagi was a willful and entirely knowledgeable partner. As she had already demonstrated, the damage she could do was nearly incalculable.

“Trust is not something that should be easily given these days.” Fuyutsuki returned to his examination of the emerald disk, seeing himself reflected on the surface. The deep green color made him seem distorted, alien.

“No trust is given,” Ikari said. “Only purpose.”

Misato Katsuragi opened her eyes, struggling to keep her teeth from rattling in the freezing cold. Gathering her jacket more securely around her shivering form, she looked down at the laptop sitting on the floor next to her and read the screen.

Searching, she thought. Dammit, still searching.

She fought the urge to tap on the keys, knowing it was likely to make things worse. For all she knew, it might even trip the alarm systems she'd taken months to crack. She let out a sigh of impotence, her breath condensing into a fine mist around her face, and curled tighter in her little corner, nestling against the wall for warmth. 

Hyuga had told her what this place was, a storage center for the MAGI databases, and he had explained that it would be cold on account of the liquid nitrogen used to cool the rigs, but he hadn’t told her how cold it would be. 

The large room was full of towers that rose from the floor like columns until they reached the ceiling, packed with what looked like servers or hard drives. Cables of different sizes ran from the towers to a central hub-like CPU, and though it was mostly pitch-black, all the servers had tiny red diodes that pierced the darkness like faint stars that winked in and out of existence as the machines dutifully performed their tasks.

The electronic humming of technology had become almost pleasant; merely background noise to her thoughts. Technology powerful enough to protect life, or destroy it. Just like fifteen years ago.

And just like fifteen years ago, Misato had watched it happen all over again, and, like before, it had cost her someone she loved.

I am sorry too ... Kaji, Misato thought. I miss you so much.  

She gazed up at the blinking lights, wondering how long she could keep going like this before she met the same end as Kaji. It wouldn't be so bad; probably just a bullet or a knife or something. Maybe she wouldn't see it coming, and the next thing she'd feel would be Kaji, hugging her like he did in college to keep her warm at night. Shinji would understand, wouldn't he?

He won’t. How can he understand? I’m the only one he has left. And he’s all I have. Him and this damn computer.

The high-pitched beeping of her cell phone broke through the hum, shattering her thoughts like glass. Misato reached into her jacket and allowed her fingers to rub gently against the butt of her gun before grabbing the small phone. These days she never went anywhere without her gun. 

"Katsuragi," she said, trying to keep her voice even. The cold made her jaw tremble.

"Major, you are requested back at Central Dogma." Makoto Hyuga's voice was sharp and worried. Something was wrong. "The Commander has asked for a meeting with the Central Control Personnel—"

Misato frowned. “The Commander? You sure?”

“Absolutely sure,” Hyuga assured her. “The request came directly from his office.”

"Any idea what it's about?"

"No details.” Hyuga paused. He seemed to think of something, then added, “Where are you? Should I send someone to pick you up?"

Misato glanced momentarily around her. Hyuga probably knew where she was. His question could only mean he believed this connection was being monitored, and he was giving her a possible alibi. "That's not necessary. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Have a car train ready for me."

"Use train 5," the young operator suggested, then hung up.

Misato nodded, silently grateful. She wished she could thank him out loud, but that would have to wait for later, when she saw him and could take him aside for a private word.

When she’d placed her phone back in her jacket, she closed the laptop and stood up, rubbing some heat back into her frozen muscles. Her legs were particularly stiff. As she did, a more disturbing thought came to mind.

It’s been three months since Gendo Ikari gave me any orders. The moment he didn’t need me, he tossed me aside. And now he calls and I go running like his faithful dog. He blows his whistle, and I answer. God, I’m pathetic.

It wasn’t the first time she felt bitterness towards her Commander, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. The things she'd had to do following the man's orders would haunt her forever. At first it had been simple; she'd fooled herself into thinking it was for a noble cause, merely to defend humanity. But, in reality, destroying the Angels had made her feel better and taken away some of the pain she still felt. The Angels had caused Second Impact, almost wiping out the human race in the process, and wanted to cause a Third to finish what they had started. Why shouldn’t they pay? 

For the longest time, Misato had believed that. Then she found out it was all a lie, and the house of cards on which she’d built the selfish justification for the horrible things she'd done came crashing down. So many years. So much anger. Wasted. The truth was even worse than she had imagined. 

The Angels had not brought the end of the world; Man had.

She was floating in something that was neither air nor water. Something warm and faintly familiar. A coppery taste filled her mouth, and when she took a breath, the liquid—she was sure this was liquid—had a faint scent of blood. Her senses were utterly flooded by these two sensations the way the ocean floods the deepest basins between continents, between ruined cities. There was no sky or ground or any sense of reality. Her eyes were open but she couldn’t see beyond the orange void. 

And then, from somewhere above her, she saw the lights. She let herself ascend from the nothingness, her body gliding gracefully through the liquid, her back arched as the warm embrace of this new womb surrendered to a cold chill.

Was this what it felt like to be born? Was this what it felt like to enter the cold, unforgiving world from a place of unconditional bliss and protection, to surrender to the awful reality of existence for the sake of living? Was this what mother smelled like?

Rei Ayanami did not know. She had never known. She was what she was and could not change, yet even so those questions defined her and the lack of answers undermined the very core of her existence. All living things had been born. But not Rei. 

That realization began to dawn within her as she broke the surface and was confronted by the white monster of gleaming flesh, nailed to a cross, whose face was hidden by the mask of steel with seven eyes. It stared at her with a heavy facade that was beyond all reality, pouring a stream of LCL into the ocean from its severed midsection.

Something took hold of her arm. The LCL lapped at her sides and she felt herself being moved across the surface. It was cold in the dark cavern, but she didn't care.

Hypnotized, she stared at the creature on the cross, mute and pale. She sensed that it saw her and welcomed her as its own. Then the creature changed. Rei saw herself nailed to the cross, her eyes burning brightly in the dark, her face white as the face of the creature, and she understood then that she was the creature.

It called to her in a voice that she recognized as her own, again and again. It loved her and cared for her the way no human being ever had. Then the voice changed, and Rei instantly recognized it again.

“Ayanami!”

There was an incredible roar, like the bellowing of an Eva Unit gone berserk, and then a bright white light covered everything. She had to protect him. He was all that mattered. She had to ... was this what it meant to love?

And then there was blinding pain.

Rei Ayanami opened her eyes suddenly, and was immediately overcome by nausea. She sat in her bed, naked among twisted sheets of white linen, covered in sweat, and shook her head.  

The room was still dark around her, the silent blankness pressing in on her like a suffocating blanket. For a short while she tried to fight the last remnants of the dream, and managed to push away the sickening sensations it stirred in her. She had felt them before, when inside the Dummy System and when inside Evangelion Unit-01.

Oblivious of her own nudity, she stood and walked to the nightstand, picking up the pair of eyeglasses that her predecessor had kept there but that had not belonged to her. They were held together by tape, with a name written on the side.

"Ikari," Rei whispered softly, reading the name. A name she knew and made her feel many strange feelings. Shinji Ikari. The Third Child.

Rei knew in her heart that it was not her who he had befriended, who he had cared for. And yet she felt herself so connected to it all; the things that Rei Ayanami had cherished so strongly they passed down to her. But the glasses—

No, she remembered, these are not his . They belong to the one I hate. The one who uses me.  

Putting the glasses down, Rei looked at the small clock next to them, another piece of her inheritance she was forced to accept. It was nearly dawn. The sun still lingered just under the horizon, but slowly the sky began turning red, fiery tendrils spreading like bloody fingers into the blue and black of retreating night. Soon she would have to get ready for school. As she did every day, day after day, until she was recalled to Central Dogma. 

That was her life.

Those were her orders. 

Shinji Ikari rode the Number 3 train to school, lost in the notes of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” as they poured from his S-DAT’s tiny earbuds, his blue eyes closed. He stood in the center aisle, his right hand grasping the safety loop dangling from overhead. To any onlooker, he would have passed for an ordinary schoolboy.

The car was fairly crowded, warm, washed in the bright rays of the early-morning sun streaming through the large Plexiglass windows. The floor vibrated under his feet, barely noticeable through the soles of his sneakers, swaying lightly. But Shinji was not interested in his surroundings. Carried by the soothing music filling his ears, his mind wandered back, as it often did when listening to Beethoven, still trying to bring some closure to the last three months.

In all that time, he had not gone back to see Asuka again. How could he after what happened? He had not even set foot inside Central Dogma. He no longer had any reason to.

After killing Kaworu, the boy who had so swiftly become rooted in his heart, he made it clear to Misato that he would never pilot Eva again. His Commanding Officer didn't try to change his mind. It was his decision and she would respect it. She promised. But even this small reprieve came too late. If only things had been different, Shinji might have had hope.

In the wake of so much tragedy—losing Rei and Kaworu, seeing Asuka defiled—he had been utterly broken. Nothing held any meaning anymore; nothing existed outside the dark shroud of depression and loss. He noticed nothing besides the hurt he felt. Day after day, hour after hour, he’d just lay on his bed and listen to music, caught between not wanting to live and not being able to die. There was little else for him to do. He just ate and slept and wasted away his time, and waited for the world to end. It never did.

And then one day he noticed Misato again.

Somehow, he had dragged himself out of bed and shuffled his way across the living room to use the bathroom. He had been lying down for so long that his muscles felt stiff, adding to the heaviness he already carried within him. Misato pottered around in the kitchen, heating some curry ramen in a plastic cup and trying to figure out how to wash the coffee machine without taking it apart. 

She froze when she saw him, and he stood there, his gaze on the floor. He had avoided her as much as he could, like he had with everything and everyone. She couldn’t do anything for him and they both knew it. Shinji saw no sense in pretending, or even talking to her.

He resumed his somber pace. As he came around the table, Misato cut him off, and before he could avoid her, she hugged him. She did not say a single word to him—she just hugged him. It made him very uncomfortable. He wanted to pull away, his whole body tense beneath her arms. But then he felt her warmth, the kindness and caring that seemed to have been extinguished from his life.

His hands rose and clutched the back of her shirt. And he started to cry. Misato held him tighter.

Shedding tears always came easily for Shinji, at the slightest emotion. They embodied his suffering but hardly ever relieved it. But he never really cried. Never let go so completely that he felt as though his heart were pouring out. In Misato’s arms, surrounded by the kind of motherly warmth he had missed for most of his life, he let go of everything that had been building up inside of him since Kaworu's death. Maybe even since before that.

He cried for a long time.

When he was done, Misato was still hugging him. For the first time, he realized not only that she was there for him, but that she had been there with him all along; giving him space when he needed it, offering comfort even when he didn't want it. She was not a companion in the strict sense of the word, she was just there.

The cloud of grief still hung heavy over him, but not so heavy that it completely blocked any ray of hope; not so heavy that it made him feel his life was over.

It was also through Misato's encouragement that he found the strength to go back to school. Such a decision was a trial of his resolve to regain his lost childhood. School carried many of his happier memories, and some of the saddest.

Kensuke and Hikari had proven to be true friends, giving him support and comfort, helping him through what was the most awful time of his life. Toji was still in the hospital, but Shinji had it on good word that he was making good progress rehabilitating and, more importantly, did not hold a grudge against him. He didn't have to, because Shinji still blamed himself, like he blamed himself for Rei, and Asuka, and Kaworu. He always would.

I was there for all of it, and I couldn’t save them. I piloted Unit-01 to protect people, but everyone still suffered.

There were still those days, of course. Days when he wondered if it was even worth it to get out of bed in the morning and if it might not be better to just leave like he had done before. But over time they had become fewer. Living became easier.

Opening his eyes, Shinji looked at the devastated landscape outside the window. In the sunlight, it was like watching a movie. The Number 3 train he rode to school every morning traveled in a wide loop around the eastern bank of the third Ashino Lake which now covered most of the city of Tokyo-3, providing a front-row seat to the devastation. 

Yet, despite having suffered a crippling blow, massive flooding and extensive infrastructure damage, there was still a city here. Someone had to work for NERV, someone else had to provide all the amenities of modern life, and someone had to maintain everything. So while a chunk of the once-bustling metropolis lay submerged in the ominously labeled Exclusion Zone, what remained kept going.

Tokyo-3 had always been intended to be a battleground so the people who made it home knew the danger, but nothing like what actually happened had been foreseen. Shinji was surprised that so much effort was being put into rebuilding.

The Reconstruction Council seemed to think it was possible to bring the city back together, going by their announcement on television. A dam was being built to seal off the lake, and pumping stations were being set up to clear out the water. Within months he might actually be able to walk through the downtown which was currently covered by millions of tons of water. The suburbs were already up and running, as were outlying schools and transit systems. People could carry out normal life now.

But not him. His normal life ended the day his father called him to the city. Even if he would like to deny it, the Evangelion and the Angels had changed him as well as those he cared about. The memories of those he’d met and hurt meant he could not be happy, regardless of how much he wished he could be. He would have given anything ...

Shinji chanced a glance over his shoulder at the girl sitting a few places further down the narrow, sunny corridor.

Rei Ayanami barely even seemed to notice he was there when she stepped aboard during the train’s last stop. He wasn’t surprised anymore. She never acknowledged him these days, and he never acknowledged her, either. There was a book in her lap, her red eyes moving across the page, completely uninterested in the people or things around her. Rei had always been like that, but he had never felt so uncomfortable with his Rei as he now did with this ... girl. She was a stranger. To him, to the world, to everything.

Rei Ayanami—the name had become a part of him. She had mystified him when they first met. Her silent character had earned her a reputation as frigid and distant, but after taking the time to know her, Shinji had found she was a warm, caring human being.

She was , he reminded himself sadly. Not anymore .

Because Rei Ayanami, the girl he’d taught how to smile, was dead. She had sacrificed herself to protect him. She was gone, and not coming back.

This girl was someone else. She might look and act like the girl he used to know, but she wasn’t. She wasn’t the Rei Ayanami he had cared about, just a similar body holding a different heart, a product of bio-engineering, like his Eva, a shell, a thing—

Shinji felt a pang of remorse at that thought. 

Although he had seen the tank and the spare bodies with horror, this new Rei didn’t deserve to be thought of as any less human than the one he had known. Doing so made him just as coldhearted as his father. Rei hadn’t asked for this, she was an innocent. She didn’t deserve his scorn simply because she was created.

As she sat there, breathing, living, thinking, feeling, she was human just like him. But while he knew this, he still found that he could not approach her. That he had to keep his distance from her exactly because of what she was and who she had been. It was not fair, but the memories and the pain of that loss were still too raw.

He must have been staring more intently than he realized, because suddenly Rei’s soft, familiar voice, scarcely audible over the hum of the train and his S-DAT, caught his attention. A voice he missed so badly it almost brought tears to his eyes. "If I am bothering you, I can move to the next car." she began to rise from her seat.

“No, wait!” Shinji said in a hurry, before he even knew he would. He shifted on his feet and shuffled closer. “Please. I'm sorry. It’s just ... very weird, you know.”

Rei looked at him. “But it makes you uncomfortable. I should go.” Her eyes were so red they could have been rubies, greatly contrasting the sky-blue color of her short, shaggy hair.  

She has the same face. 

Shinji lowered his head, ashamed. He couldn't blame Rei for feeling like that, but it was his decision to push her away and distance himself from her, because he remembered. If there was any blame to go around, if anyone should move, it should be him.

“Don’t go. It’s not your fault that I ...”

“Is it because of her?” Rei asked.

They hadn't talked about this before—they hadn't talked about anything at all. In hindsight, Shinji realized that he had always been afraid of what he would say. He wanted very much not to have to recall those memories. That was why he avoided her for so long, one reason among many. Just looking at her made him hurt.

“I did not mean to upset you. I will let you be.”

As Rei went to stand again, Shinji popped the earbuds from his ears and hurried towards her, swaying for balance against the constant rocking of the train car. Some other passengers turned their heads when he caught up to her and placed himself between her and the exit, but they quickly lost interest. Teen arguments on the way to school were nothing new.

“Ayanami ...” He fought the knot in his throat. “It's because you—because of what happened. You know, you ... do you remember?”

“I remember pain,” Rei said softly.

She died , he thought, and now I’m talking to her ghost. How can I tell her what she meant to me when she’s a different person?

Different, and yet exactly the same. Her skin was pure white, as if she’d been carved out of marble, her petite frame appearing almost fragile under the folds of the blue jumper and white shirt that made up her school uniform. Shinji was convinced it was the only piece of clothing she owned.

The plain-looking outfit fit her rather loosely—the shirt was definitely a size too big—and was wrinkled. Rei had never cared for such things. At least, the Rei he knew never had. But that was not the girl sitting in front of him. 

After months of willful neglect, Shinji realized there was something he needed to say. “Ayanami, I’m sorry.”

Rei seemed surprised. “For what?”

“I haven’t been very nice to you lately,” he murmured sullenly, his voice low so no one else could hear. He looked down towards the floor. “I’ve treated you like ... like a stranger. It was just hard to see you around after ... you died. After she died. I'm sorry.”

“You should not apologize for your grief,” Rei told him. “Please let me go. I do not wish to be the cause of such pain.” 

“It’s not you, it’s ... I keep thinking you are her. I just miss her so much. But it wasn’t fair of me to cut you off like that—I think a part of me wished she hadn’t done what she did, but if she hadn’t, I know that Angel would have killed me.”

“She died to protect you. She made her choice.”

Shinji shook his head, now having to fight back tears. From anyone that would have seemed cruel, but from Rei ... he wasn’t sure. The previous Rei Ayanami had always had trouble understanding emotion, why should this one be any different? “Don’t say that.”

“It is the truth, and you should know. Self-destructing Unit-00 was her choice. She did not seek advice or permission. It was her choice in the end, made with her own free will, her own mind. It was the only true decision in her life made from the heart. She would not regret it.”

“But I do. I regret it every day,” Shinji told her. “That’s not an excuse for pushing you away, just because you weren't her. I shouldn’t have let you be alone. You were always so kind to me. And when you needed me, I just couldn’t do the same for you.”

“I was never kind to you. But I think I would be. Like she was.”

Shinji found the words strangely comforting, coming in that voice he so desperately wanted to hear, and being spoken by that face he found so gentle. Rei Ayanami was such a cryptic girl, but when she said things like that she was like a mother whispering to her child. Apparently that had not changed.

“Do you understand, then?” Rei said. “There is nothing to be sorry about. She chose to die, the same way Kaworu Nagisa chose to die.”

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

“I understand. I have tried crying for him.” For the first time, Rei let her gaze drop. “But I can not. There is too much about his loss that does not make sense to me. Does that mean I’m not human, if I cannot cry?”

It means you are lucky , Shinji thought.

The train made a left turn, peeling away from the edge of the lake, forcing those passengers who were standing to hold more tightly to the hand loops hanging from overhead rails to keep from stumbling. They were plunged into darkness as the train entered a tunnel, and the noise of the air and the tracks rushing past them increased into a thunderous roar as it echoed off the walls.

“I have no emotions," Rei added, her red eyes eerie in the dark. “Is that why I can not cry for him?”

Shinji still did not want to talk about Kaworu, so he was grateful Rei seemed to have changed the subject back to herself. "You must have emotions.”

"Is that what makes you human, your emotions?"

The tunnel fell away and they were back into sunlight. Having left the flooded remnants of Tokyo-3 behind, a new more civilized world stretched around them. Once little more than a rest stop for weary travelers, these sleepy suburbs had grown into a bustling town as one of the most important destinations of the honeycomb that was the mass transit system. This had made it the ideal place to relocate their demolished school.

"I don't know," Shinji said vaguely. He really had no idea. After what he’d seen about the Dummy System, and about Rei ... he didn’t want to answer.

"So, if I have no emotions, I am not human?"

“Ayanami—”

"Ikari?" Rei’s voice grew slightly louder, which was saying a lot for her. "Am I not human?" she asked again.

"You are human," Shinji said. “You have to be.”

"The Rei Ayanami you knew before was the second one. Was she not human?"

Shinji shook his head; he didn't want to remember, it hurt so much, and yet the words began coming out of him. “She was very much like you. I guess you and her are the same and not the same. I can’t really explain it. But being human is more than what you are physically; it’s who you are. And she was human enough for me. Like Kaworu."

Rei twisted halfway away from him, her eyes now gazing out into empty space as if she could see something there. “But he had to die. Because he was an Angel.”

We all have to die , Shinji thought, but he realized there was little point in replying to such a statement. Rei knew what had happened just as well as he did, and why.

“He told me I was like him,” Rei added. “I do not think I understand.”

“I don’t either.”

The train slowed with the screeching noise of brakes. Within another moment, it came to a complete stop on the platform and the doors opened. Rei slipped her book back into her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Can I walk with you?” she asked him.

Shinji nodded. Gathering his own school bag, he moved towards the door and pushed himself onto the platform. Rei followed a few paces behind. Here the crowd was mostly students walking to and from, chatting with friends and acquaintances, asking each other if they’d done their homework then immediately asking if they could copy said homework. Shinji saw a lot of smiles.

It was only a short walk from the train platform to their new school, a single large rectangular building with an open courtyard and a gym holding basketball and volleyball courts. Unlike their old school closer to the city center, coincidentally blasted out of existence by Rei Ayanami, there was no swimming pool. The boys in particular mourned such a loss. 

The gates were already open, with students gathered in small groups. Shinji walked through, ignoring the odd glances thrown his way. No one really noticed Rei; he envied her for that. Several girls looked in his direction as soon as he entered the classroom, giggling and even blushing, then pretending they weren’t looking. He recognized Miho Ishizawa, a tall girl with long, black hair leading a rather large group—in Asuka's absence, she seemed to have picked up the idol's baton—and there was more giggling. 

At first Shinji had been annoyed by this sort of behavior, and more than a little embarrassed, until Hikari had explained. “It’s your eyes,” she said, “they all think you have sad eyes and want to comfort you. And they think you’re cute.” 

Shinji didn’t really agree, and didn’t much care. There had only been two girls whose opinions of him had ever mattered: one was dead, and the other might as well be. 

Behind him, an exact copy of one of those girls pulled out her chair and hung her bag beside her desk. 

He took his assigned seat next to Kensuke, who was playing with a scale model of the American B-2 Stealth Bomber—for some reason aircraft recognition had been included in NERV’s training. “You lucky dog,” the bespectacled boy told him. “I wish they’d look at me like that. Maybe you should introduce me.”

“Ask Hikari,” Shinji nodded towards the freckled Class Representative handing out sheets of paper to various interested-looking students, getting a playful wave in return. “I don’t even know most of their names.”

“Well, Miho certainly thinks very highly of you.”

Shinji just shrugged, not interested.

“Man, I know having lived with Miss Germany must make these girls seem ordinary, but not even you can be this jaded.” Kensuke pressed his lips into a pout. “You must have really been spoiled rotten.”

He has no idea, Shinji thought sullenly. Asuka had never been the person they all believed she was. The smiles, the haughtiness ... none of it was real. He glanced towards Rei. She had no smiles or haughtiness, but no one had any idea about her either.

With most of the computers in hibernation mode, the normally loud buzz which filled the control room was reduced to little more than a faint whisper somewhere in the distance. The lights were turned down as well, an imposition from the budget department at the behest of the Reconstruction Council in order to lower the power consumption, and thus the cost. Money, however, was not the concern of Maya Ibuki. She had much bigger problems.

“There is just no way for the diploid cells to divide any faster and not risk a complete breakdown of the cellular wall,” the short-haired Lieutenant told the little pink pillow shaped like a bunny. “We’re already beyond anything predicted by the Hayflick scale. This sort of thing has never been tried before—I mean we can study some damn lizard, but an Evangelion is a far more complex organism. You don’t happen to have a degree in macromolecular biology, right, Mrs. Bunny?”

She shook the bunny's head no.

“Bummer,” Maya said.

“Maya, I think you're losing your mind,” Shigeru Aoba, the long-haired and self-appointed rock star of the bridge crew said, pausing in his strumming of the imaginary guitar he was holding to look at her. “Has the Commander explained why the big rush? We haven’t been on Level One Alert for months. Unit-01 and Unit-02 are still in stasis. And I suppose, technically, they don’t have pilots.”

“I’m sure there’s a good reason.” Maya stuffed the bunny between her sore back and the chair. “We just don’t know what it is.” We never know what it is , she added to herself. Need to know basis and all that stuff.

“Seems pretty fishy if you ask me,” that came from Makoto Hyuga, who was leaning against his console, holding a cup of coffee. In the dim lighting, his glasses glowed solid white. “That boy was the last Angel, that’s what they said before. No more Angels means no more money. No more jobs.” 

“What are we up to now, three hundred terminations?” Aoba said. 

“Three hundred and twenty-one,” Hyuga gave the exact figure. Of course, he would know. He was so good with numbers. Some of the staff had even started a pool to see if they could guess what termination number they’d be. So far, no one had been exactly right, but Hyuga was set on winning the pot. “I’ve got a rumor there might be ten more coming tomorrow.” 

“They’re going to keep cutting until there’s nothing left,” Aoba offered gloomily. “It’s payback. By the end of the year, we’ll be selling the remaining Eva units at a used car lot for spare change.”   

“As long as we don’t sell the children, I don’t care if I get fired.” Hyuga drank from his cup. “By the way, speaking of Eva units, shouldn’t you be down in the cage working on Unit-00, Maya?”

Maya sighed. “I’m on break. I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

Hyuga and Aoba looked mournfully at each other. “Don’t you want to get some food? Some sleep?” said Hyuga, obviously concerned.

“The food makes me sick, and I’ve got too much coffee in me to sleep. Basically, it all sucks.”

Being NERV’s de facto Chief Scientist was not what Maya had expected. Not only had they skimped on giving her the pay raise she was supposed to receive, she could not remember the last time she had left the Geo-Front for her apartment due to the astonishing workload. And to think Maya had actually been excited when Commander Ikari had presented her with the opportunity to reconstruct Unit-00.

The project was codenamed Lazarus and it was the first project which would be completely under her control, a tremendous challenge to test the skills she’d learned under the brilliant Doctor Ritsuko Akagi. Cellular mitosis and a host of other procedures had now regenerated almost 25 percent of the vaporized Evangelion from recovered DNA and spare parts. Yet even with that Commander Ikari was not impressed. Too slow, he complained. The cell recovery percentage was too low. The division rate was not adequate. On and on.   

“Maya, I don’t think that’s very healthy,” Aoba said. “Burnout is a bitch. You are gonna crash if you keep this up, and then who will do the work?”

Maya truly appreciated their concern. The bond with her fellow operators was one they had forged over dozens of life-threatening situations, and over great tragedy. That’s why she felt comfortable coming to them to vent. 

“Yeah, I know,” Maya said. “Sorry I’m putting you guys through this complaining. The schedule is tight enough as it is so it’s not like I can really get any time off.”

“If you need more help, feel free to take Haruna over there.” Aoba flicked a thumb at a dark-haired female operator further down the bridge.

“Sorry, I don’t know anything about biology,” Haruna replied, then her voice turned sarcastically sweet and she smiled dangerously, “but thanks for volunteering me for extra work, dipshit.”

Hyuga laughed, slapping Aoba lightheartedly on the back. “And she loves you, you say?”

“Love is a subjective sentiment,” Aoba said.

“Unlike a kick in the ass,” the female operator replied. “I will volunteer to deliver that one.” She raised her hand high in the air. “Pick me for the discipline committee, boss!”

Haruna’s wit was totally lost on Maya. She shook her head.

“It’s not a personnel issue. Half the payroll could volunteer and it wouldn’t do any good. I’m the only one with the expertise—other than Doctor Akagi, I mean.”

“Yes, that’s very true.”

I know that voice!

Maya was on her feet and turning towards the door before Doctor Ritsuko Akagi, the genius behind NERV’s many arcane technologies and battlefield triumphs, could come to a stop in front of the small group of operators. The young Lieutenant’s look of utter astonishment was shared by everyone. 

Ritsuko’s hair was far darker than Maya remembered, almost fully brown at the roots, and more tangled. She’d lost weight, which she obviously would, given her situation. But the certainty and intelligence in her narrow eyes ... those hadn’t changed one bit. She wore a white lab coat like she always had before, draped over a set of coveralls similar to those the technical teams used. She wore boots, too, something Maya had never seen her do. 

The contrast between these garments provided a strange mix of the academic and the practical. In a way, that described Ritsuko Akagi herself perfectly. She was both a skilled technical expert and a theoretician. A scientific Yin and Yang. The best of the best.

Maya nearly swooned. She’s really here!

It fell to Hyuga to ask the obvious. “D-Doctor Akagi? What are you—”

“Doing here? Simple, there’s too much that needs doing and not enough people to do it.” Ritsuko seemed completely uninterested in the fact that every eye in the bridge was now focused intently on her. “So much, in point of fact, that my services are required once again. After all, I am familiar with biology.”

Haruna laughed nervously. “You heard that?”

Ritsuko pointed behind her. “The door has been open for a while.” Before anyone could comment, she turned to Hyuga. “I’m going to need some equipment. There should already be a list in your inbox. Borrow what you can, take what you can't. Don’t worry about red tape. The Commander will approve whatever is needed.”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll get right on it.” The technician put down his coffee cup and headed back to his console. Pulling up a screen, he started typing faster than Maya ever could.  

“And, Hyuga, I will need access to the usual systems. My old login should still be in the directory. Enable it, please. Same permission levels. Once I have those, I won’t be bothering you without a good reason.”

Maya suddenly felt a cold knot form in her stomach. “Ma’am, what about Lazarus? Will you be taking it over?”

Ritsuko glanced at her just as coldly as she ever did, but somehow that made Maya worry even more. It was impossible not to think that she had messed up in some way she’d failed to recognize and now Ritsuko was supposed to fix it. If she’d disappointed her mentor ... well, that might be more than Maya could endure.

“No,” Ritsuko said. Maya heaved a sigh of relief. The blonde doctor ignored that. “Lazarus will remain your responsibility. You’ve done some good work on it so far, despite the setbacks. I can provide you with some technical advice if you want, but I’m also going to have other things to keep me busy in the very near future. I know you’ve been having problems with the rate of mitosis—I read the reports,” she added at Maya’s incredulous look. “I’ll see what can be done to speed things up a bit. As soon as I’m set up, the Dummy System will be my main priority.”

“Eh?” Everyone reacted at once, like a pack of well-trained pups, their voices filled with sudden disbelief. “The Dummy System?”

“Yes.”

Maya didn’t like the sound of that. The Dummy System was ... brutal, for lack of a better term. It was what the Evangelion pilots were minus the smallest shred of compassion or humanity. Reluctantly, she remembered what Hyuga had said. “They’re not disposing of the pilots, are they?” she ventured. Would that be so bad? Those kids have suffered enough.

“Not that I’m aware. It's all about combat effectiveness and redundancy,” Ritsuko explained. “Hyuga, I can set everything running myself. I just need the equipment in place and the access. Maya, you should go back to Unit-00's cage. I'll be there shortly.”

“Ma’am, I don’t ...” Maya was speechless, and not in a good way. The Dummy System was certainly dangerous, so much so that Maya suspected Ritsuko herself had destroyed it, and now she was starting it up again? After what they had seen it could do?  

“Maya, do you want a hand or not?” Ritsuko’s tone became impatient. “I really don’t have all day for this.”

Maya nodded eagerly. “Y-Yes, Ma'am. Ah, thank you. Welcome back.” 

Furious orange tendrils had begun spreading across the late afternoon sky by the time Shinji returned home from school. He slid his key card through the door and stood by as it hissed open. He was greeted by darkness. Thanks to the rising power costs, this was one of Misato’s newest obsessions: everything should be turned off when you leave. 

The first time he ever crossed this door he’d hesitated, with good reason. He'd lived with relatives and teachers almost all his life, but that was hardly home. And here was this kind stranger, a pretty, dark-haired woman, offering her home to him. He hadn’t been able to refuse but that didn't mean he couldn't have doubts about sharing such intimacy with someone he hardly knew.

He left his shoes at the entrance, throwing down his book bag next to them, and absently hit the light switch by the door. Just like that, the darkness fled, and he saw that his shoes were not the only ones there. 

The apartment's layout was simple enough, with a short hallway leading from the front entrance to a fairly large kitchen, a single bathroom and laundry to the side, a large living room leading immediately to the master bedroom and the terrace. A second, smaller bedroom was located down another corridor, with a closet across from it. When he first moved in, Shinji had taken the smaller room, but then when Asuka arrived she took over the room and sent him to the closet.

Shinji hadn't complained. He didn't own that much stuff—most of it fit in a single box which Asuka casually dumped in his new ”room”. She, on the other hand, owned piles and needed the space more than he did. He could have moved back by now, certainly; Asuka had been in the hospital for ages and was not likely to return. But ... 

He tried not to think about her—about what happened to her. And he wasn’t about to touch her things or enter her room. He knew she’d hate that.

“I'm home,” Shinji called as he entered the kitchen. He turned the light on. “Misato?”

The untidy wooden table and chairs made navigating the cramped space tricky. As he came around, Shinji frowned at the sight of a girl's school uniform neatly dangling from the back of one of the chairs on a plastic clothes hanger.

Carefully, he picked up the thin bit of red ribbon the girls wore tied around the collars of their shirts from where it had been set and examined it.

This is Asuka’s, Shinji knew at once. Is Misato clearing out her stuff? He looked at the uniform again. It was clean and freshly pressed. Not the sort of thing that would have been hanging in a closet gathering dust for months.

“I wanted to tell you.”

Shinji looked up and saw Misato standing under the doorway leading to the living room. Her dark eyes looked him over then dropped to the uniform hanging beside him. She seemed tired, her expression careworn. 

“Asuka is being released from the hospital in a few days,” Misato said.

“Really?” He should be happy for her, and he did feel something, like a small fluttering in his chest that told him he was at least glad she would be coming home. But happiness was not a feeling he could relate to Asuka. There was just too much pain and guilt and regret attached to his memories of her. They had hurt each other too much, too often. Sometimes it had seemed that everything she did hurt him. 

Misato nodded slowly. “Yeah, really.”

“Is she ... cured?” Shinji asked. “Is she still—” He stopped himself before he could say “crazy”. “Sorry.” 

The Third Child lowered his head, suddenly feeling very ashamed. Even if he had thought to say that in jest it would be too hurtful and unfair. Asuka was not crazy, she was sick. After what he himself had gone through, he should understand. 

“She's ... better,” Misato said. Her tone was no more cheerful than Shinji felt. “I thought maybe you would like to come with me to the hospital when I pick her up in a few days.”

Shinji hesitated. Asuka was still someone important to him, but she was also someone whose life he was partially responsible for ruining. His heart had attached her to a great deal of very complicated emotions, most of them negative. 

Can you really be such a coward? He suddenly thought. You already made a mistake with Ayanami, are you going to do the same to Asuka?

“I know she’d appreciate it,” Misato added. 

Shinji was not convinced, but if Asuka was coming back he would have to face her sooner or later. And if she saw him in the hospital, she might ... what? Forget he failed her? “I ... yeah, okay.”

“Thanks.” Misato tried to force a smile. It didn’t work. “I knew I could count on you.”

Her heavy tone finally caught his attention. Whenever they got a chance to talk, Misato always made an effort to be optimistic, even if it was late and she was tired or whatever the case may be. And she did not have the problems with Asuka that he did. She should be glad Asuka was coming home, right? And she should show it. But now she seemed as dejected as him. 

Shinji lifted his gaze to meet hers. Misato quickly looked away, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. “Misato?” he murmured with growing uncertainty. “Is there something wrong? With Asuka?”

Misato sighed, leaning heavily against the door frame. “Not with Asuka. It's ...” Her face became hard, determined, and she took a deep breath. “There's no easy way for me to say this so I'll just say it: I need you to pilot Unit-01 again.”

Shinji let the ribbon slip from his hand.

Misato quickly added, “I know I promised you wouldn't have to, but the Commander thinks there are more Angels on the way so we have to be ready.”

The words did not sound right to his ears, as if a part of him just refused to process them. Something inside him fell, an awful empty sensation that shared far too much to his grief over Kaworu.

Then Shinji felt pain—not the dull ache of an old wound reopening, but that of a brand-new one opening for the first time. “B-But you promised,” he stammered.

“I know. I'm sorry.”

Anger came suddenly, strong and unwelcome. It was like a burning wave that washed over him, a rush of emotion that swallowed everything in its path. 

“You promised!”

Misato shook her head. “I know I did, Shinji. Believe me. If there were anything else I could do, I would.”

His hands clenched tightly into fists. He took a step forward, eyes narrow and angry. “YOU PROMISED!”

“I know. I'm sorry.” Misato’s voice was soft. She shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I wish there were some other way. But Unit-01 is the only functional Eva unit at the moment.”

“That’s not good enough!” The words were out almost as soon as Shinji had thought them. Somewhere in the back of his mind there was a whisper of restraint, that part of him that felt he owed Misato the chance to explain. He ignored it. The betrayal cut too deep. “Every time I get in that thing someone gets hurt! Toji. Rei. Asuka. And ... Kaworu.”

“I know.”

“Every time! How can you ask me to go back? I thought you understood, but you don't, do you? Being sorry is not good enough! That doesn’t make it better. It doesn’t take the pain away. You are not the one who has to deal with it!”

The corners of her eyes drooped, along with her shoulders. “Shinji, I’ve tried to understand—I really have. Your father, these are his orders.”

Father ... The last thing Shinji wanted to think about was his father.

“He can’t make me!” the former Third Child bellowed. “And neither can you. I don’t care if you have orders. I thought I could trust you, but you're a monster just like him!”

As that last accusation left his lips, he knew he had just crossed a line in the sand. It was a horrible thing to say, especially to someone who moments before he had been convinced cared about him.

Her widening eyes shimmered on the verge of tears and she was taken aback. In his anger, he was glad that he could hurt her so deeply merely with words.

“You’re right,” Misato tried to keep her voice from quivering, succeeding only just, “I can’t make you. But you are a man. And sometimes men have to do things they don’t like because they are the right things, because people depend on them. Your choices affect more than just you. Your words—” she stopped and for a moment seemed unable to gather her thoughts “—Shinji, I don’t want to hurt you. I’m not ...”

But Shinji was not listening anymore. 

“You are just like my father! You want to use me like he does. Do you even really care? Have you EVER really cared?”

“I ...”

That was the end and Misato recognized it. Nothing she could say would change his mind and she knew it. No matter how she tried to justify her breaking her promise, he would not accept it. He would not pilot Unit-01 again. Visibly deflated, she just nodded and swallowed any further argument.

Shinji didn’t watch her retreat. Instead, he picked the little ribbon off the floor and dropped, exhausted and betrayed, on the nearest chair, and lay his head into his hands.

Less than twenty-four hours after giving Shinji the bad news, and wishing she were still locked in her room, Misato entered Unit-00’s cage and descended the ladder onto the deck below. Her boots hit the metal platform with an empty echo which seemed to spread across the heavy noise-filled air like a shockwave.

On the far side, Ritsuko was setting up her diving gear. There were a few technicians in the cage, all looking very busy, and aside from saluting they didn’t pay her much attention. Misato liked it better that way. 

“So, it's true then?” the NERV Major said, putting on her bravest face. “The bird woman of Alcatraz.”

Ritsuko looked up from her work with one of the regulators on the air tanks as Misato adjusted her hard hat while walking towards her. 

“I'm only surprised it took him so long,” the faux-blonde woman said with a bitter grin. It was not a true smile. “Never let a valuable resource go to waste.”

Typical , Misato thought. He uses her like a wet rag and that’s all she has to say. But who am I to judge?

Misato knew the whole story. More than three months ago, after destroying the Dummy System, Ritsuko had been arrested by Section 2 by direct orders of Commander Ikari and placed in indefinite detention. She was simply too dangerous, and the way it was done had not allowed anyone to intervene. Misato had also been there when the Dummy System was destroyed, standing next to Shinji as the spare Rei bodies began to disintegrate in front of them. Ritsuko seemed to despise them, asserting that they were just empty shells.

It was one of the most troubling things Misato had ever seen, and that said something since she had actually seen Second Impact happen.

“Well, I’m glad you are back. I’d hate to be the only one having all this fun. Can I hold your coat or something?” Misato said, walking down the platform until she was right next to Ritsuko. Then she sat on the cold metal and let her legs dangle over the side. 

Looking into the LCL filling most of the deep compartment beneath her feet, she could clearly see the emaciated shape of Unit-00. It was just a torso, one arm, and a head, surrounded by all kinds of gauges, cables and piping tangled in a rather grotesque mass. Without its armor, it looked like a skeleton, a humanoid thing seemingly half-exhumed. 

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Misato said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Hard to believe they are really so ugly. Their armor looks so good.” 

“It’s a man-made god, who cares what it looks like,” Ritsuko replied.  

Misato almost laughed. “It’s a weapon. Not a god. Gods can’t be destroyed, but Rei sure destroyed Unit-00. That girl is quite something.”

“Was,” Ritsuko corrected. She straightened up and removed her lab coat. Underneath she wore a dark, one-piece swimsuit. Misato took her coat off the floor and draped it over her lap, but she couldn’t help noticing Ritsuko had lost a considerable amount of weight.

“Thank you,” the blonde said.

“No problem. I like feeling useful. What are you doing down here, anyway?”

“Taking samples. Unit-00’s body is much too frail to be exposed to the air at this stage—the nutrients and oxidizers in the LCL help protect it—so this is the only way to get accurate samples.” Ritsuko checked her diving watch. “But if I may ask you a question, have you talked to Shinji?”

It wasn’t much of a talk. 

Misato sighed heavily. “Yeah.”

Ritsuko got the hint instantly. She was, after all, supposed to be a genius. “I take it things didn’t go well.”

Misato didn’t respond. She had hoped to avoid having to broach the subject in any detail. Ritsuko would have to be told that Shinji had refused to pilot Unit-01, and Misato had already typed up a report. But written words were a lot less personal than talking about it. And although she was still hurting from Shinji’s anger-filled words, on a much deeper level she was certain she deserved it. That made the hurt more stinging and even harder to get rid of.

“Misato?” Ritsuko prompted.

“I don't want to do anything like that ever again, Ritsuko.” Misato shook her head. It was an effort just to keep her voice even. “The look on his face—I think he hates me now.”

“Maybe you could have said it differently.”

“What was I supposed to say? Huh? That he had to do it because it’s his duty? I did. I’m not even sure I believe that. I’m not even sure it’s the truth anymore. Was I supposed to lie to him?”

“You should have said what was necessary to achieve the desired results,” Ritsuko said, very predictably. 

“Like he’s some kind of damned machine?” Misato felt angry. She didn’t really expect Ritsuko to understand, but her expectations hardly mattered when the other woman appeared so dispassionate about someone Misato cared about. “Like he doesn’t have feelings? I can’t. Human beings don’t work like that, Ritsuko. I know that doesn’t make sense for someone like you, but you can’t justify making him suffer like that simply because it's expedient. He has a right to be happy.”

“Didn’t we also have that right? But life doesn’t work out that way. We must each do what is required of us, because if nobody did, we’d still be living in caves, afraid of fire. Sacrifice is a part of life.” Ritsuko sat next to Misato and began strapping the heavy aluminum oxygen tank to her back.

“You tell Shinji that next time, okay?”

Ritsuko fitted the scuba mask across her forehead. “What about Asuka?”

“Still in the hospital. Quite frankly I don’t know how she’s supposed to pilot Unit-02 in her condition. Have you caught up with her dossier?”

Ritsuko nodded. “I have. She’ll be fine.”

“Section 2 found her naked in a bathtub full of filth, an inch away from death.” That particular report still made Misato's stomach turn. “The doctor said she’d been starving, and they had to put her under to keep her from hurting herself. Doesn’t sound like someone you’d want operating a weapon of mass destruction.”

Ritsuko was not moved. “Asuka would not commit suicide. That’s not who she is. Had she wanted to, there are much easier and more efficient ways to do it. No. Asuka wanted to suffer, to punish herself for her failure. She stopped caring about her life; that is not the same as wanting to die.”

“If you say so,” Misato said miserably. “My point remains. How is she supposed to pilot in her condition?”

“I have a few things I want to try. The Eva is built on dozens of very complicated systems. All it takes is a tweak to a tiny part of one of those systems to drastically change the final product. I believe we can even produce some software aides for her. Perhaps some higher power connectors. You just leave it to me.”

Misato frowned. “Meanwhile, what do I tell Asuka?”

“Tell her what you know she wants to hear. By the way, whenever you get around to picking her up, I want her in my office the next day for examination.” Ritsuko lowered the scuba mask over her eyes. 

“She’s been examined already, otherwise they wouldn’t let her go,” Misato countered. “If she’s ready for an activation test—”

“I will decide if she is ready. She’s being released as part of her mental health treatment, not because it’s a requirement. We can test her right off her hospital bed if we have to.” 

“You are so cruel sometimes.”

“It’s not cruelty, it’s ...” Ritsuko seemed to catch herself. “Listen, Misato, you can’t keep making everything so personal. Detach yourself a little. Maybe you’ll find that it isn’t such a terrible thing.”

That’s not gonna happen and you know it, Misato thought. “I really envy this side of you, Ritsuko. And, well, I also don’t. Because of what that means for you.” She patted Ritsuko on the shoulder. Shinji calls me a monster, so what are you?  

“It means nothing, and frankly we are not in a position to worry about this cosmetic moralizing. The pilots are what matter.”

Misato nodded. She shared that last sentiment, but for completely different reasons than NERV’s Chief Scientist. In the pilots, Ritsuko saw only tools, weapons; Misato saw children, people she wanted to look after. “Yeah. Anyway, I’ll keep a hold of your coat.” 

“You sure? I may be a while,” Ritsuko said.

Misato shrugged. “I don’t care. I have all day.”

“As you wish.” With those final words, Ritsuko placed the breathing regulator in her mouth, held the mask firmly in place, and plunged backward into the LCL with a loud splash. Misato continued looking at the ripples long after her silhouette had faded into the orange depths.

Evangelion Unit-01 was a marvel of engineering, and, as such things usually went, a towering monument to human hubris.

Even with his scientific background, years of experience and extensive educational work, Fuyutsuki openly marveled at just how significant the creation of such a thing was. The first five units in the series, 00 to 04, were unique. Though designed and built along with a common structure, and essentially based on the same being, all of them had their own unique qualities; all of them seemed to reflect the personalities and minds of their pilots in a remarkable way.

Considering the facts behind their armored exteriors, it was perhaps fitting. But Unit-01 stood alone among them. It—no, she was special. 

Yui Ikari had seen to that.

Fuyutsuki sighed at the memory, letting all his attention focus on the huge head above him. Unit-01 had been pulled out of stasis and he was standing on a skywalk about halfway up her chest. She was lean and massive, covered head-to-foot in thick purple armor; her head a monstrous thing, a pronounced jaw below a single horn located where the nose would be, and triangular eyes like a demon’s.

Originally, she had been intended as the test unit, but necessity had dictated that she become the first actual combat unit—the first to ever engage and destroy an Angel. With a neophyte pilot lacking any training no less.

Things hadn’t gone quite as planned. Unit-01 wasn’t supposed to ingest an S2 engine; Rei wasn’t supposed to die; Ikari wasn’t supposed to turn on his masters so overtly. Still, what was done was done. The schedule had to be delayed. Fuyutsuki was sure Yui would understand. She always had. And they had to be certain.

High above him, Unit-01’s stasis entry plug had been removed by crane, replaced with a new dark plug that was now sticking out of the jack at the base of the skull. There was a ring of light at the end of the plug around which diagnosis cables had been coiled and branched off like tension cables supporting a structure against the wind. It wouldn’t be long before they were ready.

Fuyutsuki put his thoughts aside and turned to his aid. “Where's Doctor Akagi?”

The pretty technician blinked, seemingly surprised by being addressed so directly; Fuyutsuki thought her awkwardness endearing. “She’s, um, with Unit-00. Taking samples, I believe. She left orders to prepare the diagnosis plug and proceed through to acceptable feedback thresholds.”

“Very well.” Fuyutsuki nodded, again looking up at Unit-01.

Patience , he urged silently. We’ll get there together—or we’ll be destroyed together.

The tunnel ended in a flash of light, and when the light faded the inside of the Geo-Front’s massive underground dome loomed over the windshield.

Shinji knew little about the massive structure except that it was basically an enormous half-filled sphere that housed all of NERV's operations underneath the city of Tokyo-3. Central Dogma itself was located in a pyramid-like main building on the center of the huge cavern, surrounded by a forest and an artificial lake that sprawled along the ground. High above them, a cluster of buildings hung inverted from the dome’s apex, their lights shining like stars in a black sky. Normally they would be pushed upwards into the city proper but would retract to protect them during battle. With most of the downtown district destroyed and flooded, these buildings could no longer be extended above ground.

Several cargo elevators and trains—both for people and vehicles like the one they were on now—spiraled down the sides of the sphere, providing easy access to the surface below where a bridge connected traffic to Central Dogma's parking areas. The soft hue of artificial light fell over everything, giving the steel of the pyramid a shimmering metallic sheen and deepening the green of the forest canopy.

But no matter how incredible this place might seem to an outsider, for Shinji it had been a war zone since the first moment he entered it. And there were always casualties in war.

Besides him, sitting behind the steering wheel, Misato remained silent, her gaze lost outside the windshield. He was still not talking to her, and over the last couple of days had ignored all her attempts at making small talk. The hurt and betrayal were too fresh. He could hardly look in her direction without feeling angry with her. Eventually, she gave up and seemed to decide it was better to keep her distance. 

That was the smartest thing she could have done. Shinji didn’t want to talk, let alone be near her. And yet, here he was, riding in her car down into the very bowels of that betrayal.

Not for her, though, Shinji reminded himself. He wasn’t doing this for Misato, or because she’d asked.

The train reached the station in fifteen minutes. Once it docked, the wheel brakes automatically released and Misato put the car in gear, driving it down a ramp and into a narrow roadway. They parked in a lower deck inside the main building itself, a benefit of Misato’s high rank, but it took four more elevators to reach the Cranial Nerve Ward—the deepest treatment level usually reserved for the most serious of mental injuries. NERV's medical facilities were possibly Shinji's least favorite place in the world. And he had only spent short periods there.

Nothing as long as Asuka.

They found her standing at the end of a brightly lit hallway with large windows, a nurse by her side. The months of internment had taken their toll. 

Asuka Langley Soryu was dressed in a simple knee-length hospital gown and white slippers. Her mane of disheveled golden-red hair fell unrestrained down her back and spilled over her shoulders in two long streaks, framing a young face with sharp features. Her round blue eyes were like sapphires ringed by lines of weariness and sunken shadows, as if she hadn't slept properly in a long time, while her formerly proud posture sagged into a weary, defeated slouch.

A dull ache sprang up in Shinji’s chest at the sight of her, something like a mix of guilt and self-disgust. In fact, those two emotions seemed to have come to define almost everything he felt about Asuka. 

From the moment she introduced herself to their class, she had become an idol. She certainly had the looks for it, and her haughty personality always seemed to enjoy the attention she attracted. To Shinji, who had so many problems, she seemed strong and happy in a way he could only envy.

She fooled him completely.

Shinji had been there when the Angel unraveled her mind, and discovered in horror that beneath the Asuka he knew hid a painful tangle of abandoned emotions and old unhealed wounds. Sadly, nobody could go through what she had without changing for the worse. Being alone and forgotten in the hospital couldn't have helped either. His failure to help her, or even offer the slightest bit of comfort, was just as bad.

He wanted so bad to apologize to her, despite knowing fully it wouldn’t do her any good now, that she might even hate him for it, but the words stuck in his throat and would not come out. 

I shouldn't be here, he thought. What can I even do for her?

Misato squeezed his shoulder. Then, very cautiously, approached Asuka. Shinji watched her silently, almost too afraid to move. 

“Hey, Asuka.” Misato made her voice soft. “How are you feeling?”

The redhead did not look away from the window she’d been glaring out of. Her response was predictably short and loaded with bitterness. “What do you want?”

“To bring you home, of course,” Misato said, still trying to be as gentle as possible. “Unit-02 needs a pilot.”

Asuka scoffed. “Didn’t you hear? I can’t pilot it anymore.” She turned her head towards Misato but then looked past her, to where Shinji was standing, and fixed him with a sour glare. Her round eyes seemed to bristle with barely controlled anger. “Besides, you don't need me. You’ve got the invincible Shinji over there. The Great Third Child! Why the hell would you need a worthless little girl like me?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I thought you were worthless,” Misato said. She sounded like she really meant it.

Asuka rounded on her. “My Synch Rate is zero! ZERO! Don't you understand? I can’t pilot Eva anymore!”

“Asuka ...”

“All this time! All this time I’ve been sitting here. Just waiting. Waiting for them to send me back because they don’t need me. In all that time, you’ve never even tried to see me.”

Misato raised her hands. She had no defense for that. “I know. That’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

“So why should I go back? Without Unit-02, I’m nothing!”

“We think there might be a way,” Misato explained calmly. “To pilot Unit-02 again. The Commander said they would be working on something. Some kind of software update.”

“W ... what?” Surprise made Asuka’s eyes wide, and for a short moment Shinji remembered how pretty her face was. “No way. How?”  

Misato gave her a little smile. “I’m not up on the details yet, but we’re working on it. Ritsuko will be in charge. You know she’s a smart cookie, and she never gives up. She'll figure something out. If anyone can, it's her. But the main thing right now is I want you to come home.” She gestured around them with a hand. “This place is not good for you.”

Asuka looked away, shoulders sagging. Shinji thought he could sense something else besides the simmering anger. Her voice turned sulky. 

“Even if it works—if I can pilot again—what makes you think I’d want to go back? I was never happy there.”

“It's not so bad,” Misato said. “We had new carpets put in. And Pen-Pen is still with Hikari, so the fish smell is gone.”

Asuka laughed shortly. Not a real laugh.

Misato pushed on.

“Look, you can’t really expect me to believe you want to stay here. Even if you claim that you do, I don’t buy it. I've already got everything ready for you—well, everything is pretty much how you left it. And Hikari is positively giddy to see you again. She can’t wait to go shopping with you.” Misato pointed a finger to the window. “You belong out there, with your friends and the people who care about you, Asuka, not in here. It's fine if you don't want to feel pitied, but do it for yourself, okay? I—we—” she looked back at Shinji “—want something better for you.”

Asuka scanned every line in Misato's face, as if looking for an excuse, and when she found none she turned to Shinji. 

“And what do you have to say about all this?”

Shinji quickly dropped his eyes to the floor, feeling like he was being put in front of a military tribunal. His mind became instantly blank. He struggled to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. 

“Asuka ... I ... I ...”

She made a noise of exasperation. “Ach, still as dimwitted as ever.”

“Of course Shinji wants you to come home too,” Misato rushed to say, stepping between them before things could get out of control. “He's here because he wanted to see you. Doesn't that count for something?” 

Even though he could not put his reasons for being here in words he could explain, Shinji also couldn't deny that Misato was right. He did want to see Asuka, and he did want her to come home. He just couldn't bring himself to tell her.

Asuka seemed unconvinced. Her lips pressed together and her brow tightened. Shinji would have given half his soul to know what she might be thinking. 

“Here.” Misato slipped off the backpack she’d been carrying and pressed it into Asuka’s arms, much to the redhead's puzzlement. “I brought you some clothes in case you want to change. Unless you plan to go around like that. I don’t know. Maybe you want to start a trend.”

Looking at her again, Asuka hesitated for a moment. She glanced back at Shinji, and didn't seem to know what to think of him. Then, her mind apparently made up, she took the backpack from Misato and held it against her chest.

“If you change your mind—”

“I won't, Asuka. I know how important this is for you. But what you don't realize is that you are important, too.”

That did it. Asuka clutched the backpack in her arms and nodded ever so slightly. “I’ll be back, okay?” she said. The anger lingered on her face, but her voice had softened. “Wait for me.”

“I’d be glad to.”

With the shuffling sound of her slippers on the smooth floor, Asuka quickly walked off down the corridor, her head a little higher than before, and vanished around a corner. Misato then turned to the nurse who’d been escorting her and asked her to help get the rest of her patient’s things. The nurse nodded and followed Asuka down the corridor.

Once they were both gone, Misato leaned back against the wall and heaved a sigh of relief. The weariness on her face lessened. Shinji tried to pretend he didn't notice.

It took Asuka less than fifteen minutes to get ready, which was probably some kind of record for her. Other than the clothes Misato had provided and a small personal bag, she didn't bring anything with her. Misato led them to the garage, even holding the car’s door open for Asuka. Shinji trailed behind them at a safe distance and climbed in the back. Nobody spoke. 

The ride up on the train elevator was, if anything, more awkward than the ride down had been.

Pressing his head to the windowpane, Shinji ventured a glance forward—just in time to catch a glimpse of Asuka's eyes in the rear-view mirror, looking back at him. But whether she was actually trying to look at him or it was just a coincidence he couldn't tell. He promptly turned his head the other way. He was glad Asuka chose to do the same.

For the rest of the trip, all he could do was stare out of the window, feeling uncomfortable as the scenery passed by in silence.   

Asuka would never admit it, least of all to him, but Shinji had always known how much she liked his cooking. He could see it on her face whenever he prepared one of her favorites or placed a tasty treat in her bento. This was perhaps the only thing related to him which she actually enjoyed, and it pleased him in a strangely gratifying way. He was happy when Asuka liked things, especially ones he could do for her. 

With that small bit of personal information in mind, Shinji decided she might appreciate it if he made dinner for her on her first night back home in months. And seeing him getting busy in the kitchen might also keep Misato from nagging him for a change. Surely, even she could understand that a tasty meal was worth giving him some space.

“I want my keycard back,” Asuka said as Misato slid her own key through the lock. The front door hissed and opened. 

“I don’t have it.” Misato waved Asuka in. “It’s probably still in your room. If you can find anything in that mess. Good luck. You’ll need it.”

“You haven’t been snooping around in there, have you?” Asuka murmured. “My makeup better not be missing.”

“I would never!” 

Asuka’s doubtful face indicated she didn’t believe her, but she selected the diplomatic route and held her tongue. The moody restraint fit her as poorly as the dull look in her usually bright eyes. 

Shinji waited for them to step inside before following. He removed his shoes at the entrance, left them beside those of his roommates, then headed immediately for the kitchen. He hit the light and the space filled with a yellow glow. Misato and Asuka went their separate ways. Neither said anything nor paid him much attention.

Shinji was glad for that, even though he knew he probably shouldn’t be. He slipped on his apron, tied it behind him, and took out a pot from the cabinet above the sink.

The water for the rice had only begun boiling when Asuka walked back into the kitchen, holding a towel and a bundle of clothes in her slender arms, and padded around the far side of the table. Facing the stove, Shinji watched her out of the corner of his eye while trying to look busy. He saw her hesitate just outside the bathroom and could almost feel the scowl on her face, of disgust or disapproval or both. Then she huffed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. A moment later he heard the shower running.

Shinji took a deep breath. His body relaxed. 

Some things really never changed. Cleanliness in her own person and what others thought about her had always been very important for Asuka, and Shinji could well imagine it was a while since she had a good shower. But oddly enough those traits had rarely encouraged her to clean up after herself, or show the slightest consideration to her two roommates. In her mind, she might as well live alone.

For a time, Shinji wondered if that might have been for the best. Training had brought them together out of necessity, and they had done well as a combat team, but once it was over there was nothing to keep her from leaving. She just never did. Shinji didn’t understand that—granted, he understood so little about Asuka that she could be a chemistry problem from his homework. And it wasn’t like he wanted her to leave, either. Not if he could help it. Whether she admitted it or not, over time, this had become her home, and he was perfectly willing to do anything he could to make her feel that way.  

Despite his efforts, however, the two of them had butted heads almost from the start, although it wasn’t always too bad. Fighting over bentos, using the shower first, what to watch on TV actually felt normal, and made him wish they could be regular teens, rather than child soldiers forced into a desperate war against alien monsters bent on world destruction. He liked the normal part of Asuka, but even then the closest they ever came to each other was being able to talk about school and Eva-related stuff, and very rarely personal things. Even sharing their first kiss did little to ease the tension between them. If anything, that seemed to make things worse. Shinji wouldn't believe it was possible, yet Asuka had raged so viciously after that it actually made him regret kissing her.

It would have been nice if she hadn’t been so forceful, he thought. I couldn’t breathe.

That was the moment when Shinji realized he would never get Asuka, and that she would never see him as anything other than a doormat or an idiot. The best he could hope for was for her to stand being in the same room with him without becoming angry. And after how things had ended ... 

Shinji didn't want to think about that. Instead, he focused his attention on the food—it wouldn't do to burn Asuka's first meal back because he was not paying attention. He began cutting up some vegetables, carefully chopping them into neat little slices.

By the time Misato stepped in the kitchen, he was totally absorbed. He didn't acknowledge her.

“Would you mind serving that in the living room?” Misato requested pleasantly. “Let’s be more comfortable on our first meal together. I think Asuka would appreciate the extra space. She’s been … locked in for so long.” 

Shinji glared at her, trying to decide if she was merely intent on keeping up appearances for Asuka's sake or if maybe this was yet another attempt to engage him. Asuka already had so much to deal with that putting her in a position where she might have to take sides would be hugely unfair to her. She was home, and Shinji was determined to do everything he could to make it feel that way. If that meant putting up with Misato, he would.

His timing was perfect. As soon as Shinji had set down the plates full of rice, meat, and vegetables on the low table that was really the only piece of furniture in the living room, Asuka emerged from the bathroom. She was still slightly damp, wearing a loose sleeveless top tucked into a pair of ridiculously high-cut gym bloomers that made her long shapely legs seem even longer; pretty standard house wear for Asuka.

This last observation surprised him a little. He may have gotten used to it over time, but she was still showing a lot of skin.

“We are having dinner together,” Misato told Asuka, noticing the younger girl’s puzzled expression.

“Why?” Asuka sounded less than thrilled.

“Because I say so,” Misato said. “We haven't seen each other in months, and I think it will be good for everyone. And don’t bother objecting. I won’t hear it. I’m still your commanding officer. I will order you if I have to.”

Asuka demonstrated her agreement by saying nothing, but her face remained heavy with sulky reluctance. Shinji guessed she realized trying to excuse herself was futile, so it was better to just get it over with and eat some nice food in the bargain.

While Shinji moved the plates and food containers to the living room table, Misato fetched a can of iced coffee from what had once been her alcohol drawer inside the fridge. Then she headed to the living room and sat herself at the head of the table, folding her legs underneath her and taking a pair of chopsticks. Shinji and Asuka followed her reluctantly, each picking a cushion and sitting on opposite sides.

Once they were all seated, Misato clapped her hands together. “Itadakimasu!”

Shinji did the same, but only because it was proper and not because Misato had done it. Asuka didn’t bother—born and raised in Europe, that just wasn’t part of her culture. When they finally began eating, Shinji was actually thankful. Now he wouldn’t have to talk. Silence was a more honest companion than false kindness.  

As they ate, the sounds of chopstick tapping plates filled the air, but it didn’t take long for Shinji to notice Asuka was rusty. He wondered if he should offer her a fork, then thought she might feel insulted. Eventually, she started stabbing her food and taking it to her mouth. He also noticed, looking out of the corner of his eye, how skinny her wrists were, the tendons becoming very prominent when she flexed her hand. She’d obviously lost much more weight than he realized. 

NERV’s hospital food was famously terrible; he couldn’t blame her for not enjoying it, and she’d been bedridden on an IV for a while, and then another while before she was able to feed herself—Asuka would never, never, ever let them feed her as if she were a baby. And, sadly, she’d most likely not been in the right state of mind to have an appetite anyway. Well, as far as Shinji cared, all that was over. He could and would help her get back on track. 

The thought made him genuinely happy. He was glad he could have a positive effect on Asuka after she’d gone through so much, even with something as small and simple as tasty food. And maybe she’d thank him for it, too. Probably not. 

Still pretending he wasn’t looking, he watched as his fellow pilot bit off a piece of sliced beef dipped in soy sauce. Her eyes widened in sudden and pleasant surprise. Shinji almost smiled. 

Welcome home, Asuka, he thought.

Misato liked it, too. “You know, Shinji,” she said after a few bites. “This stuff's really good. You used that fancy rice you bought last time?”

Shinji said nothing. He looked down at his food. 

Misato allowed the question to linger, then, when it became clear that he was not willing to answer, turned her efforts to Asuka while chewing on a mouthful of rice.

“Mm, Asuka, listen. Ritsuko wanted me to tell you she wants to see you tomorrow. She needs to do a physical to determine your current condition.”

Unlike their guardian, Asuka had the manners to swallow before replying. “A physical?” She lifted her eyes from her plate, where she’d been awkwardly attacking some carrots with the tip of her chopsticks. “Haven’t I been poked and prodded enough already?”

“It's for your own safety,” Misato said, taking a swig of her canned coffee. “You've been gone quite a while.”

“I noticed. When are you going to activate Unit-02?”

“I don't know yet.” Misato put the can down. “Ritsuko says we need to establish your baseline first. Activation will depend on the results. For once, I think I agree. It’s not a good idea to try to activate your Eva without knowing, well, if you can take it.”

Asuka returned her attention to the food. Her tone turned sullen. “You don’t think I can, do you?”

Misato's face carried a look of open sympathy. “Like I said, I wouldn't have bothered with you if I thought that, would I?” She grabbed a bite with her chopsticks. “Of course I think you can do it. I've always had faith in you. So does everyone else.”

“Then why not activate it?” Asuka replied hotly, frowning. The expression only deepened the shadows under her eyes. “Otherwise you are just wasting time.”

Misato shook her head. “That’s not it. I’m just looking after you.”

Or just pretending to, Shinji thought bitterly. 

There was no way to tell whether Asuka actually believed her or not. She bit her lower lip to keep from replying, her expression mournful.

Misato was getting far too good at doing this, Shinji decided; at sounding like she truly cared without taking any real responsibility when it really mattered. She might claim to be looking after Asuka all she wanted, just as she had with him, but in the end, it was nothing more than a self-serving, manipulative act. She had already betrayed him more hurtfully than he had ever thought her capable of, and now she was betraying Asuka as well.

As he silently lifted morsels from his plate to his mouth, Shinji managed to sneak a few glances at the redhead sitting beside him.

Asuka wanted to pilot Eva—she probably would want to even if it killed her—but she was in no shape for it. He could see it in her exhausted body language, in the sullen, resigned look on her pretty face. And the fact that Misato was willing to put her back inside Unit-02 after what happened the last time spoke louder than any words of concern.

He was holding up some rice with his chopsticks when Asuka shifted her posture, adjusting her legs more comfortably under her. Without intending to, he caught her eyes in his—for a split second two pairs of blue irises, his pale and hers bright, met before turning away from each other.

Not for the first time, Shinji wished he could talk to her. About anything. 

Misato finished her dinner first, which, given her general sloppiness, was hardly surprising. She leaned back, rubbing her stomach, and turned to Asuka. “Ah, yeah, Asuka, I’ve got something for you.”

The dark-haired woman sprang up and went into the kitchen. She returned seconds later holding a small red box with a piece of folded paper attached to the top.

“Here.” Misato handed the box to Asuka and sat cross-legged next to her, smiling excitedly. “I remembered to ask Ritsuko for these. Thought you might like to have them back. You'll need them.”

Setting down her chopsticks, Asuka carefully unfolded the paper, read it in silence, peeled it off and set it aside. Then she opened the box and stared mutely at its contents. Her face was hard to read, but her eyes were filled with doubt. It was clear she didn’t know what to do. 

Shinji craned his neck to look inside the box and saw it contained two pointy red shapes. At first, he couldn’t identify them, then his mental image of Asuka swam up before his eyes and made them click. These were her neural connectors, the same ones he’d seen her use like ordinary hair clips since the day he met her, as much a part of her in his mind as her flowing golden-red hair; symbols of her elite status as an Eva pilot. She had probably not worn them for months.

It occurred to him then that perhaps the neural connectors no longer held the meaning Misato thought they did. The thing that had made Asuka so proud was also the thing that had terribly hurt her.

Asuka slowly retrieved the connectors from the box and looked down at them for a very long while. She pressed her lips together, but otherwise showed no reaction.

Misato frowned. She had clearly thought the redheaded girl would be thrilled to have such meaningful items back and seemed disappointed by Asuka's unusual hesitation. Scooting closer, she reached out her hand. “Let me ...”

“Don’t touch me!” Asuka recoiled, bare shoulders hitching up defensively. She glared at Misato. “Don’t!” 

“What's wrong?” Misato stopped, raised her eyebrows. 

“Nothing.” Asuka rose to her feet, clutching the neural connectors tightly in her hand. “Just leave me alone, okay?”

“Asuka ...” Before Misato could even finish saying her name, Asuka turned and hurried away from the table.

The strange feeling Shinji had felt when he first saw her in the hospital deepened into a kind of throbbing in his chest as he watched Asuka disappear down the short corridor that led to their bedrooms. It still hurt, but not in the same way. If only he could tell Asuka maybe they could figure it out and it would stop bothering him. More likely she would call him stupid for not knowing what his own feelings were.

Misato sighed, then she noticed Shinji. “She’ll be okay,” she said, trying to sound reassuring and not being very successful. “Give her time. It’s always hard getting yourself back together after a fall. And the way she fell ... it wouldn’t be easy for anyone.”

But Shinji was still staring after Asuka.

“Oh, right, I forgot,” Misato added. “You're not talking to me.”

The speaker’s dais was raised a few feet above the rest of the floor. Nakajima watched uninterestedly from the upper terrace, high above the proceedings, as another diplomat stepped up, shuffled his notes and began speaking. Russian, if he remembered correctly. That would explain why everyone seemed to be paying attention to his words.

“Why do they bother?” Nakajima whispered.

The man who had been sitting next to him turned his head. He was old—how old precisely nobody really knew, but enough to have earned a long reputation. He had thinning gray hair and a sunken face, lined by deep wrinkles. He might look frail, but Nakajima knew better; Musashi Kluge, Chief of the Intelligence Department of the Ministry of the Interior, was one of the most dangerous men in all of Japan. The word going around the Department was that he only came out when something was going to die.

“That is the thunder of civilization,” Kluge said softly. “We are not barbarians after all.”

Ironically put , Nakajima thought. Barbarians fight you face-to-face, civilization is the one that stabs you in the back. “But don’t they know that what they say here doesn’t matter? Everyone makes deals under the table.”

Kluge nodded thoughtfully. “That is beside the point. Protocol must still be observed. But you do not see this. Because you do not see beneath the surface.” Kluge leaned forward, keeping his eyes on the speaker. “It makes no difference. I did not fly you all the way to Kyoto just to debate politics.”

Nakajima knew what he meant; he wasn’t too keen on politics anyway. Politicians and bureaucrats owned the lowest circle of hell as far as he was concerned, probably right next to spies. “I’m sorry to say there hasn’t been much progress. Maybe a different agent—”

“Not an option, unfortunately. You were chosen for your background. Everyone else would stand out far too much to be effective.”

“Ikari is still suspicious.”

“I expect nothing less, but your position is purely civilian and entirely legitimate. We could have always forced another spy into their midst, they know that as well as us, and the fact that we did not and instead appointed an open representative, can only lead to second-guessing on Ikari’s part.”

“Ikari doesn’t seem like the second-guessing type,” Nakajima said. It was true enough. He couldn’t have summed up his impression of Ikari any better if he’d had a psychology degree, and he knew Kluge wouldn’t mind him praising what was basically an enemy; it’d make the kill all the more satisfying for him.

“Regardless. The best way to hide our intentions is to do so in plain sight. NERV can revoke your position. Doing so, however, will result in severing ties with the civilian administration and, more importantly, its money. And that is the one thing they can’t do without. As long as our position remains firm, I see no reason to change it.”

Nakajima nodded. “But for how long? Ikari will not oblige us simply by doing what we want.”

The Russian speaker was now gesticulating wildly with his hands. At least he wasn’t banging his shoe on the podium like Nakajima had read in history books. Most of the chamber looked about to explode with rage, including the European contingent.

“As long as NERV's Special Protection Order remains in place,” Kluge said. “And it will. We have our so-called friends down on the floor to thank for that. We know why, of course. Russia wants weapons—the Evangelion. China wants respect, and weapons. America—we are not entirely sure: cheap electronics, cheaper cars, who knows. Fortress America needs us more than we need her; if worst comes to worst we can compromise, meaning we’d be dealing with two vetoes instead of three. The point is, until such time as this situation is resolved we need to consolidate what we know and inquire about what we don’t. Which is why we need to know what Ikari wants with that software he borrowed.”

“What does the ISSDF say?” Nakajima asked.

The Information branch of the Strategic Self-Defense Force was made up of Japan's leading computer experts, and of those agencies that, like the Ministry of the Interior, were all but shrouded in secrecy. If they could not answer a question, the odds were such an inquiry could not be answered by anyone.

“Nothing. It wasn't their project to begin with. And anything related to the Evangelion is so proprietary that it requires years of expertise and far more knowledge than we possess just to make sense of it. The archives section that disk was originally filed under makes it particularly difficult.”

Nakajima didn't understand and said as much. Musashi Kluge seemed surprisingly patient for someone who was not normally required to take questions from anyone.

“The ISSDF,” he explained, “categorized its archive by the order of importance of the projects archived within. These include everything you can imagine—counterterrorism, government intelligence, military projects, even that Jet Alone incident. Everything.” 

Nakajima had only heard about the Jet Alone incident in half-whispered rumors. Supposedly it was an attempt to oust NERV by rendering its biggest asset, the Eva, worthless. It ended in disaster, and lots of people were hurt. If that was the sort of thing the ISSDF kept in its archives ... 

“It's a practical way of doing things,” Kluge continued, “but it leaves up to interpretation what exactly is important and what is not. NERV has never been a threat, not to us, not ever. And in 15 years, and almost half a century before that, a lot of information has been gathered. But because NERV has always been self-sustained and we lacked the knowledge, there was quite a lot that was simply allowed to pass into the archive unanalyzed. And other things have been analyzed and deemed completely unworkable. We don't know what most of them are even supposed to do, only that they are no threat. That disk was one of those things.”

“You don’t think he was testing us?” Nakajima kept his gaze on the floor show below them. “It seems to me that he would make a request from us to test whether or not we’d comply. If we refused he would know that we were up to something. This is no kind of weapon.”

“It's no kind of weapon that we know of. I don't think a man like Gendo Ikari wastes his time trying to call other people's bluff. Whatever the information stored in this disk does, he intends to use it. And I have grown weary of trying to guess what he's up to next.”

Downstairs things seemed to be settling down. The furious din that had filled the chamber diminished and eventually vanished altogether. There was a look of relief on several of the delegates as they once again returned to their seats. Nakajima took this break in hostilities as a sign that the parties involved, like good politicians everywhere, had resolved to not resolve anything. He turned his head to Kluge.

“So you think it could be dangerous, sir?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, I need to know.” Kluge leaned forward, pinning him with a cold, unflinching glare. “I need you to do your job.”

Nakajima wasn’t sure why but he felt a shiver run down his spine. The eyes he was staring into were like those of a predator, sharp, cunning. And utterly dangerous.

“What about Katsuragi? Have you met her?” Kluge asked.

“The situation has not presented itself. I’m concerned that actively seeking her out might arouse her suspicion. In that case she is unlikely to cooperate. I’d like to avoid things coming to force.”

“She was close to Ryoji,” Kluge mused. “Perhaps closer than anyone else. Closer than us for sure. He worked for us, but he was her lover. We need whatever information he might have left her before his untimely death.”

“Assuming he left anything.”

“The lack of a final report is troubling. On the one hand, it would indicate the lack of any significant information, which we know simply can’t be the case. On the other hand, in the case that such information had been found but not passed along to us, I would neglect my duty if I did not try to search for it. But I don’t think he was killed for it.”

Nakajima agreed on the first part—that Kaji either found nothing or found something but was assassinated before he could pass it along. He did not agree, however, on the second part.

“Why not?” he asked. “It seems like the kind of thing NERV might do.” 

Kluge said nothing at first. His eyes were distant, like this was recalling something. Then his mouth twisted slightly. 

“It doesn’t really matter,” he said. “We know he was shot, and we know he failed to make a final drop-off. It’s an issue of timing and opportunity. But I do not believe the manner of his death had anything to do with his data going missing. An experienced operative like Ryoji would have known danger was closing in, and he’d have made sure his legacy lived on. He must have left a trail. A secret trail. Something that can be followed by those with enough information, but not discovered by his enemies. He certainly didn’t tell anyone outright. That would be stupid. People talk.” 

“If he did find something important or incriminating somehow, don't you think that might have led to his death?”

Kluge shook his head. “NERV had no reason to kill him since he was loyal to them, and we know that Ikari knew that. And who would kill him if he didn’t have the information on him or hadn’t delivered it? He was under surveillance around-the-clock so there are no other possibilities.” 

Well , Nakajima thought, there’s one other possibility—one I hate having to consider because of what it might mean for my own life.

“Still,” Kluge added, “I suspect he passed something to Katsuragi.” 

Nakajima frowned. “But didn’t you say—”

“Pieces, perhaps. Not a complete picture. That explains her silence over the last three months.” 

“It’s possible, I suppose. They were lovers, that’s true, but she works for NERV,” Nakajima said. “Why would Ryoji steal information from them only to attempt to return it right back to their Operations Chief? Is it possible she also works for someone else?”

The older man shrugged. He gave no other hint of emotion. “The information is all that’s important now, not the person who holds it, or what their motives might or might not be. We are, at this stage, beyond concerning ourselves with such speculation.” 

“You don’t want to know if Ryoji betrayed us?” Nakajima asked.

“I told you, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he died without serving his purpose. He left a mess. It’s up to us to clean it up. After that, the simple truth is that I don’t care. Ryoji made his choice, a choice that might have gone against us. We’ll find out soon enough. But he’s dead, and the dead have no loyalties.”

No, but those they leave behind certainly do. 

He kept that opinion to himself. Musashi Kluge didn’t need more reasons to doubt him. As it was, he knew the man barely trusted him, if he actually did at all, and that could be very dangerous. Maybe even deadly. 

The back of the limousine was very quiet aside from the muffled sound made by the engine as it revved and changed gears, driving the heavy vehicle through the narrow streets of the government district. The movement was barely perceptible, only tiny variations in momentum as brakes or accelerator were applied. 

Rei Ayanami watched it all go by, the people, the buildings, like a fish watching the world from its bowl. And she imagined the fish would feel much the same way she did right now. Next to her on the driver side, Commander Gendo Ikari had been gazing out of the window with his usual stern expression ever since they left the conference, seemingly distant but not altogether lost in thought; Sub-Commander Fuyutsuki sat facing the rear, holding a small book in his wrinkled hands.

Neither man said anything.

Finally, as they reached a stop at a crosswalk, a call came through the intercom from the obscured front seat. Sub-Commander Fuyutsuki reached out his hand with almost casual disinterest and pressed a button. 

“Yes?” His voice was carefully measured, as always.

“They're done, sir,” came the answer from the front.

“And?”

“No vote. They folded when the Russians threatened to veto.”

“Thank you for keeping us informed,” Fuyutsuki said, and released the intercom button. Then he closed his book and gave Commander Ikari his attention. “It seems you were right.”

“I know their type,” Commander Ikari said. He had his elbow propped up on the padded window frame, his hand turned back so his knuckles brushed his chin in the classic “thinking” position. He did not seem relaxed, but neither did he appear stressed. He gave the aura of being as completely in control of his own emotions as he was of the situation.

They had only been at the Security Council for a few minutes. Presumably only long enough to be seen because it lent the meeting an air of credibility, since it was NERV's fate being discussed. Agreements had been made regarding certain assurances, and loyalties had been reaffirmed.

The Commander, it seemed, had come just for that. When these private meetings were done, they had left. Neither of the two men seemed concerned that their appearance had been so brief that it might have been completely needless.

“The Russian Ambassador, I think, was egregiously formal, all things considered. But I think at least he was being honest,” Fuyutsuki said. “As long as we have a guarantee of dissent there shouldn't be anything to worry about. I'm not sure about the Chinese. They are not the kind of people I feel comfortable dealing with.”

“They are like businessmen everywhere,” the Commander said, unconcerned. “They want what they want and will compromise anything, including whatever principles they might have. Their greed for power is to our advantage.”

“Greedy men do not deal too well with timelines,” Fuyutsuki retorted.

“But they know better than to displease us. What we offer—what they stand to gain from us is not something they would ever be able to do by themselves. And because they know they need us they will not stray.”

“Or so you think.”

“They have made good on their promise so far, haven't they?”

The Sub-Commander snickered, the wrinkles on his features deepening. It was a strangely reassuring gesture. “For the time being. Politics can be fickle, just look at the Americans. Every four years it's something else, some new issue that was completely irrelevant to the previous administration. At least the Chinese are consistently underhanded.”

“A compliment?” Commander Ikari said, faking a kind of surprise. “From you?”

“Of sorts, I admit.”

“To be honest, I have always been rather impressed with America's solution to government. Life is ever-changing. We know as much from our studies of nature. But while engineers have constantly attempted to replicate nature's designs for the last century, politicians do not tend to pay attention. Change represents success in nature. Animals within an ecosystem face many challenges, but ultimately it all comes down to their ability to change. Americans have replicated this in a political system. Change—everything changes. Because it either changes, or it dies.”

Ikari turned his head towards her. “Wouldn't you agree, Rei?”

Rei almost missed the question altogether. She had gotten so used to being ignored that she seldom bothered actively listening into conversations. Words that were not intended for her simply passed her by. It was better that way. She had been there in the meeting, in every one of them in fact, and throughout the day nobody had addressed her even as a matter of courtesy. She hadn't spoken a word in hours, as none were required of her, and now that she was being called to answer she wasn't sure that she wished to speak.

Of course, what she might wish had no importance here. Commander Ikari, at least, had not forgotten about her presence, and he had asked her a question. And a question asked by him must have an answer.

“I cannot say,” Rei offered. She shifted her eyes from the window to the Commander, her voice soft and emotionless.

The Commander gave her a stony look, neither pleased nor displeased. “Why is that?”

“Because it does not concern me.”

Ikari took that without a reaction. Rei could feel his eyes now focus on her. She knew some people would find the Commander intimidating, but she did not feel compelled to look away. She sat with her hands together on her lap, a neutral posture, her gaze fixed as well, meeting his.

“Ah,” Fuyutsuki suddenly said. “But don't you think you should expand your horizons? Learn as much as you can? Surely, that is your concern.”

Rei thought about it, tried to recall the substance of their previous conversation, then shook her head gently. 

“I am sorry,” she said. “I did not mean it in that sense. I meant that it does not concern me because it is simply beyond the scope of my existence. Whether political change reflects natural change, and whether those things create a lasting ideology are subjects that are irrelevant to what I am and why I do the things I must do. I am not a politician. I am ... an Evangelion pilot. I fight, and I obey. Considering these other things would be meaningless to me.”

“An honest girl.” Commander Ikari's lips curled into the smallest of smiles. He turned his head to Fuyutsuki. “I think she has a point. We are not politicians either, so it's meaningless for us as well.”

“If you say so,” the Sub-Commander said. “But old men are allowed to indulge.”

“You are not that old, professor,” Ikari said, “even if you feel that way. When compared to others, your mind has hardly aged.”

“My body, however ...” 

“A suit of flesh,” Commander Ikari interrupted. “Nothing but an appearance. Fleeting. Weak. Doomed. I believe you know this well.”

“Yet we all have such appearances we must maintain,” the Sub-Commander replied. “Some more than others.”

Rei agreed in her own mind. Indeed, her entire existence was only appearance. Her body, the school uniform she wore, her plugsuit. And her worth, too. Even her so-called humanity. As much as she disliked it, that was a reality she had to face every single day.

The men continued talking, though no longer addressing her or acknowledging her presence. She might just as well have vanished. With her part in the conversation evidently over, Rei went back to being silent. But she listened more intently now in case she was called on to speak again. 

No one could have known they were humans, their true identities locked behind their numbered monoliths in the darkened room where they met. Here they towered like gods above a world that had feared them and their ancestors for centuries. They had survived up to now, outlived purges and holocausts and war, and would survive still until the time of Instrumentality. 

They were Gog and Magog, the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End.

"Time wastes away. How much can one man hate his own path, maybe enough to forget his involvement and his responsibility?” SEELE 01 spoke. His voice was deep, mechanical.

"He must pay, and those who follow him as well," SEELE 10 said. "Such filth should not enter the Garden, nor eat of the Fruit.”

"The end is at hand. There is nothing more. Third Impact, humanity’s final purification," SEELE 03 interjected.

“We have defeated the Angels and thus earned our path to the Tree of Life. It's our divine right. Third Impact. Instrumentality, a work in progress, an end to life."

"Only the life of Man, the death of the body, our mortal shell," SEELE 05 offered. “Man has become a race of worthless creatures, restrained by their own individuality, their own A.T. Fields. Instrumentality must be launched so that Man can be free.”

"So that we can all be free," announced SEELE 01. “But first we need a Judas.”

“He has already been contacted,” SEELE 03 said. “He will be briefed upon our request. Man’s final betrayer.”

“Can he be trusted?” SEELE 04 said.

“When has trust ever been required?” SEELE 01 said. “So long as we have control, no more is needed. Men do as they are told.”

“We made this mistake before with Ikari,” SEELE 04 said. 

“This one is not Ikari,” SEELE 05 answered. 

“We shall proceed as planned,” SEELE 01 stated. “The petty bickering of mere politicians will not interfere in shaping the future. Ikari has made his move, and so we will make ours. It was his mistake to defy us.”

“The die is cast, then,” SEELE 04 said. 

“It has been for fifteen years,” SEELE 01 responded. 

There was general agreement from the assembly with this last point—they all knew the road they had started in Antarctica, and where that road must now lead them. Some provided only muted noises of assent while others gave words to their commitment and acceptance that what was done had to be seen through. 

Then, one by one, the illuminated monoliths faded silently out of existence and the room fell back into total blackness. 

“Hurry up, stupid!” Asuka’s shrill voice broke the quiet morning air as it had on countless previous occasions. “I don’t wanna be late on my first day! Come on! Come on! You’re so slow!”

“I’m coming!” Shinji called urgently back. Misato had been right about Asuka, he decided, hurriedly fixing their bento boxes for the day with whatever was handy. He’d overslept and fallen behind on his routine, but it wouldn’t do for them to go hungry. Well, he could go hungry. Asuka on the other hand ... 

“Come ON!”

Shinji finished up, wrapped their bentos with a string, and went to join Asuka. She was already waiting by the door, tapping her foot impatiently, and looking radiant in her freshly pressed school uniform. The two pointy neural connectors holding up sheets of her shimmering, scented hair stuck out from either side of her head like cutesy devil’s horns. He’d always thought they fit her very well.

Yeah, Misato had definitely been right.

The gloomy redheaded girl that had come out of the hospital just over a week ago had practically disappeared, fading into the background and replaced by the loud, haughty Asuka he’d come to know and, in a way, accept. 

Shinji was not naive enough to believe she was completely back to normal, and he doubted if such a thing was even really possible, but at least being around her wasn’t depressing anymore. And it didn’t make him feel sorry or guilty either. It was at least tolerable.

He could live with that—as much as he could live with someone who considered him her own private footstool.

With things becoming more normal, Asuka quickly reestablished her dominant position in the household, mostly unopposed except for Misato's rare admonitions not to pick on Shinji. She ignored them and picked on him even worse. But once or twice he had seen her smile and the feeling it sparked in him all but made up for it; Asuka was prettiest when she smiled. He didn't have the guts to tell her that, obviously.

The shopping trip with Hikari had been the highlight of the week. They had dragged Shinji along, but only, as Asuka declared, because they needed someone to carry all the bags for them. Hikari hardly bought anything, her budget apparently quite small. Asuka, on the other hand, had seemed to want to make up for all the time she spent in the hospital. She maxed out her own NERV-issued credit card and then took Shinji's.

And just when he thought they were done, they made him wait, his arms loaded to capacity, for almost an hour while they went into a beauty salon. By the time they returned he was slumped on a bench, exhausted. But Asuka, pampered and perfectly groomed, seemed happier than he had seen her in a long, long time.

He thought he would never see that sight again. He thought she was gone, he really did. And to see her— 

“You made something good, right?” Asuka chirped huffily, snapping Shinji suddenly back to the present. He handed her a bento, which she shoved into her book bag while he stooped down to put on his shoes.

Just as he did, Misato leaned around the corner into view. “Have a nice day, kids.”

“Whatever.” Asuka rolled her eyes, slid open the door and headed off.

Shinji straightened up, draped his own book bag over his shoulder, and was prepared to follow suit without so much as a curt reply when Misato stopped him.

“Look, Shinji,” she said, stepping fully into the tiled landing, “you can be mad at me all you want, but I don’t feel like being mad at you, so I’m gonna keep trying to talk to you, even if you don’t want me to. One of us has to be the adult here, and apparently it’ll have to be me.”

“Why do you keep bothering me?” Shinji replied angrily. “Asuka can get away with being upset, but I can’t?”

“Asuka is Asuka. I’d expect you to be much more social.”

“Well, I don’t feel like being very social to you.” Shinji hitched up his bag higher and stormed through the open door, painfully aware that he was leaving a disappointed-looking Misato behind.

Asuka was standing in front of the elevator, checking her watch. “That was quick,” she said sharply. “What did she want?”

“Uh?” Shinji came to stand behind her, intently examining floor tiles. Slowly, his anger at Misato began to fade.

“Don’t play stupid with me, Third Child.” Asuka turned to him, her hands firmly planted on her hips. “What’s up with Misato?”

“I’m just ...” Shinji didn’t want to talk about this, but keeping Asuka out of the loop was probably a bad idea. “I’m mad at her because she promised I wouldn’t have to pilot Eva and, well, she broke that promise.”

Asuka frowned, indicating she expected there to be more. “And?”

“That’s all.”

“Are you serious? People always make promises they can’t keep. It’s better than lying. You didn’t really think she’d keep it, right? I mean, not even you are THAT stupid. She told you what she thought you needed to hear, what you wanted to hear. You can’t hold people to their promises. That’s just immature.”

“Yeah, I know,” Shinji said, though he hadn’t really at the time. He trusted Misato. “It just feels—” he hesitated.

“Like you were betrayed?” Asuka finished for him.

Shinji could all but sense her annoyance. He nodded anyway. 

“Oh, grow up,” she told him. “Adults are all liars. It’s not worth getting upset over.” 

The elevator opened with a ping and Asuka stepped inside, a slight stroll in her step. Shinji stayed behind, wondering if he should bring up something he had wanted to say since she came home from the hospital. So far he had failed to manage the courage, but finally seeing her out and about, acting normal, gave him a sense that if he couldn't say it now he would never be able to. She shot him an inquisitive look that basically made the decision for him.

“Um, Asuka,” he started. “I’ve been wanting to tell you ... that Misato was right in the hospital.” He tried a kind smile that he knew made him look silly. “About you not belonging there and about coming home. I’m glad you are—”

Asuka’s reaction was not the one he expected. Nor sooner had the words left his lips than her expression soured, instantly wiping the smile from Shinji’s face. Her blue eyes narrowed angrily.

“I don’t care what Misato said. Let's get one thing straight, Third Child. The last thing I want—the absolute last thing I want—is pity from the likes of you. Nothing she said, and nothing you said got me here. I’m here for myself.”

“Ah, s-sorry,” Shinji said softly, regretting that he’d opened his mouth, as he should have known he would. “I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

Asuka stepped towards him; her body language aggressive.

“Do you want to know what your problem is?” Her sharp voice rose shrilly. “You take what you have for granted, and you think it gives you the right to talk down to me. But you’ve never had to work for what you have, you just get in your Eva and it goes and you are the hero. You get mad at Misato because she wants you to do what you were born to do. Well, Third Child, some of us can’t choose what we want to do. Some of us lowly mortals do what we can, all that we can, because we have nothing else, while you decide you are too good for the rest of us. But what do we get?”

She pressed a hand firmly against her chest. Her glare burned with hot anger as she pitched forward, getting in his face.

“WHAT DID I GET? I got my head fucked with! And you sat there and watched and did nothing. What, you thought I had it coming, didn’t you? You could have helped, couldn’t you?” Asuka was shouting now. “So don’t tell me you are glad about anything that involves me. You don't give a damn. You just want to make yourself feel better. And that makes it worse!”

Even if he had known what to say, Shinji could not have managed a reply, frozen by the sudden viciousness of the outburst, painfully aware that he had started it.

He’d underestimated just how deeply Asuka’s words could cut him—how much it could hurt to expose himself through what should have been an act of sympathy. He realized then that he’d been wrong about Asuka all along, even about the things he thought he’d figured out; he was so far away from understanding anything about her that they might as well have never met.

And he had no idea how to make it right.

Her venom spent, and seemingly realizing that Shinji was not going to provoke her any further—that he had resolved to simply not say anything at all—Asuka turned around and entered the waiting elevator again.

Shinji did not follow her. He was still frozen in place, too confused and hurt to think about moving. Going with her felt like a death sentence. 

“Well?” Asuka's hand hovered over the elevator controls. “Are you gonna stand there all day like an idiot or are you getting in?”

All Shinji had to do was take a step and he’d be in the elevator with her, riding together with someone who surely hated him. One step was all he needed to muster and yet he could not because it would mean he'd be alone with Asuka, and then what? Uncomfortable silence? More screaming?

He would only be causing himself more pain. “I ... I ...” he stuttered, swallowing awkwardly. “I think I forgot something. I should go back.”

Asuka's glare lingered on him briefly, as if she were trying to determine whether he was lying and trying to avoid her. For that moment, the very obvious answer seemed to matter a great deal to her. A look of seriousness—something apart from her anger—crossed her face. Then she turned up her nose and stabbed a finger angrily at the elevator buttons.

“Suit yourself, Third. I’m done dealing with this.”

The doors started closing in front of him. Shinji once again thought about stepping in with her. But, as she slowly disappeared from view, he could not even offer her a final pleading look. He wanted to take that step and go with her, knowing fully that she probably didn’t wish him to. He wanted so many things when it came to Asuka.

She’ll just yell at me for trying , Shinji thought sadly. No matter how much he longed to bridge the gap between them, he would have to accept, painful as it might be, that Asuka was not willing to do the same. That he had to let her go. And so he did. 

The elevator doors closed. 

Asuka was gone.

To be continued ...

Chapter Text

"I've lived to bury my desires,

And see my dreams corrode with rust;

Now all that's left are fruitless fires

That burn my empty heart to dust."

—Alexander Pushkin

Genocide 0:02 / Try Again.

Even though the food was tastier and more filling than anything Asuka had eaten in many months, it still did very little to lift her spirits. She had expected that; indeed, she had expected that nothing could cheer her up or make her smile. It was normal after what happened. But the moment Misato presented her the neural connectors in a box as if they were some great gift, the surge of emotions suddenly became almost more than she could take.

Now, alone in her room where no one could see, Asuka let her weariness claim her. She leaned back heavily against her bedroom door and slid down to the floor, all the while glaring at the two devices in her hands.

It felt strange having them again. Not really a painful feeling, but definitely an odd one—like her heart had not yet decided if she should be sad or happy. And she felt much the same about everything else she'd experienced over the last few hours. She still didn't really understand. Once she could not pilot her Eva, she had expected they would ship her back to Germany in disgrace or simply dispose of her. Without Unit-02 she was worthless. Without the thing that made her special, she might as well be dead.

So why had they bothered keeping her around? Why bring her back? Why not just ... Stop it, Asuka. You know very well what happens to useless things.

When she had first come out of sedation in the hospital, she had just lain there on the bed and stared blankly at the ceiling, her abused mind not interested at all in what happened to her. She was broken. Live or die, it was all the same to her. The nurses did what they could to cheer her up as they did their rounds and cared for her; changing her and washing her and sometimes even joking with her and speaking to her in baby talk.

Ironically, it was this humiliating treatment that sparked some signs of life in her. She began to fight, punching and kicking and screaming.

The nurses seemed to have wanted her to be thankful—she wasn't. After a time she wouldn't let them get near her anymore, even had to be restrained on occasions when her violent struggles made her a danger to herself and those around her. But the anger was what she had. Anger and tears.

The cameras in her room meant she was never without supervision, but at night, when she was alone and unable to sleep, the tears would come and all she could do was bury her head in her pillow and cry.

Then one day, in the middle of another fit as they were strapping her to the bed, a nurse let it slip how she couldn't believe that such a nice brown-haired boy had come to visit someone like her. And Asuka became aware of her heart beating once again; aware that she had feelings, and that she did not want to feel this way anymore.

Things changed after that. She became more willing, wanting now to get better so she could receive visitors. Surely, Shinji wanted the same thing. He had come to see her, hadn't he?

But even that small hope turned into seething anger and bitterness as the days went by and she remained alone. Nobody ever came. She thought it would be better if she never felt anything again and tried to resign herself. At that, like at everything else, she failed, and began to sink back into an uncaring depression. Until finally ...

Seeing Shinji in the hospital earlier with Misato had made something inside of her stir. A wonderful and yet strangely disgusting feeling she wished she could be rid of. Why? In three months, he never bothered and then he was there? And why did it bother her so much that he hadn't come so before?

The answer was at once painful and obvious. As the Angel broke into her mind, it resurfaced more than memories. The agony she'd endured watching her mother in the hospital, cradling that stupid doll as if it were her own child while she stood by, ignored, had come hurtling back. And her heart shattered.

Everything else—every toxic emotion she struggled to keep hidden—poured out of her until she was reduced to a hysterical, mutilated wreck, wounded beyond time's ability to heal.

Shinji would never want someone like that. He was only there because Misato made him.

Asuka's face hardened as anger flickered inside of her. Anger at the Angel for what it did to her, at Misato for ordering her to fight, at Shinji for abandoning her, and mostly at herself for her own failures. But she clung on to that anger for strength. Now more than ever, she needed it. Being angry could provide determination and add fuel into the waning fire of her existence, certainly more than crying her eyes out before sleep like a helpless child.

They brought her back to pilot Eva—despite the grief and weakness. NERV could have left her in the hospital, but they brought her back instead. Whatever had happened in the past, there was someone who thought she still had value. The Commander, or Ritsuko, or Misato. And if they believed it, why shouldn't she?

Asuka lifted her head. The room had grown dark around her except for the faint light filtering in through the open curtain. Even so, it was nowhere near as dark as the place she came from. Her resolve hardened.

Piloting Eva was what mattered now. They were working on something that might return Unit-02 to her, assuming Misato had told the truth. There was the only reason she needed to tolerate the pain and go on living—the reason she was here. She had to do it. It wasn't a choice, no more than being alive was a choice. It was her purpose.

Asuka Langley Soryu would once again be the designated pilot of Evangelion Unit-02 or die trying. She'd show them. She'd make them regret underestimating her. All of them. Especially Shinji.

They're wrong if they think I'll spend the rest of my life being a failure.

Holding that thought in her mind, Asuka pushed away from the door and rose to her feet. She walked to the bed, stepping over the discarded bits of clothing, old fashion magazines and other personal effects that littered the floor, uncollected for the last three months. The mess stood in stark contrast to the neatly made bed, fresh sheets and pillowcases. She dropped backwards onto the mattress, sitting with her legs folded under her.

Then she looked down, pressing her lips together as she gathered her growing resolve for what she knew would be the final act of acceptance, and the initial step in getting her pride back. She took a deep breath and combed her fingers along the thick curtain of loose, unkempt hair which hung over her shoulder. The long strands were still moist from her shower and heavily tangled. Her usual volume was gone, the reddish-copper shine noticeably dimmed. But none of that mattered for the moment.

Asuka lifted her hair up against the side of her head and pinned it in place using one of the neural connectors in her hands, like she'd done a million times before—so many times, in fact, and for so long, she could do it with her eyes closed even now. For the first time in an eternity, she let herself smile. This, at least, was right with the world.

After fixing up the other side in the same way, Asuka threw herself face down on the bed and pulled the pillow under her head. It was soft and comfortably warm, and the sheets were fresh with a faintly sweet scent of detergent that was a welcome change to the sterile reek of hospital sheets.

The idiot's doing, probably, Asuka concluded. But it's really nice. She closed her eyes and embraced the feel and smell of being home.

Outside of classroom hours, whether during recess or late in the afternoons, Rei Ayanami always sat alone. Sometimes she had a book in her hands, and many more times she simply stared out into space, her red eyes fixed on distant objects. But always alone.

Nobody ever approached her to talk to her. Nobody ever talked about her either, the way they often did about Asuka and the other girls. It was like she didn't really exist to the other students. This never seemed to bother her in the slightest, but Shinji could not stand it. And so when he got out of clean-up duty and saw Rei sitting by herself on a bench in the school courtyard he could not resist going over to her.

He suspected that it was more than wanting to keep her company. Perhaps he felt so guilty about having shunned her for months that he was now compelled, even forced, to do what he had previously neglected. It was hard to know.

"Yes?" Rei said as he came up behind her around the bench. Today she had a book, but her eyes didn't leave it.

"Ah—well, I just—" Caught off guard, Shinji stumbled over his words like a drunk Eva unit, suddenly wondering how someone so quiet could also be so observant. She almost seemed to feel him, which he found a little weird.

Rei flipped a page, continued her reading. "You should say something. Otherwise you are merely being intrusive."

"I'm just ... worried about you," Shinji managed, with some uncertainty. Then he remembered this was Rei Ayanami and not a certain explosive redhead. "I hope you are doing well."

"I am. Thank you. Why are you worried?" Rei still did not look up from her reading, her voice remained soft and even. Any other girl would have sounded uninterested, uncaring, but not her. She simply sounded like she always had. Even when she hadn't been herself.

"Um, well, people aren't meant to be alone. Do I need a reason just to come see you?"

To Shinji, there was something about the words that sounded hollow as he uttered them. What right did he have to say a thing like that to her? He who had spent so much of his life alone that it almost sounded like a lie. And he had left Asuka alone, too. And Rei herself. Being alone was sometimes all anyone could do.

I'm such a hypocrite, he thought bitterly. When she needed me, I just cut her out of my life. Because I was too scared. Now I'm worried that no one talks to her?

"Some people choose to be alone," Rei said. "For them, it is the only way to truly find themselves. I am not afraid of loneliness. It is easier to think when no one is around."

"Oh, okay, so ... what do you think about?"

It wasn't intended as a deep question—he hadn't thought of it like that—just an attempt to get her talking and opening up, but he belatedly realized that it was indeed one of the more esoteric things he had ever asked her. What did a girl who came back from the grave really think about?

Rei looked thoughtful. "I have been trying to understand. I suppose I should ask since you are here. Why did you refuse to pilot Unit-01?"

Shinji felt an empty sensation in his chest. He wasn't surprised she knew, there was no reason why his refusal to pilot Unit-01 should remain secret, but the same question had caused him a great deal of grief already, and after being scolded by Asuka on the subject, he was unwilling to bring it up again with anyone; her accusation that he was being childish still stung—with that, and the memory of the awful things he'd said to Misato fresh in his mind, he could not bring himself to answer.

"I will tell you—" Rei started, before he cut her off.

"Please don't. Asuka's already mad at me for this. And Misato. I don't want you to be mad at me too."

There was a moment of silence between them; a moment in which he selfishly wished she were still the girl he had been so affectionate towards. The girl who died. His Rei Ayanami, and not this other person who only resembled her.

"I will tell you why I will pilot," Rei finished, ignoring his interruption. She closed her book and glanced up at him for the first time since they began talking. "It is because life without purpose is worse than death."

"P-Pilot?" Shinji repeated, incredulous. A cold hand grabbed something in his chest. "What do you mean? Unit-00 is—was destroyed."

"Unit-00 is being rebuilt," Rei said calmly. "I am an Eva pilot. It is what I am meant to do."

Shinji fought back the memories, and the sudden panic. But it was so very hard. No. No. No. No. Not her. Not again.

"Ayanami, this isn't right. You ..." He felt suddenly stupid. His words sounded stupid as well, hoplessly inadequate for him to convey how wrong it was both that she was being forced—and there was no doubt in his mind they were forcing her—and that she didn't seem to care. "You can't."

"I can. I am fit enough."

"It's not about being fit!" Shinji heard his own voice rise. "Ayanami, they can't make you do this! Not after what it did to you. You ... you ... it killed you! And now you are just gonna go back? You can't!"

"It did not kill me, or I would not be here." Rei's calm demeanor was such stark contrast to what Shinji felt that he almost resented her for it. "And it did not kill her. She made a choice, as I make a choice. When Unit-00 is ready, I will be its pilot."

"That's not a choice!" His voice trembled as he yelled, unable to fight the downpour of emotions. "How can you say that? Dying is not a choice!"

Rei had died in her Eva—had died to protect him. She couldn't go back. And if she did, what did that say about his own refusal? She had suffered horribly because of her Eva, and she had as much reason, perhaps more, to refuse piloting it as he did. But she wasn't. He, on the other hand ... because he was a coward.

"Dying is not, but her death was," Rei told him.

He couldn't convince her like this, he realized, so he begged.

"Please, you can't do this to yourself." Then Shinji ventured a guess, the obvious one. "It's Father, isn't it? Ayanami, if you care about me at all, you won't do this, no matter what he says. Just don't. Please."

"And if you care," Rei said softly, "you will understand. This is what I must do."

But Shinji was not willing to let it go. He owed it to Rei Ayanami to protect her, like she had done for him. He reached down, taking her shoulders in his hands and turned her to face him, half lifting her out of the bench. Her expression was of surprise; her eyes slightly wider than usual, lips pressed together.

"Please, listen to me, Ayanami," he said, aware that he was on the verge of tears. "The last time you were in the Eva, you got caught by an Angel. I couldn't help you. And you were in pain, I could hear you screaming, but instead of letting it attack me, you ... you said goodbye to me and you ... I had to watch you die!"

The corners of her eyes sank, as close as she ever got to pity. "Is that why you will not pilot? Because you are afraid?"

Shinji nodded slowly. "Yes. I'm afraid. I'm afraid to lose anything more."

He found it difficult to keep his gaze even with hers. Admitting how he felt never came easily. Every time he did, or was forced into it, things went badly, particularly with people like Asuka on the receiving end. He'd much rather stay silent. But this was Ayanami, and he was worried and afraid; if he said nothing she would go back and get hurt again.

Rei's features relaxed once again and regained their usual neutrality. She seemed to understand. "If you will not move because you are afraid, even when those around you need you to, even when they depend on you, then you have already lost everything."

Shinji let go of her and took a step back, shaking his head. "Ayanami, you don't know what it's like."

"You should stop calling me that. Ayanami is what you called her," Rei added, noticing the look on his face. "I am Rei. I am different." She raised her hands over her heart. "Even if I am also the same, like you said. And I am not afraid. I will still pilot and I will fight, because I have something I do not want to lose either."

Shinji rubbed a forearm across his eyes. "Y-yeah? What's that?"

"You."

He stared at her, stifling a sob.

Somehow that single word carried more with it than anything he could say, and the shock of it was enough to take his breath away. Rei—the name sounded so perfect in his head—was not who he had feelings for, but that didn't mean he shouldn't care. Being different didn't erase what she had done on his behalf. And he couldn't let her put herself in danger while he refused to stop thinking about himself.

He had hurt Asuka because he had done nothing to help her; he had hurt Misato because he didn't have the courage. When she received Kaji's last message and broke down into tears, he withdrew, and allowed himself to think it was okay because he was just too much of a coward to do what was right. He couldn't see past his own hurt and so let others be hurt. He was always too afraid.

But now the realization struck him like a slap to the face. By being afraid he had done the very thing he wished desperately to avoid. He could not pretend that his hurt was the only one that mattered. It seemed so obvious now that even Asuka would be justified in calling him stupid.

He had spent all his life craving the praise of others, but never thought beyond his own needs. Never saw the truth.

Other people did need him—the Rei Ayanami who had sacrificed her life for him, and Asuka and Misato, and this Rei now. He had to decide for her sake, and do the right thing because it was right even if he didn't like it. That was what adults did. Just as Misato said. And how had he repaid her for her honestly?

I said all those horrible things to her. I called her a monster. I said she was like Father. I ... how could I be so stupid? Father never held me, never let me cry on his shoulder. But Misato did. Misato cared. The way she looked at me ... I really hurt her, didn't I?

Suddenly, Shinji Ikari realized, with a pang in his chest, that he owed his dark-haired guardian a very sincere apology. His reaction to her didn't excuse the broken promise, but it was still wrong. As wrong as anything he ever—

"Excuse me!" Asuka's sharp voice broke into his thoughts with all the subtlety of a hammer. "I hate to interrupt your little secret meeting, but the idiot should be coming home with me now."

Shinji turned his head to find the redhead standing at the edge of the courtyard, staring them down with a glare. "Asuka?"

"Home," Asuka repeated. "Now!"

Nothing good would come from arguing with Asuka, Shinji knew. When he turned back to Rei, however, he felt like he'd settled something with her, and with himself. Asuka's interruption had no effect on that. "Rei, I have to go. Thank you for talking to me. I'll see you again soon."

"Yes. Farewell," Rei said.

Shinji left her there with her book.

"What the hell was that?" Asuka waited until they'd exited the courtyard before asking. She looked very unhappy.

"You know, if you need me to talk with—"

"Need? I don't need anything from you." Asuka looked down at herself with a huff. "Look!" She pointed a finger and Shinji noticed there was a red stain on her white blouse, partially concealed by the jumper's thick straps. "That idiot Nagara spilled something on me. I want you to take care of it when we get home. Since you won't pilot, I guess laundry is what you are good for."

Maybe I have that one coming, Shinji thought. He nodded. "I'll take care of it," he said and hoped Asuka would be pacified by his surrender.

They headed off together, leaving the school grounds through the main door and walking up the sidewalk to join a small crowd headed for the train station. Shinji did his best to keep his eyes straight ahead, although he noticed some of the other boys looking at Asuka as they passed. She ignored them, not even slowing her pace for a quick glare. Shinji kept quiet. Asking her anything would doubtlessly lead to him getting scolded instead.

It was Asuka herself who broke the silence. "So, you and Wonder Girl? All hooked up, huh?" The words were sarcastic, and full of bitterness. "I suppose it fits. She's the only one with less personality than you."

Shinji wished he could explain. "We are not hooked up. She is not—" he caught himself, uncertain if Asuka had ever found out what had happened to Rei Ayanami. "She is not interested."

"Please, I saw the look on her face when you grabbed her." As she spoke, Asuka turned her voice into a raspy imitation of Rei's much softer tones, hugging herself and mockingly kissing the empty air. "Oh, Ikari, your touch is so manly. Take me. I'll follow orders, just tell me what to do, like the obedient little puppet I am."

"Rei's not a puppet," Shinji said, annoyed.

Asuka rolled her eyes. "You probably like your girls like that, though, right?" she said, her voice sharp once again. "Obedient? Servile? Dancing on strings without a mind of their own?"

Shinji didn't respond to Asuka's provocation. The late afternoon sun had already begun painting the sky with long strokes of gold as they reached the next pedestrian crossing, neither saying a word. Two blocks from the school, the street became more crowded, with quite a few students lingering around the shops, buying snacks or spending their money in the nearby arcade. When they finally climbed the steps onto the train platform ten minutes later, they were joined by several more students and dozens of salarymen.

Dropping his bag on one of the benches, Shinji sat. Asuka stood, if only so she could look down on him, he suspected. The dying daylight had made her hair the color of fire, and dulled the blue in her eyes.

"I can't believe I'm stuck with you," Asuka said suddenly, lowering her head. Her sullen tone seemed to come out of nowhere. "I wish Kaji were here."

That was a subject Shinji hoped he would NEVER have to talk to her about, and would be perfectly happy if it was not brought up ever again. It had been painful enough to hear Misato's distraught weeping as she listened to the message Kaji had left on her answering machine. He knew what had happened, nobody needed to tell him, and if Asuka still refused to believe him that was fine; that it would mean living in denial mattered very little if it made the loss easier on her.

Shinji pressed his lips together, but realized it would seem strange if he didn't say anything. "Yeah, me too," he offered cautiously. Then he watched Asuka for a reaction.

She said nothing, or gave any indication she'd even heard his reply. Instead, she looked away and stared longingly at the train tracks. Shinji didn't understand, but he had the strange impression she was wishing for something she knew could not be.

The Dummy System Primary Test Plug rose upright in the middle of the chamber, a tall glass cylinder raised up on a platform with a tangle of cables leading from the base to several banks of computers arrayed around it in a loose semicircle. Aside from the spot of intense white light falling on the equipment, everything was shrouded in darkness as solid as a black wall.

"The transfer rate is progressing as normal," Doctor Ritsuko Akagi announced from her position behind one of the computer consoles. Commander Ikari stood next to her. He was also examining the screen.

Rei Ayanami waited on the opposite side of the computer bank, in the exact place she'd been ordered to stand a little over twenty minutes before, watching them silently. There was no one else present. Security was always a matter of utmost importance this far down inside Terminal Dogma.

"Binary memory patterns are what I expected. The DNA structures have suffered terrible deterioration on the 23rd chromosomal pair. The ribonucleic-protein string is broken in approximately 1,546,876 places. Far too many errors for the computer to fix."

"I see," Ikari said. He turned his head from Doctor Akagi and looked studiously at the Test Plug, gloved hands in his pockets. It was impossible to read his face. "We will need Rei's DNA after all."

A bitter taste rose up in Rei's mouth. She was not sure what caused it, but it must have something to do with what she knew was coming. Commander Ikari's wishes were not for her to understand, she had never intended that he would explain anything to her. He had created her ... he could do whatever he wanted with her. It was not her place to object. But that did not imply willing desire.

I am meant to comply, Rei thought. I am meant to do as I am told.

Even so she did not look forward to being connected to the Dummy System. Despite the fact that it would be her first time, there was an odd sense of dread in her mind. A faint painful memory of something she'd once done. Or ... something that was done to her.

"I can fix the string without the necessity to replace the damaged chromosomes in their entirety." Ritsuko straightened, slipping her hands into her lab coat pockets. Her voice remained cold, but there was a pointed hostility in her eyes that made Rei wonder if she was the only one here against her will. "However, the neural mapping was always going to require Rei's input," she added, "since we have to recreate the system almost from scratch. Bringing all the sequencers online alone might take weeks."

Commander Ikari nodded, taking in this new information. "There is no sense in postponing the inevitable. In the end, we will need Rei as a matter of simple expediency."

"It will be her first time," Doctor Akagi said. "The process might not be entirely pleasant."

Ikari turned and fixed Ritsuko with a stony glare. "Would you rather waste my time than take what you need from Rei?"

Ritsuko seemed unnerved by his sudden forcefulness. "I am not wasting your time," she said. "I am merely suggesting a different course of action. Also, the computer could eliminate flaws that are common in the human genetic structure. I am not suggesting one or the other. I am merely presenting facts as well as consequences." She paused. "I know how you would hate to see Rei getting hurt."

Would he really? Rei was surprised by the thought. She had her doubts. Perhaps if she were still the same as before she could believe that. The girl she had been certainly held ... feelings for the Commander, yet the nature of those feelings remained elusive. They must have been important to her. She kept his glasses. For her own part, however, all Rei herself had known from Gendo Ikari was blunt indifference. He spoke to her the same way he might speak to Unit-00. The same way he might speak to any other tool.

Nobody cared if a tool got hurt.

"Rei's genetic structure has no flaws, doctor." Ikari replied. "You've seen to that yourself."

Ritsuko fell quiet, though it was obvious she disagreed. Rei had always liked the doctor despite her sometimes brusque manner. She felt that she shared more with her than met the eyes, and found herself wanting to share a little of what she felt, but the right words were never there.

The feelings were just impulses, things without names that rarely seemed to fit with the rest of the world. Like dreams, they were just there, just hovering quietly beneath the surface waiting to be touched and yet always out of reach. There were definitions for some of them. She had done her share of research looking up things in psychology textbooks, but it wasn't the same as having solid confirmation of what she was feeling from someone else.

"Are you reluctant to use Rei?" the Commander asked.

"No, of course not," Ritsuko said point-blank. "I don't think she is needed for this. I can do it."

"You can do it, but it will take months. Time we do not have. We made Rei what she is, we gave her the soul she has. So, why not ensure that the soul will live on, despite the death of the body we created for it?"

Ritsuko Akagi made an ugly face. "Is that all you care for? Lilith's soul?"

"I care about the future," Ikari said. He walked slowly over to Rei and gently placed his hands on her shoulders. They were heavy, much heavier than his son's, and much stronger. He looked into her face and their eyes met. "Rei, do you understand? This is important."

Rei nodded silently.

"Good." The corners of his lips curled up, a smile. He glared back towards Ritsuko. "It's settled. Now, tell me about the Tablet. Will it be a problem?"

"The current configuration should work," Ritsuko said. "There are no known compatibility issues with our system and the safety shell is still operational, and the interface is usable enough. Both Unit-00 and Unit-02 should take it. The pilots themselves are the bigger question." She looked at Rei. "Particularly the Second. Every experience is unique to some degree."

"I trust you are working on it," Ikari said.

"I am. Baseline activation is scheduled in a few days. We'll go from there. If the Second can make it work there will be no need for further modifications. Then we will proceed with Unit-00."

"Unit-02's first activation will be carried out with the standard interface, correct?"

Ritsuko nodded. "Yes, although, if we are really worried about time, we should probably proceed with the shell from the start."

"We should see what she can do," Ikari replied simply.

"Nothing. Her mind is broken."

The way the blonde doctor delivered her judgment made Rei feel ... strange. She wasn't really certain what the feeling might be, but hearing another pilot being spoken of like that reminded her too much of how they treated her as well.

"Be that as it may, I expect you to follow orders. Do not let me regret placing my faith in you again." Ikari gave Ritsuko another cold stare, a warning, perhaps, and one so stern the woman took a step back. Then he turned from them and vanished into the darkness. When he was gone, Rei saw Ritsuko's features suddenly tighten with anger.

"Bastard," the woman whispered.

Rei found her reaction rather puzzling. Where had the anger come from? Had the Commander said something to her that Rei had failed to interpret? People could be very temperamental. "Doctor Akagi—"

The slap silenced her, and made her cheek burn.

"Shut up, Rei." Ritsuko rubbed her hand, then ran it back through her dyed-blonde hair. "That bastard," she repeated. Rei didn't know why she had been hit, but she decided it was best to remain quiet. Physical pain required no explanation. While she stood there, Ritsuko found a chair and placed it in front of one of the computer terminals. "There is much around here that needs doing. We will start immediately. Strip."

Rei did as she was told. She brushed off the shoulder straps of her uniform jumper and began opening the buttons of her blouse. By the time she was naked, her clothes and shoes lying in a pile, Ritsuko had opened the front of the upright cylinder. She stepped inside. Only when the lid had closed did her heartbeat increase, pounding in her chest like a small hammer.

Rei wondered what that meant, and why her mouth had suddenly gone dry, and why she wanted to close her eyes and go somewhere else. Was it ... fear? Then, before she could decide, a familiar image floated into her mind; a face. The Third Child's face. His eyes were blue and full of compassion.

He's the one who always cared, Rei remembered. The one who was always there for her, who helped her smile. But the glasses are not his.

She was late, again.

Panting loudly, Misato ran the final meters towards the main elevator leading to the Central Dogma HQ, cursing her lack of punctuality and the fact that the guys at the security checkpoint took an unreliably long time verifying her credentials even though she had been screened by the same guy every day since she started working here. As the heavy steel doors closed, she managed to slip through.

The door locked shut, and the elevator hummed to life. Misato struggled to catch her breath before realizing that she was not alone in the small space. She recognized the crest on the man's uniform at once, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

"Ministry of the Interior?" Misato rolled her eyes. "Great. Just what we need."

The man could not avoid smiling in amusement, glancing self-consciously down at himself, then turned his black, slanted eyes towards Misato with mild consideration. "It could be worse," he said, stretching out his hand to her. "My name is Junichi Nakajima, Special Agent and Liaison to the Reconstruction Council. Basically, the guy with the checkbook."

Misato shook his hand firmly. She knew who he was, or at least she knew the name, but they had never met face to face. The Ministry had no further need for the sort of covert agent they'd had in Kaji, and planting someone in a civilian role, as was the case with Agent Nakajima, was a much more direct way of achieving the same result. NERV could not refuse to take him in, as the civilian authority was a crucial and necessary link in the chain that kept everything running smoothly, like the chain in a bicycle, and without which they weren't going anywhere.

Of course, that didn't mean she had to like him. As long as he stayed out of her way, she didn't think he would be a problem.

"Nice to finally meet you. I'm Misato Katsuragi, Major and NERV's Chief of Operations," Misato said as amicably as she could manage. "Basically, I blow stuff up."

A hint of recognition crossed the agent's narrow-featured face. "Katsuragi, as in Dr. Katsuragi? The Katsuragi?"

Misato nodded. "My father," she said shortly. She was not interested in reviving dead painful memories, and especially not with a Ministry tool. "Can we talk about something else? It hardly seems professional to bring up my family history with someone I just met in an elevator."

"I can understand," Nakajima said, sounding apologetic. Misato couldn't tell if he was sincere or it was an act calculated to squeeze some information out of her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he explained. "It's just that our fathers knew each other, I think. I've heard that surname since I was little."

"Don't you think there is enough wrong with the world as it is without worrying about the sins of the previous generation?"

"I guess you are right. But such a coincidence has to mean something, don't you agree?"

"I'm not the type who believes in fate," Misato said. "If that's what you are suggesting. People make their own destinies with their actions. Everything else is dumb luck. Or an excuse to avoid responsibility, which is worse."

Nakajima looked like he was about to say something else when the elevator doors opened. He turned to Misato and locked eyes with her for the first time. "Well, thanks for the chat. I need to get going. Lots of paperwork, you know what I mean?"

"Yes. Yes, I do, Agent Nakajima," Misato said, in her most polite voice.

"But maybe we could get together later?" Nakajima suggested. "I'm sure there's a lot we can learn from one another. They have some good coffee in the cafeteria."

"No, thanks. I think I'm far too busy," Misato replied bluntly. "Have a good day."

The agent nodded and stepped out of the elevator without another word. Misato's eyes narrowed suspiciously. She leaned against the metal wall as the doors closed and she was alone in the elevator.

Well, that wasn't very subtle at all, Misato thought. Either they're losing their touch or becoming desperate. The relationship with the Reconstruction Council, which ran the rebuilding effort above the Geo-Front, was strained enough that a liaison made sense, probably why the government had created the position in the first place, but a MOI agent was an odd choice. Misato did not believe for a moment that coordination was his only objective.

No, they were up to something. That was as certain as an Eva Unit's entry plug failing to eject at a critical moment. And if she had figured it out, so must have Commander Ikari.

Then why was this agent still here? Misato wondered. Unless Commander Ikari had found a use for him. Agents could be turned. Perhaps over a cup of coffee. In that case, had she just made a mistake by refusing his invitation?

Misato shook her head and pushed such thoughts aside. Espionage wasn't her problem for the time being—she had plenty of those without worrying about some random bloodsucking bureaucrat.

Misato's bedroom was empty when Shinji Ikari opened the door. He found it hard to ignore the disappointment. I missed her again, he thought. What is she doing leaving for work so early? Or ... did she come home at all?

It was the third time he missed her. He'd stayed up late the previous night hoping to catch his guardian when she came home from work, but he dozed off and never heard her arrive—if she actually did. Before that he'd called her cell phone and received only her voicemail, which he knew she seldom listened to. And now she was already gone.

He sighed, dejected. Then, after offering the certified disaster area that was Misato's personal space one last reproachful glance, he slid the door closed again. Who could have guessed that the most difficult part of apologizing was actually finding the person you were supposed to apologize to?

Everyone is so busy lately. Is it because of the tests? There were not supposed to be any more Angels, but now it's all a rush.

Well, everyone was busy, except for him, because he'd refused to do his part. While Misato and Rei and Asuka all did what they considered the right thing, he had thrown a hissy fit like some petulant brat, too hurt and selfish to see the bigger picture. It still hurt, of course, it would never not hurt. But ... that wasn't Misato's fault. He owed her an apology. She was only doing her job. And the look on her face when he'd said those things—maybe she wouldn't be willing to forgive him after all.

Since he didn't want to consider that possibility, Shinji decided he should set about the rest of his morning routine before school. Asuka would be up soon. It'd be nice if he had breakfast ready for her. He went to his room, dressed quickly, then returned to the kitchen. Under normal circumstances, Misato would leave a pot of coffee already made before heading for work, but it seemed she had not, more evidence that perhaps she just didn't come home. No matter. Shinji was good with coffee.

Once he got the brew started, he placed several slices of bread on the toaster and pulled out some eggs from the fridge. Asuka liked hers scrambled, so that's how he made them. She also liked bacon but they were out. He needed to remember to pick some up next time he stopped for groceries. He made her some sausages instead.

It didn't take long for the aroma of his cooking to start drifting all over the apartment, and he expected Asuka would come into the kitchen at any moment, already clad in her uniform, eager for breakfast.

Shinji was always glad they didn't have to talk as they ate, but despite the awkwardness, he still looked forward to these short, personal moments with Asuka. The truth was he felt perfectly happy having her around ... when she was willing to be reasonable and treat him fairly. The problem was that lately she behaved far less reasonably and did a lot more yelling.

At first, he'd wondered why she acted like that, and why she seemed utterly unwilling to show him even the smallest kindness despite his best efforts to accommodate and help her. Now, with the limits between them clearly defined, he'd resigned himself to the fact that it hardly mattered. He might not like it, but it was their reality. Any sort of understanding was bound to fail without a compromise, and that would require Asuka setting aside her fangs and venomous words and listening. Then, and only then, could he talk to her. Really talk.

It wouldn't solve all their problems, Shinji realized, but it would help give him a chance to share the strange feelings he had, and then perhaps finally figure out what they really meant and why she was always in the middle of them. Why he saw her face before going to sleep at night; why he wished he could hear her voice waking him up in the morning. And why it felt so pleasant just watching her when she sat to eat with him.

Girls are strange, Shinji thought, a bit sullenly, and Asuka's the strangest of them all. She should come with instructions.

As soon as that notion entered his mind, he felt ashamed. It was a gross, insulting oversimplification. Asuka would be offended if he ever said something like that, and with good reason. He pushed the thought aside.

When the food was ready, Shinji placed it on two plates and moved them to the table, along with some orange juice, toast, napkins and everything else they might need. There was still no sign of Asuka. He did a quick check and found her shoes on the landing by the door; she was definitely home.

"Asuka, breakfast is ready!" he called, knowing he risked a tongue-lashing for waking her if she didn't want to be woken. The call returned no answer.

Shinji frowned, growing worried. Was Asuka sick? She'd spent most of the previous night locked in her room, and the only time he'd seen her come out was to use the bathroom. She had seemed troubled—more so than usual, anyway. But Asuka would have let him know if she wasn't feeling well, if for no other reason than to make sure he kept his distance.

Taking his chances, he walked the short distance to her bedroom and knocked on the door. "Asuka, breakfast. Come on, or it's gonna get cold. I made scrambled eggs for you."

Still nothing.

"Asuka, are you sick? I can get you something if you don't feel—"

The thin wooden door slid partially open, just wide enough for Asuka to poke her head out. Her expression was sleepy, her long flowing red mane tousled, as if she had just this second gotten out of bed, which Shinji belatedly realized was most likely exactly what she had done. Most of her remained hidden behind the door, but he could clearly see that she was not wearing her school uniform. She looked at him with a frown, questioning but lacking the anger of her usual manner.

"What?" Asuka murmured, rubbing her eyes. Her voice was oddly soft. "Third, you better have a good excuse for waking me up."

"Breakfast," Shinji said simply, pointing a thumb in the general direction of the kitchen. Then, feeling rather guilty for having bothered her, added, "Sorry, I know you don't want to be late for school."

Even in their present drowsy state, Asuka's eyes retained their bright sapphire depth as they narrowed into slits. "I'm not going to school, stupid. I've got my first test with Unit-02 today."

"Oh." Shinji blinked, remembering someone—Misato or maybe Asuka herself—had told him about that at some point. He had completely forgotten. He really did feel kinda stupid now. "Oh, okay. I'll go then. Breakfast is done anyway. Just leave everything in the sink when you're done. I'll wash it when I get back."

He started to leave, but before he could make it out of the corridor and into the living room, Asuka called out to him. "Shinji, wait."

'Shinji'? Did she really just call me 'Shinji'? Not 'idiot', or 'stupid', or 'Third'?

Turning quickly back to her, he caught a glimpse of something strange in her eyes. Indeed, her whole expression seemed different, softer, like her voice had been.

"Aren't you coming?" Asuka said. "To my test, I mean."

"Uh?" Shinji was suddenly extremely confused. "I ... I don't think so. I have nothing to do with it. Besides, I'd just get in the way, don't you think?"

He was certain she would agree with him. Of course he'd get in the way, she'd tell him. The only reason she was asking was to make sure he didn't think about showing up and messing things up for her.

It was just the sort of thing she would say; he was sure. But she didn't, and to Shinji's astonishment her gaze dropped to the floor and she bit down on her lip, holding back whatever reply she wanted to make. Asuka was a very direct person, Shinji had realized that soon after they met: if she wanted something she would let you know, and if she didn't like something she would really let you know. But looking at her now she seemed very uncertain.

Maybe she's sick after all, Shinji thought. She did seem upset before, and she didn't eat anything. "Asuka," he prompted carefully, "why do you ask?"

The sound of her name had a hardening effect on Asuka's face. She seemed to pick herself up and become once again the haughty girl that resided in Shinji's mind. "It was just a dumb question," she replied sharply. "And even if I were to explain it, I would never think a little boy like you would understand. Go away."

With that she retreated back into her room and closed the door.

Something was bothering her, that much Shinji could see. It was as plain as the look she had worn on her face just a moment ago. No matter if she thought he was stupid or a little boy and thus was not worth the effort it would take to explain what it was to him, he wasn't blind. Did she want something from him? Not Asuka—the less she saw of him the happier she was and the less he would bother her. But that look ...

Is ... is she sad? Doesn't she want to go to her test with Unit-02? No, it's Asuka. Nothing's more important to her. Her whole life is piloting Eva. Even after all the pain. There's no way she doesn't want to do it.

That meant ... maybe she wanted something else? From him? If he just knew what it might be, he'd give it to her. Shinji firmly believed that. He wouldn't ask for anything in return—it could be anything and everything, and he would give it to her without compromise or regret simply because it was Asuka who wanted it. All she had to do was ask him.

Of course, Asuka would never ask. Not in a million years. And he knew part of the reason he believed some of these things was because he would never be called to act upon them. But as long as he believed them, he would feel better about himself. Ultimately it was a kind of risk-free selfishness, and judging by the way she acted towards him, Asuka had come to the same conclusion even before he did.

Perhaps that explained why she kept refusing his sympathy—she knew she deserved better. And Shinji knew she was right. Although the bedroom door that separated them was merely a few paper-thin sheets on a wooden frame, it might as well be a great wall.

Shinji wanted to break through, like he always did. He wanted to be able to tell her that he did not blame her for who she was, insufferable as she might act at times. That was the person she had grown into. He could accept her if she could equally accept him with all his flaws.

What did that say about him? Again, Shinji thought it was clear—if his acceptance was conditioned on her accepting him, then that was an act of inherent selfishness. Her life deserved to be valued on its own merits, not by whatever he thought he could get from her. Anything else was hugely unfair. But maybe if he did something that showed he actually wanted to be there for her without any conditions, something like, say, going to her test?

Shinji raised his hand towards her door to knock again, then stopped. He already woke her up; should he bother her again without good reason, Asuka was unlikely to be so forgiving a second time.

It's never too early to get yelled at. I'd rather remember her looking sleepy the rest of the day than looking pissed off.

He lowered his hand. Regardless of how he felt, and of how much he would like to make things right with her, he had to face the truth of their situation. Even if he had the courage to knock, which he didn't, Asuka would never allow him to come close to her.

And maybe it was for the better. He did not want to fight with her anymore, and they would only hurt each other in the end. The best thing to do was to keep his distance. She would be happy, Shinji was sure, if he did.

Holding on to that thought for consolation, silently wishing Asuka luck in her test, Shinji picked up his toast, ate it quickly, gathered his bag and shoes and left for that small slice of normalcy in his otherwise crazy life that some people called school.

The day was bright and warm, the new sun still low in the eastern sky; the sounds of the city were all around him, honking cars, roaring trains, jackhammers, people talking and walking and just living. Shinji tried to ignore all of it as he walked to the train station.

The first thing Shinji noticed when he stepped onto the mostly empty train car was that Rei was not there. This struck him as odd since lately she had been pretty good at keeping attendance and it wasn't often that she missed school. Together with their talk yesterday, her absence filled him with an overwhelming sense of uneasiness not all that different from the odd feeling he'd gotten about Asuka earlier that morning.

Did something happen to her too? He thought. Misato would have said something if they put her in Unit-00.

Or ... would she? Misato still thought he was angry with her and not talking. She had no real reason to fill him in on further details at this point. And she might just avoid doing it if it meant avoiding him altogether.

He made up his mind quickly to check up on Rei. At worst, he'd be late for school. No big deal. And after how she had helped him, he owed it to her to help her back. It was the least he could do. When the train reached the next station, Shinji switched platforms and caught one going the other way.

Rei lived in one of the most run-down parts of the city, in a dirty-looking apartment block that seemed more like a prison complex than a place for people to live in, and even then it was mostly deserted. On his previous visits he had always heard the rumble and roar of construction machinery somewhere nearby, but now there was an eerie quiet in the morning air.

Apartment 402's bell was still broken so he knocked, and ignored the sense of déjà vu—the first time he was here, he had caught Rei walking out of the shower, wearing only a towel around her neck. There was no answer. He knocked again, a little louder. After another moment, the door opened.

Shinji gasped.

Unlike Asuka earlier, who just appeared drowsy, the girl standing in front of him really did look awfully sick. Her eyes were bloodshot and lidded, ringed by dark circles that stood out in dire contrast to the creamy pale skin of her face; her hair was a mess, and she was leaning heavily on the door, her shoulders sagging awkwardly. She wore only her school shirt and underwear.

"What is it?" Rei murmured weakly.

"R-Rei?" Shinji stammered, trying and failing to keep his concern from his voice. He took a step back. "What happened?"

"Doctor Akagi had to perform a test. I complied as I was ordered," Rei said. Her voice was so low it was barely audible. "My head has been hurting all night."

Test? What kind of test? What could Doctor Akagi have done to her to leave her like this? He thought. "Don't you have some medicine?"

Rei nodded, wincing in pain. "There are some in a drawer. But I do not know what they are for."

"I could have a look," Shinji offered, the need to get to school forgotten. "I ... I'm no doctor but if you have some aspirin that will probably do it."

Silently, Rei stepped aside to let him inside her small apartment. Even by Tokyo-3 standards, it was a rather sparse place, consisting of a single room used as a bedroom, a bathroom off to the side, and a small kitchen area.

Shinji took off his shoes at the door. The floor was cheap, checkered-pattern tile that had begun to fade and was covered by numerous stains, including several that looked like blood. He made his way without stepping on anything; Rei, barefooted as she was, didn't seem to care in the slightest where she stepped.

She had never been one for tidiness, and so there was also garbage strewn everywhere, mostly plastic bags, empty food containers and school papers.

There were only two bits of furniture in the small corner that would be called her "bedroom", a simple metal-framed bed with a thin mattress and unkept sheets, and a nightstand. From the latter hung a trash bag full of used bloody bandages. On the opposite corner, a little fridge took up some space, covered with plates, cups and other eating utensils. There was not a single distinctive item in the whole place—just drab and gray things.

Not bothering at all about her state of undress, Rei crawled into bed on all fours and lay on her side, looking at Shinji as he approached behind her. He tried not to look at her exposed body, at the way her white skin seemed to glow in the morning light. He swallowed awkwardly. When he was standing uneasily by her nightstand, she pointed to one of the drawers.

"There," she said.

Shinji opened it ... and stared.

The drawer was full of pills. Some loose and rattling around, some still in their clear plastic containers, and some in white bottles. Hesitating slightly, Shinji picked one of these bottles up and read the back of the label. They were painkillers. He picked another. And another.

It was a drawer full of painkillers. Dozens of bottles. Hundreds of pills.

Horrified, his heart sinking quickly to somewhere around his stomach, he looked at Rei. His words became stuck in his dry throat when he tried to speak. "R-Rei?"

"What?" she said, and did not appear to care or understand his sudden trepidation at all. She stirred, lifting her hands to grasp her head as if to protect herself from an unseen something, and closed her eyes.

"Are these all yours?" Shinji managed.

"No," Rei said quietly, holding her head and shifting her legs. "They were hers. I don't know what they do or what they are for. They have always been there. I think maybe ... I think I know why. It hurts."

They were hers. Shinji looked down at the bottle of pills in his hand, and felt horrified that he had never known that Rei Ayanami lived in so much pain. She had never told him. "Rei, what did Doctor Akagi do to you?" he asked again.

"I was ordered ..." she shook her head, gasping in pain due to the motion. "I was ordered not to tell."

Shinji brought down his eyebrows in a deep frown. He didn't like the sound of that at all—why would Rei not be able to tell him something? Did she mean she wasn't supposed to tell anyone, period, or just him in particular?

He could press the issue, asking her questions until he got the answer he wanted, but looking at her pained expression he decided that now was not the time. Rei wouldn't hide something from him if she thought he needed to know. Even if she was ordered to. He believed she wouldn't, at least.

Rummaging through the drawer, Shinji picked up one of the unopened bottles which seemed to be the most recent addition to the drawer, checked the expiration date to make sure they were still good, and opened it. He poured a glass of water from the kitchen, then set it down on the nightstand and popped out a pair of little red-and-white pills.

"This will help," he said to Rei. "It's pretty strong. You shouldn't take more than a few a day."

Rei tried to sit up on her own, but her painful body language was too much for Shinji and he helped her, holding her gingerly but firmly, careful not to cause her any more pain.

She took the pills from him and swallowed them with a gulp of water, then lay back down on the bed. Shinji fluffed the pillow beneath her head and found himself wishing he could do more to ease her pain.

"Ayanami ..."

"I am not her," Rei said, stretching her hand into the air almost as if she hoped to catch something. "A name carries a great deal of a person. It is not just a name. It is also a thought. A feeling. I share her name, but not the other things attached to it. Because I am not her."

Shinji felt glum. She wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. He was very much aware that she was someone else. Painfully aware. But he couldn't help calling her by that name—her name.

"Then how should I feel, seeing you in front of me and not being able to call you what I called her?" he asked. "Because you look just like her."

"You should grieve, like I wish I could. You are lucky that you can."

He wanted to tell her how he really wasn't. Rei didn't get it—nothing in her limited experience could prepare her for the kind of pain that came through loss. But that burden should not be hers to carry, and he should not make her.

"I have these emotions inside of me," her voice was vague, the words seemingly addressed to no one. "And despite that, there is something missing. As if I have misplaced something that used to have great value. I know they do not belong to me, and at the same time I know—I feel—like they do. That they are mine as much as they were hers. Is there something wrong with me?"

He knew before opening his mouth that there was nothing he could say that would help her answer that question. "Aya—I'm sorry."

Asuka's right, Shinji told himself, I'm an idiot. How many times does she have to tell me not to call her that before I get it? She's not Ayanami. Ayanami is dead.

"Do not be," Rei whispered. "You miss her, I know. I wish I could be her just for you. I wish for many things."

Slightly embarrassed, Shinji tried to recall if he had ever heard Rei Ayanami talk like this. He wondered how much of it was the pain medication. That she didn't know what was in the bottles probably meant she had never taken any before. Her tolerance would be very low, if she even had any.

Rei continued, her voice growing increasingly distant, "I wish ... that I could understand why the Second does not like me. I wish I could know why you cry. I wish I could escape."

"So do I," Shinji said.

"What else ..." she managed, but it was clear her thoughts were scattered, her eyes losing focus. "What else ... do you wish for?"

Shinji waited.

Rei's arm fell limply to her side. Within minutes of closing her eyes, she had fallen asleep. Her hands were still tensely clutching the bedding so Shinji bent over her and opened her fingers gently, and stared at her beautifully pale form. Her face became more relaxed now, resting on the linen that was as white as her skin.

Finally, she seemed to have found some peace.

Straightening up, Shinji took a deep breath. "Rei," he said, knowing she couldn't hear him; the only reason he spoke at all. "Ayanami. I'm sorry, please let me call you that one last time. I ... I wish you hadn't done what you did. I wish you had just let me die."

He turned and closed the pill drawer, then came back to the blue-haired girl on the bed. "But you were right. I can't just keep thinking of myself. I know you need me. And that is why ... that is why I will pilot Unit-01. I have to face it—like you do, like Asuka does. And even if it doesn't help, I think the least I can do is try."

The room was quiet. Shinji stood there for a while, thinking that maybe he should stay with her until she was feeling better. He wouldn't be missed at school—the lectures were always boring and always the same, and Kensuke would fill him in if he missed anything.

The Class Rep. would surely give him an earful, but he knew she would understand once he told her he'd been looking after Rei Ayanami because nobody else would.

"I am not happy with Rei's condition," Gendo Ikari said bluntly as they walked down the hallway to his office, his gloved hands in his pockets, not looking at the short-haired blonde woman moving alongside him. His flat voice denoted no sign of anger, it never really did, but Ritsuko could tell he was very much displeased.

That was going to happen regardless so it didn't concern her much. Rei was his pet, and masters were always unhappy when something like this happened to their pets. It was the same with cats and dogs. Occasionally, even lab rats.

So be it, she thought. There's nothing he can do. He needs me.

"I told you it was not going to be pleasant," Ritsuko's response was calm. She had better things to do than become upset over Rei Ayanami. "Mapping the neural pathways requires a delicate touch. With much of the equipment having to be scrambled on such short notice, there was not much that could be done. Besides, it was her first time. The lack of any such previous stimuli makes it worse than it really is."

"You did not have to torture her," Ikari said darkly. "How many hours did you keep her there?"

"Only as many as I believed were required." Ritsuko felt a twinge of pleasure course through her like electricity. "Besides, I did no such thing. I didn't torture her, regardless of how you might feel about it. If I really wanted to ..."

"You would not be so obvious about it?" Ikari cut her short. "My good doctor, I know you better than that. If you wanted to hurt her, you would not care if you were being obvious or not. You would just do it. Exactly in the same manner as when you destroyed the Dummy System, knowing all the while that you would be caught."

Ritsuko gave him that point, if only because it was extremely correct. She had never been worried about him finding out—telling Rei to keep quiet about the experiment had other reasons and she was so quiet anyway it was unlikely she would ever complain to anyone. However, it did bother her somewhat that Ikari could figure her out so easily.

"Furthermore," Ikari continued, coming to a stop and finally turning to confront her, "you are responsible for her."

Ritsuko nodded, meeting his eyes evenly. How she despised this man and yet she was still by his side. In that, it was she who had no choice. "I know. I have always been responsible for her. And the one before."

"Medically yes," Ikari said, his voice rock hard. "But should anything happen to her, you will be held to direct account. Believe me, this time I do not think I will be so lenient as to simply imprison you. I can ill afford such childish behavior, even from a valuable asset like yourself."

"Your confidence in me is touching," she answered sarcastically.

Ikari lacked any inclination to be amused. "I hope we have an understanding. For Rei's sake, and for your own."

"Yes, sir. We do," Ritsuko replied. She did her best to stop herself from sounding angry. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction. "Is that all? I have Unit-02 to attend to."

He simply nodded. "I understand Unit-02's activation and testing will take most of the day, but once that is done I want you back to working on the new Dummy System. I do not like lacking a proper backup any more than I like not having a working Evangelion. I should hope to have it ready before Unit-A, just in case."

"There is always Unit-01," Ritsuko said. "It is fully operational. All we need to do is activate it."

"IF my son cooperates." Ikari put a heavy emphasis on that first word. "I'm not certain how much faith to place on that boy."

"I'd place none, if I were you. He might refuse to pilot just to spite you."

Ikari considered that, although the notion was probably not new, then nodded. "We can't force him. Nor will I. Unit-01 refused the Dummy before, and in doing so refused me. Shinji has to choose on his own. That is the only way it will work. Nonetheless, we can push him in the right direction so his choice aligns with ours. He is only a boy. It shouldn't be difficult."

"It's probably more difficult than you imagine," Ritsuko said. "He's become quite stubborn. The situation with the Fifth Child didn't do him or us any favors. And his attachments to both Rei and the Second could be troublesome."

"The Second's eagerness should provide him with some motivation. As for Rei ... I don't feel that is an issue of concern. Rei knows her duty. If he goes to her for counsel, she will provide it. Major Katsuragi can help as well."

"He's not talking to her." Ritsuko wondered if Ikari knew that. "But still, what if he chooses not to? As you said yourself, we can't make him. Unit-01 will reject it."

Gendo Ikari seemed to consider his answer carefully. He took a short moment, his eyes frozen like coals behind his glasses. Then he slipped his hands in his pockets and resumed walking. "I hope it does not come to that."

"Locks one through fifteen secured. Hydraulic pressure remains constant. Proceed with safety checklist through item four-twenty-three. All personnel remain on alert status orange. Maintenance Team Delta, check your program for activation rundown."

Asuka heard the chorus of mechanical voices, male and female, echoing across the enormous steel and concrete box which formed Unit-02's containment cage from hidden speakers. Inside the personnel elevator, the electric motors jolted to a stop and then clicked into their safety bolts. Seconds later, the steel mesh gate finally opened with the loud screeching of metal scrapping metal.

"Main access point secured," another voice announced. "Prepare for pilot insertion." With the elevator now connected to the other cage systems, its own speakers turned active, producing a high-pitched audio feedback squeal as the last few words trailed off.

Clenching her teeth at the noise, the Second Child stepped through the open gate onto the deck, clad in her form-fitting plugsuit for the first time in many months. She found it was hard to keep her head up. A part of her even questioned why she was allowed to wear a plugsuit at all.

The garment had once been as much a symbol of her status as the neural connectors in her hair. It was almost entirely red, with black accents below her armpits, extending down the inside of her arms to her wrists, and twin black stripes running from her buttocks to the middle of her thighs. The hard chest cups protecting her breasts were highlighted in a distinctive orange, with a slightly pointed shape—these were the same ones she had once padded to make herself appear more voluptuous.

Only a stupid child could ever think something like that mattered, Asuka thought with a bitter snort. But it's the truth. And I was so stupid.

What was more, she used to love the way the flimsy material wrapped tightly around her slim body and enhanced her young, supple curves. It was basically like wearing a second skin, and for some reason it always felt warm and smelled like the inside of her Eva. There simply was no ignoring her presence when she wore it, and for good reason: an Eva pilot should always be the center of attention.

I was stupid.

Asuka didn't believe that anymore. Now, as she began walking towards the slick, armored shape of Unit-02, she stood out as the girl who failed miserably. It was almost worse than the hospital, with the difference that she'd always hated medical settings because the need for them already implied weakness and submission on the part of a patient, while she never imagined that wearing her plugsuit could make her feel humiliated and disgusted. But maybe ... maybe today she could change that. If she tried hard enough.

The containment cage was brightly lit and fairly busy with activity. Wide catwalks and gantries ran along the perimeter of the cage, crisscrossed the large space within and wrapped around the Evangelion allowing maintenance access.

There were several technicians working on bulky machines along the catwalk in front of her, doing what she didn't care to know. She had never bothered acknowledging the technical crews in any significant way, even Unit-02's, and other than the so-called Bridge Bunnies and a few of the higher ranks she couldn't address most by name if she wanted to. Why should she? They were just worker bees, drones without faces or names, and she was the queen. It was their job to tend to her every need.

Well, that had been their job. The queen was dead and replaced with a girl who'd spent so long in a hospital she barely remembered what sleeping in her own bed was like, and now those same drones looked at her with unguarded sympathy and promptly moved out of the way.

Asuka hated it. She scowled bitterly at everyone she passed, wishing she could spit at them and yell until they stopped looking at her just like Shinji did.

That was how people looked at you when they thought you were useless—when they wouldn't come to see you in the hospital. A look that said, "Too bad you are alone, Asuka. Too bad you had to lose everything that gave meaning to your life. Too bad they couldn't let you die."

Really, too bad.

She came to stand under the massive shadow of her once-beloved Evangelion and raised her head. Like her it was clad in red, in its case shiny plates of armor fitted to its slender frame. It had four eyes arrayed in pairs on either side of its face and an oval-shaped head.

Two shoulder-mounted pylons held hidden weapons in addition to its standard-issue progressive knife. It was secured to the cage by a large restraining harness anchored with thick hydraulic-driven bolts; a bulky mechanism was fitted to the back of its neck, above the armored insertion jack for the entry plug.

The plug itself was held in its ready position, lying on a cradle on the top of the mechanism so that it could be secured into place just inside the rim of the jack by a crane standing nearby.

As a machine of total destruction, Unit-02 was both fearful in symmetry and graceful, and had the distinction of being the first Eva meant for production. It had been her pride and joy, her everything. Losing it had felt like losing someone dear to her all over again.

"Oh, hey, I didn't see you there. Welcome back."

Asuka turned just as the chief technician on Technical Team Delta, recognizable by the long scar running down his face, came walking around the nearest gantry. He had a clipboard in his hands, probably some sort of checklist for the upcoming test, and looked busy, which he should be since Team Delta was the engineering group permanently assigned to Unit-02 for high-level testing, ground and air deployment and combat. That scar on the man's face, Asuka had learned some time after the fact, had been the result of one such deployment.

I know his face because I have to for tactical reasons, but not his name. I don't need to know that. It's just one more thing to forget later.

She was more than a little surprised when the chief stopped what he was doing and walked over to her. He was much taller than she remembered, towering nearly half a meter above her head, but she refused to look up at him and returned her gaze to her Evangelion. If she ignored him, she figured, he might go away. He didn't.

"It's been a while, Miss Soryu," the chief said in a warm tone. "Your mount is almost ready. How are you doing?"

"Fine," Asuka replied, trying to inject enough spite in her voice so it was clear she had no desire to talk with him, regardless of his rank. In fact, being recognized by someone who'd known her before her failure made her feel embarrassed and gave her yet one more reason for silence.

The chief hesitated for a second, then bent lower so he could speak more privately to her. "Listen, Miss Soryu, I know I really have no place saying things to you, but you have to know—" he smiled at her pleasantly "—that we are all very proud of you. And that we are all rooting for you."

"Ah?" Asuka gave a sudden gasp. Her eyes widened as she turned her head to him.

Something became stuck in her throat. She had not expected this. Why would anyone try to support her? She had no illusion about what would happen, and while she was resigned, she had not expected ... kindness. And pride—they were proud of her? The sensation that produced within her was almost alien.

She took a deep breath, the extra air in her lungs bringing up her shoulders from their slump. Her back straightened. Against all odds, the sudden encouragement surprisingly managed to bring back a little of her own pride out of the pit of despair. She would have never been able to thank him, to even admit that she was thankful that at least one person might not think of her as a harpy, but she got the feeling from him that he wasn't asking for it.

It didn't really matter, however, because her words wouldn't find her. Such was her surprise, a pleasant one for a change. She hadn't felt anything quite like this in months.

"We want you to do your best, okay?" the chief added, noticing her reaction. He smiled down at her and gave her shoulder a gentle bump. "Give it everything you've got."

Asuka nodded as firmly as she could. It wasn't much, but it was something. And she was able to lift her head. The scar-faced chief offered her a thumbs up, then peeled off to finish the rest of his routine under her strangely watchful gaze. Once that was done, he called in his checklist and went to take his place in the staging room above them.

They are proud of me, Asuka thought, bringing both hands together against her chest. How? Why? Don't they ... hate me?

For once, it wasn't a bad feeling which ran through her. Instead, it was one which served to contrast the much darker emotions drowning her since she woke up from her coma, and from even further back—from when she had moved in with Hikari, when her Synch Rate failed, when she tried to kiss Shinji and afterward when he failed to acknowledge her, and when she came from Germany and found herself a stranger in a strange land, barely able to read kanji.

Lately, those same dark emotions were most intense when she saw Shinji and Wonder Girl together, but she'd harbored them for so long they had become a part of her, leaking like acid into everything she felt or thought. Unlike her anger, which she could at least focus on to fuel her courage and drive to excel, these feelings tore her down and made her want to crawl into a ball and weep.

But pride made it better. Her pride, and the pride of others in her, even for just a moment. And perhaps that was all she needed.

Asuka rubbed her hands over her eyes, thinking she might have started to lose it without noticing. She glanced down at the back of her gloves and saw no tears on the red material. She swallowed a sniffle and looked back up at Unit-02's familiar form. The place where she belonged; the place where her life had gone wrong. The source of her dreams, and her nightmares.

My Eva. Unit-02. My only companion since I was little.

Whirling sounds overhead alerted her to the entry plug being lifted and swung across the cage. Then one of the cranes lowered the bottom end and together they adjusted the angle, moving to the left and right. The plug had her Eva designation written on it along with her name stamped just under the access hatch, and with three stripes running down the circumference at either end in the black, red and gold colors of the German flag. Asuka didn't remember those being there before.

Once the entry plug was fitted into position, the small grooves along its rounded end became caught on the insertion jack, locking into place with a dull CLACK so that it rose from the top of Unit-02's spine, right at the base of its neck. Two technicians quickly adjusted a ladder against the bottom of the hatch, then one of them opened it.

"Evangelion Unit-02 entry plug in place," an electronic voice informed from the hidden speakers. "Pilot access granted."

Asuka nodded. This was the moment she had anticipated ever since coming out of the hospital—and dreaded.

Her plug-suited body felt heavy, like it was made out of lead, but only half as heavy as her heart. Taking a deep breath, Asuka climbed the series of steps, platforms and finally the waiting ladder which provided access through the hatch. Inside was a long, cylindrical space occupied only by an elaborate high-tech command chair situated in the middle of the plug's length.

The command chair was a comfy fit, custom-made for the shape of her body, comprised of an impact seat with two control yokes on either side of it and a console in front, nestled between her legs. The targeting computer was located above and behind her head. Asuka hoped she would never have to peer through that thing again.

She nuzzled her red-clad bottom on the seat, letting her hands drift to her sides and grip the control sticks that had once felt so right they were practically an extension of herself. Now they were stiff and hard and tugging on them did nothing.

"Asuka, we are ready to begin," Ritsuko's voice rang clearly through the communication system. She sounded almost like she was standing right there. "Start up sequence activated."

"I'm ready," Asuka replied.

The hatch closed, and once it did she was plunged into total, pitch-black darkness. The sound of pouring liquid filled the space and she felt the cold grip of the LCL reach her through her suit. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to relax. Before long, Asuka was completely submerged. Everything was wet and yet not really; LCL was strange like that. Thinner than water, orange when inactive and clear when electrified, breathable, and annoyingly sticky if you let it dry in your hair.

Asuka held her breath for a moment, then took the liquid into her lungs. As it filled her, she felt a little nausea, but it quickly faded and she was fine. Her chest expanded, taking the liquid in, then compressed as it pushed it out.

"Initiate primary contact."

Her eyes opened. The plug was still dark. In front of her, she saw a black void, and even though she knew the cylinder had to end, it felt like that blackness reached out to infinity. Like in her nightmares. And it was cold. Why was it so cold?

Looking down at her console, she noticed the light indicating emergency power was on. That meant the heater should have been engaged by now.

Just wait, Asuka, she told herself. Try to focus. Don't think. Don't remember.

It was no use. All around her, the darkness seemed to reach for her. The cold bit into her flesh. Then a light came on, right at the bottom of the entry plug where the dark was thickest. And for a second she thought it looked like ... her memories.

Angel.

Her heart, like the rest of herself, suddenly sank like lead in an endless, dark ocean, and before she knew it she'd buried her head behind her knees as she curled up into a tight ball. And she felt so cold.

This was the place where everything had gone wrong. She had climbed in here and gone into battle knowing that she had to prove something, but she had never expected to—danger was something she had accepted but—

She had been broken. Her mind had been shredded into tiny, painful ribbons; her beating heart ripped from her chest. And through all that, she hadn't even been given a chance to fight back. She had been totally, completely helpless as the Angel had come inside her and ... and violated her.

Even now, months later, this was the only way she'd come to understand it. Her soul was violated. The Angel hadn't touched her physically. It didn't even leave orbit. But emotionally it had forced itself into her and torn her open and defiled her. Asuka had often wondered, when she dared think about the subject at all, if it might be less painful the other way around, if her body could have healed from such an assault more readily than her mind. It hardly mattered. Either way she had been scarred for life.

The memory, as powerful as it was unwanted, made Asuka shudder. No, no, stop that, she begged silently. There's nothing to be gained from remembering. It's just a test. Just a stupid test. Stop. Just stop. Stop. Please.

"Voltage is nominal," somebody called from the control room. Asuka didn't know and didn't care who. "Pulse and harmonics are stable."

"Initiate second set connections."

Finally, after that long eternity, the darkness flashed into a rainbow of swirling colors as Unit-02 became active and the entry plug's walls became a clear fighter-plane like canopy that allowed her an unobstructed view of the world—the confined space of the concrete cage—beyond. But it was too late. The damage was done.

"All links connected. Eva Unit-02 is now active."

"Beginning complete systems check."

Several minutes went by. Asuka stared intently outside her canopy. The LCL was warmer now, but she was shaking regardless.

"Asuka, your synchrograph is extremely erratic. This is not going to work if you can't focus. Try to clear your head," Ritsuko's sharp voice came in again. Asuka wished it were Misato talking to her. Or Shinji. "You need to be able to open yourself up to the Eva. Focus on the connection. It's the only way to clear the starting indicator."

Her head was already as clear as she could possibly make it. There was nothing else she could do. She couldn't just forget. No matter how hard she tried. She couldn't make the nightmare go away.

"Asuka, that's no good."

"I'm trying!" Asuka yelled. Useless, she thought. It's useless.

The failing Second Child curled up ever tighter, more desperately. She held her head in her hands and twisted her feet one on top of the other, curling her toes. Maybe if she made herself really small, she would just disappear. She could not believe she had once been happy to be chosen as an Evangelion pilot. She wished now that she never had, and that her Mama had loved her enough to take her along with her as she died.

And she wished more than anything that the broken pieces of the proud, arrogant girl she had once been could be swept aside so she could forget and finally resign herself without suffering.

"Try harder." Ritsuko said. "If you can't do it, your status will have to be revoked and you will be replaced, this time for good. I know you don't want that. I don't want that either. So, please, for your sake, concentrate."

"I said I'm trying!" Asuka wailed in growing anguish, twisting her mouth into a feral snarl. Her eyes burned and shook. "Do you think I want to be replaced? I'm trying! Don't talk to me unless it's important! Let me focus!"

"As you wish."

The communication system clicked into silence. Asuka slumped back into her seat. She closed her eyes and let her head sink deeper behind her knees. Again, she tried to clear her mind of all the things that made her want to die. She failed. Instead, she thought of Kaji, but found the man she once claimed to love having seemingly left her life without even a farewell, maybe even died as Shinji claimed. She focused on Shinji, but found only a dumb boy who didn't understand her. She thought of her Mama and found ... despair. Her Unit-02 ... the Angel. No. Nothing. All were touched by tragedy.

"I'm trying ..." she whimpered, and didn't care if anyone heard how pathetic she sounded. "I'm trying. I'm trying. I'm trying. I'm trying."

Inside the entry plug, there was not even an echo to carry her words. Minutes, or maybe hours, later, she fell quiet. The soft whirling of the backup motor behind her filled her ears. Asuka wrapped her arms tightly around herself, and waited.

Fuyutsuki found his Commander standing before the large observation window in his office, hands clasped behind his back, his attention fixed intently and silently at the show of light outside the window. The forest stretched below like a giant fungus, green and brown and broken only by the large, nearly circular lake from which the facilities drew their water supply. Above this natural-looking but artificial landscape, the huge dome of the Geo-Front emanated the light by which life below was sustained in fluorescent rows and neon streaks.

Walking across the office, Fuyutsuki took his place to Ikari's right. "The disk has been delivered to the Chinese Branch," he said. "We just received confirmation, and thanks. I must say, they were very grateful."

"Were the safety measures removed?" Ikari asked. His attention remained outside.

"Indeed. Every one of them."

Fuyutsuki had confirmation of that very fact earlier in the morning from Doctor Akagi, and he'd already submitted a report. Ikari had doubtlessly read it. The question on his part was simply a matter of the protocol of command: written words were impersonal, having the courage to say what you wrote meant something.

Ikari nodded. "Good. Very good. How is the current situation with the Council?"

"Things are moving as planned. Well, in fact, not moving. The Council members are giving our friends in the Ministry of the Interior such a big headache. But I am afraid they will only be able to run interference for us for so long before it becomes tiresome. Once they realize we have no intention of helping them, the Ministry will likely drop all pretense. Then we will have a fight on our hands."

"It will be sufficient for now."

"For now, but not forever." Fuyutsuki hoped, as he usually did, that his superior was right. Politicians were so hard to predict, even for someone like Gendo Ikari. Their opinions and dispositions always seemed to change with the wind. It would not be good if they suddenly decided that NERV was not worth having as a friend. Once that happened things would move too fast. Of course, Ikari knew all that as well.

"And the Second Child?" the Commander asked.

"What we expected so far," Fuyutsuki said. He'd send a preliminary report on that as well. He was ... disappointed. "She is much too damaged, perhaps. Quite frankly, I don't understand the necessity of this test."

"I do," Ikari said. "There would be no need to expose her if she had been able to make it work on her own."

Ah, Fuyutsuki thought. How strangely considerate. "The weapon we know for sure we can control is better than the weapon we only think we can, is that it?"

"You could make that case," Ikari said. "In hindsight it may seem like a waste of already stretched resources, but I believed it was worth it based on the interests of the pilot's psychological development. I am rather uninterested in whether or not it was a waste at this point. All we can do is prepare the alternative. As far as Unit-02 is concerned, it will have to be enough."

"I suppose sparing the girl contact with the Tablet was also worth a chance." Fuyutsuki added.

"For my son's sake," Ikari admitted. "He's a fool for that girl."

Fuyutsuki didn't like the sound of that. She belongs in a medical ward, under proper care and supervision. But then I can well imagine that would make using her to emotionally manipulate your son slightly more difficult.

"And Lazarus?" Ikari asked.

"Lieutenant Ibuki assures me of our progress," Fuyutsuki said. "She agrees that speeding the mitosis process further is possible, but advises against it. Having Doctor Akagi take a look at her work seemed to have had both a stimulating effect and acted as a reprimand of sorts. I am still more concerned about Doctor Akagi herself, to be honest. She has access to a lot of damaging information."

"I am sure there is no need to worry about her," Ikari turned his head slightly. For the first time, he looked directly at Fuyutsuki. "The options available to her have been made quite clear. We have her cooperation ... for the time being," he added in a tone that left no doubt what he would do if the blonde woman disobeyed him again. "Anything else?"

"Only a question. Is it wise to allow the Chinese access to the coded information in the Tablet?"

"The Chinese government owes me a couple of favors," Ikari replied. He seemed to have been expecting such a question and had his answer ready. "As long as they do as they are told there will not be a problem. Our schedule will take care of that."

Ikari turned once more to face his fortress through the window. The light, the dome, the forest and lake: his own small world, a world in which he was a God.

"I am told Unit-A is white," he said. "How unoriginal of them. 'And I looked and behold, a pale horse. And he that sat on him was Death. And Hell followed with him'."

Fuyutsuki was amused. A sharp smile appeared on his wrinkled face, tugging his features upwards. "And you call them unoriginal. I bet you've been waiting to use that one for a while. But you know I am not impressed by such things."

"Yet it is fitting, wouldn't you say? Hell will come, unless we are ready."

No, Fuyutsuki thought to himself. There's no such thing as Hell.

Before the Second Impact, scientists like him had always avoided thinking of the world in terms of Heaven and Hell, or good and evil; science was a gray area—the same science that created the nuclear bomb also gifted humanity the promise of near unlimited energy for more than fifty years. By the end of the 20th Century, human action rather than their beliefs dominated, while outdated religious dogmas became just that. Outdated. Products of a bygone era of ignorance and fear. The triumph of science was unquestioned.

But the years after Second Impact, and the horrors so many had witnessed and experienced, produced a fundamental, predictable shift in the way large swathes of people, even world governments and supposedly secular institutions, looked at the world. Hell did exist, they assured anyone who would listen, they were all living in it. And if it existed, so did Heaven. To reach it, NERV was created.

They were all fools, peddling hysteria and superstition to further their own goals. No God made NERV or the Evangelion on which NERV's power depended. Men had done that. Greedy and powerful men. And among them, one virtuous woman. A mother.

"It is good then," Fuyutsuki added, "that we are not in the business of Hell. I suppose that it is also good that the horse is not white but purple, and the one who sits on it is not a 'he' but 'her'."

Not that you would ever forget that, Fuyutsuki thought.

Ikari just nodded gently in recognition. After all this time, Fuyutsuki could tell his love for "her" remained as strong as it had always been, though perhaps not his love for her vision, which he'd changed, mutilated and appropriated. Ikari had no virtue. He was not like Yui. He was single-minded and driven like she'd been, but towards a different purpose. With a different set of tools.

"Is there anything else?" Fuyutsuki asked.

"Yes. There is one more thing, if you will indulge me."

Releasing his hands where they'd been clasped, NERV's Supreme Commander turned his back to the window and moved towards his desk. Here he sat on the large chair and gestured for Fuyutsuki to stand before him. Fuyutsuki did, as he always had.

"Professor," Ikari began. "I have been meaning to talk to you about Rei. About her future, and ours."

Fuyutsuki stepped closer. "I'm listening."

Looking at the video feed from inside Unit-02, all Misato could see was the front of Asuka's knees and her mane of red hair.

She had been sitting curled up like that for hours now, not moving or saying a word as Ritsuko updated her with her progress—if it could be called that. Misato had once heard it said that the brightest and hottest flame burns out the quickest. That had been the case with Asuka, and she was no closer to making it past the starting indicator than she had been at the beginning of the test, despite Ritsuko's assurances that she could do it.

Watching the girl on the monitor was as frustrating as it was heartbreaking, because even though she had once thought Asuka should learn a little humility and stop treating those around her so badly, she had never wanted to see her like this.

"The problem is entirely psychosomatic," Ritsuko said. She too had been studying the monitor, and now leaned back on her chair. "It's all in her head."

"After what the Angel did to her ..." Misato trailed off. She remembered the yelling and the screams. "It's a miracle she can handle being in there at all."

"Regardless. There is only so much we can manipulate in the system. But for all we can do with the interface and modifications to both software and hardware, it is Asuka herself who needs to push through. She's the only one that can do it. That's where the problem lies. We can't help her if she can't help herself."

The control room was arranged in two banks of computer terminals, the first along the front wall, just a few feet away from the heavily reinforced glass that overlooked the Eva's test cage, and a second further back. Misato stood close to this second bank, hunched over Ritsuko's chair. While several of the monitors were focused on Asuka, several others showed her telemetry data, relayed in complex graphs that required engineering degrees to properly understand.

The one graph Misato did recognize was Asuka's synchrograph, a jagged mess of lines all jumbled together that seemed to her a rather accurate, if abstract, depiction of the redhead's mental state.

On the top right corner of this was a number: 4.4%: Asuka's Synch Rate, far below the minimum required to operate her Eva—the designated starting indicator, located at 12%, now the lowest it could go with the entry plug already at its maximum depth.

Misato took her eyes from the monitor and looked out of the observation window high above the brightly lit steel and concrete box that served as a cage for Unit-02. "Do you think she's given up?"

Ritsuko shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Well, I guess it's good that she's much more determined than Shinji."

"They are not all that different, you know," Ritsuko said. "For both of them, their personal problems dictate how they relate to others and, therefore, to their Evas."

Misato had a hard time believing that. If they were really, as Ritsuko put it, not all that different, then they wouldn't find it so hard to get along with each other. She had thought, hoped even, that some of their personalities could rub off on the other so that they might find some middle ground, but that had proven impossible.

"I don't think they are alike," she said. "Shinji is much more withdrawn than Asuka."

"There are some superficial differences, but they are nothing more than skin deep," Ritsuko said in a flat, rather unemotional tone as if she were talking about something she'd read in a textbook. "Shinji's defense mechanism is to be passive, moving away from people. Asuka is aggressive, actively pushing people away. Both these defenses stem from the same issue—that is the fear of being hurt by others. In that, Asuka is like a cat in a box."

Misato frowned, confused. "How so?"

"If you put a cat in a box, it will be afraid at first. It will wail and scratch and try to get out." Ritsuko hadn't taken her gaze away from the image of the redhead on the screen, but now she was staring intently, concentration evident in her brown eyes. "But after a while it will get used to the dark and will grow more comfortable there. It will feel safe and will stay without a struggle. Then, if you open the box and try to take the cat out, it will fight and it will hurt you, lashing out at you until you let it go and close the box. Most people will just let the cat be and eventually it will starve."

An odd sadness came over her voice as she said this. "But someone who cares about the cat will endure the pain and hold on to it, and the cat will come to feel safe with that person and accept them, and it will stop lashing out because it will no longer be afraid."

"Are you saying someone needs to take Asuka out of her box?" Misato said. She was interested now; she grabbed a nearby chair and sat down next to the doctor.

She didn't really think Asuka was like a cat—animals couldn't choose how they treated people—but Ritsuko, who lived alone except for her cats, knew more about those kinds of behavior than she did.

"No." Ritsuko shook her head. "The Angel ripped the box away from her. And she was left exposed, frightened, and had nobody to feel safe with. That really is the heart of the problem."

Misato thought she understood. She cast a soft glance at the girl on the screen—Asuka looked so small like that. "So you think she's afraid?"

"Honestly, I think she's terrified. That is why she lashes out the way she does. To keep people away from her because in her mind they will only hurt her. That is a natural response: all animals fear pain. And that fear also makes her unable to synchronize with the Evangelion. She can't open up to anyone or anything. That includes Unit-02."

Misato sighed. "Well, if all she needs is someone willing to let her hurt them—"

"It's much more specific than that. And I don't think it's about hurting other people. The willing desires of the human heart are not something that is ever defined in general terms." Ritsuko crossed her stocking-covered legs. "Desire is hard to explain logically. We can't test it or measure it. We can only live with it."

"Right." Misato twisted her lips. "You know, even when you talk about things like this you always sound so detached, like you are talking about a disease or something."

That comment was meant as a slight insult to Ritsuko's regular heartlessness, but her face remained unmoved. If she was offended at all by it, she didn't show it. "I am a scientist not a therapist."

"Nobody will ever argue otherwise."

"The point is, even if we knew for certain what causes Asuka's problems, that doesn't mean we can fix them," Ritsuko said, ignoring Misato's jab. "That's something only she can do, and that only if she wants to."

"Ritsuko, you are not seriously suggesting that she wants to feel like this." Misato pointed a finger at the screen. "Look at her. How could anyone want to live like that?"

"She hasn't told you to stop yet," Ritsuko replied flatly.

Misato felt hot outrage at that statement, not only because it reaffirmed her view of Ritsuko as being less than humane but also because she was right; Asuka hadn't asked them to stop.

"But I am not saying she wants to, either," Ritsuko said. "However, I think for her the alternative is not worth living for, either. It has to be her way or no way at all. Shinji does the same. They both think it's only themselves who matter—their own hurt. They are unable to look at themselves through the eyes of others. And as they are unable to understand how others see them, they are also unable to understand how to see themselves."

It was rather hypocritical for someone like Ritsuko to talk like this; she was guilty of the same thing she was accusing Shinji and Asuka of. And so was Misato herself.

So, while Ritsuko might be right, and Asuka was responsible for her own misery, Misato owed it to her ward to do what she could to lessen that feeling—and clearly they had gathered as much data as they could for today, since Ritsuko had gone through nearly her entire checklist. There wasn't much of a point prolonging it.

"I think we should call it a day," Misato said, firmly enough to make it known it wasn't just an opinion. She rose from her chair. "I've got time between shifts. I'm taking her home. Please get her out of there, Ritsuko."

Ritsuko's expression told her she disagreed, but she said nothing. She nodded her assent. Around the control room, the weary faces of the small cadre of operators who had been keeping watch on Asuka's data without a break appeared relieved behind their computers.

Once the order was given, termination procedures were initiated, engulfing the room in a flurry of activity.

Groaning with effort, Ritsuko stood up next to Misato and returned the other woman's sympathetic frown with a look that said that her sympathy was not necessary or wanted. That didn't prevent Misato from thinking Ritsuko was pushing herself as recklessly as she was pushing Asuka.

A bad thing for both of them.

"Ah, Lieutenant, glad you could make it," Sub-Commander Fuyutsuki said as Maya entered his office, his warm tone making Maya all the more uncomfortable.

"With all due respect sir, would you please explain why I was summoned?" Maya's voice was merely a whisper. She felt tired and angry at being recalled, and failed to hide it. Finally her work had allowed her to find some time to go home, and just when she was getting ready to leave, the Sub-Commander asked her for a meeting.

Fuyutsuki gazed at the young lieutenant who stood before him, sizing her up. Maya felt as if she would fall asleep while talking to him. Her eyes were only half-open, and she had to blink constantly to keep herself awake. She was aware that to the Sub-Commander she likely resembled a prisoner that had been sleep deprived for weeks. She thought it would be nice if he decided she wasn't up to the task he had selected for her.

"I really must apologize," Fuyutsuki said, sounding like he meant it. "I know you were ready to call it a day, but there is some work that needs to be done. Doctor Akagi is much too preoccupied at the moment. You understand?"

Maya sighed, knowing that her hopes for going home had just gone down the drain. Another night on a hard, cold bunk for poor Maya. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Fuyutsuki slipped his hand in his pocket and came up with a small disk. "This is part of the coding for Unit-00's new programming interface that will go along with the operating system we will be implementing. It needs to be compiled. That will be your task since you are in charge of Lazarus. The Doctor has already written the required algorithms to accomplish this but it needs to be pushed through the MAGI."

Maya's back stiffened. She was suddenly more awake. "Sir, speaking about the new OS, I believe that we should activate Unit-00 using the old command program before switching to the new. We don't even know if Rei can use Unit-00 anymore," she said, looking worried. "And, honestly, I'm a little concerned about the program. I mean, I trust Doctor Akagi, but ... well, I've never seen anything like it. I'm not sure—"

"Lieutenant Ibuki, that code was designed for use with the formatting capabilities of the Eva's computer systems. You shouldn't be concerned with anything other than making the Eva work, by any means."

"The pilot's well-being concerns me as well, sir. I am responsible for Rei's life, and fear that using the new code will hamper her ability to synchronize with Unit-00 safely." She didn't mean to lecture him but she realized that's how it came out. Her voice became softer as she added, "I just don't think it's safe, sir."

She hoped that the Sub-Commander would agree with her. He nodded, taking in her uneasiness. Maya had always thought he looked like the least likely person to help run an organization such as NERV. His lined face and slick gray hair gave him a quality of wise age, but he had always seemed more like a kind uncle than a commanding officer to Maya.

And he definitely lacked the air of intimidation Commander Ikari had about him, making him easier to approach. Maya also knew he was always likely to listen.

"We are aware of the pilot's limitations," the Sub-Commander said with an expression of understanding. He was aware of her concern. "If we believed that Rei would be unable to use the Eva, we wouldn't have deemed this appropriate. We are not going about this without giving proper thought to every step we take."

"Yes, sir but—"

"Doctor Akagi says it's perfectly safe. Do you disagree?"

Goddammit!

Now Maya was caught and she knew it. She couldn't openly disagree with Doctor Akagi's judgment. That would only bring possible embarrassment and mistrust to her boss. Her ... senpai. Maya Ibuki would rather die than do that.

"No, sir." Maya stretched out her hand and took the disk. "If Doctor Akagi says it's fine, then I agree. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to seem insubordinate."

"Apologies are not necessary. I'm glad we're in agreement in this matter. Now, I should expect some progress for tomorrow. Have a good evening." And with that Fuyutsuki dismissed her.

Maya saluted and left.

The hallways in Central Dogma were empty. The short-haired lieutenant made her way to the small boxlike quarters which had for the last weeks, become home. Maya slid the key into the lock and forced herself to turn it. She did not want to be here. The place was small and bare; there was a bunk in the far corner, a desk, a computer, and a door, which led to a bathroom.

Maya grabbed her coffee flask and, noticing that it was empty, decided to get it filled. She walked down the hall and took a flight of escalators to the nearest vending machine located just outside the main bridge. She smiled weakly when she saw Junichi Nakajima talking animatedly with Shigeru Aoba and Haruna Hiei, the member of the bridge crew who had taken up Maya's duties and Aoba's girlfriend of the month.

"Hello, guys." Maya said with all the cheerfulness she could muster, but not nearly enough. She placed her flask below the machine's nozzle intended for cups and swiped her card. It beeped and started pouring.

"Good evening, ma'am," Haruna said. A smile came to her sharp features.

Technically, Maya was her superior officer, but she had never cared much for rank. She waved away the salute. "Don't do that. I'm not in the mood."

"Are you going home, Lieutenant Ibuki?" Nakajima said. He was holding on to a cup of the machine's barely excusable coffee and a nutritional—or so they were labeled—granola substitute bar that was already more than half eaten. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who hadn't gotten a decent meal and that made her feel a little better.

"No. Can't. I have work to do." Maya said, retrieving her flask and taking a swig, recoiling from the bitter taste but thankful for the much-needed intake of precious caffeine.

"Come on, Maya. How much longer can you keep going like this?" Aoba sounded concerned. "I mean, you'll work yourself to death."

"THEY will work me to death," Maya said, regretfully shaking her head. "It's not like I'm a fan of ritual suicide. And the Sub-Commander just gave me some more things to do."

Aoba shook his head too, sympathetically. "Maya, Maya, you've got to tell them that you are not a robot."

"It comes with the territory. If you want to be the boss, you gotta put in the long hours."

"Spoken like a true workaholic." Nakajima said.

Maya just nodded absently, then she turned to the agent. She hated that uniform, it made all those who wore it seem ... nasty somehow. It was the color: NERV's was a nice, neutral tan and white, cut along military lines but without the rigidity; the MOI's was black, the sort of thing one would see on storm troopers from an age past; ominous.

Nakajima was a nice enough guy, at times he could even be charming and if she weren't—well, if she wasn't herself she might have liked him. Anyway, the uniform didn't suit him at all.

"Don't you have to be somewhere?" Maya asked.

"Me?" Nakajima said, exaggeratedly mocked indignation. "You mean doing something other than vending machine talk? Like pushing papers or oppressing the humble NERV townspeople?"

"Precisely." Maya said and turned to Aoba and Haruna. Damn, I can see why he likes her, she thought. "You guys going out?"

The operator nodded and slid his arm around his girlfriend's waist. "Yep. I am gonna show her that Tokyo-3 is not only Angels and mayhem. Well, maybe a little mayhem. You can tag along if ..."

Maya cut him off with a hard glance.

Aoba rubbed the back of his neck apologetically with his free hand. "Sorry. I forgot."

"You better go, before you feel the necessity of staying to keep me company." Maya said, noticing how Haruna was tugging at Aoba's sleeve. "I hate my luck."

Aoba nodded, though Maya noticed he did so rather hesitantly. "Good night, Maya," he said.

"Good night, Lieutenant," Haruna said.

Maya waved them goodnight as they walked away, hoping she could go with them if only for the change of scenery that being outside and getting some fresh air would bring. When they were gone she was left alone with Nakajima, chewing his fake granola bar.

"It seems that everyone's got a life but me," Maya complained without bothering to look at him.

"I bet it is not because you don't want to," Nakajima said. He raised a hand. "Also, I don't have a life either."

"Funny, but no, it's because I can't. And now, if you excuse me, I wish I had time to stay and chat. Unfortunately, unlike some people around here, I have work to do."

Nakajima made a face, his narrow features opening in an imitation of curiosity. "Why are you NERV people always looking for excuses to avoid me? I don't have the plague or anything. I swear, I'm up on all my shots."

Maya found that amusing, which she thought was just the effect it was meant to have. Charming, alright. But he was still a man.

"We don't need excuses to avoid you," she said, keeping her voice light, and began walking away. "You work for the Ministry. All we really need is common sense."

Saving the world by piloting a gigantic biomechanical weapon of mass destruction had never meant that Shinji Ikari was excused from doing household chores. That still hadn't changed. Given who he lived with, it never would.

And since neither Misato nor Asuka were ever inclined to take care of it themselves, doing the laundry always fell to him even when it wasn't his turn. He didn't really mind that much, similarly to how he didn't mind cooking for them or sweeping or any of the other chores. They gave him something to do that didn't require interaction with people, and they were some of the few things he could work on that had nothing to do with Eva.

If anything, chores meant normalcy, and that gave some sense of meaning to everyday life outside Unit-01's entry plug. This was something everyone did. Well, excluding those with an Eva pilot as a houseboy.

Shinji scooped up the scattered bits of clothing from the apartment's three occupants that lay thrown about carelessly into the laundry basket, then picked it up from the bathroom floor and carried it over to the small washroom alcove.

Placing the basket on top of the washing machine, he emptied it out and then began sorting the contents, carefully separating the whites from the colors and stacking them in neat little piles. Shinji had done this so many times it was nearly automatic.

Most of his day had been spent with Rei, watching over her as she slept, the sheets twisted around her, her slender, beautifully pale form curled into a fetal position. He felt no shame in seeing her like that, exposed in a way that would make Asuka rage if she were in the other girl's place. Rei was so passive it was as if her near nudity was the most natural thing in the world, both for her and for Shinji.

It was early afternoon by the time she woke up. Satisfied that she was now feeling better, Shinji decided not to impose on her any longer, and to give her the privacy she didn't care to ask for. Rei would never ask him to leave, he realized, even if she didn't understand why he had stayed with her in the first place. She had said nothing as he bade her goodbye and walked to the door.

He knew not to take offense at her indifference. What would have been weird for other teenagers was just Rei being herself. He seemed to accept that of her with remarkable, not to mention uncharacteristic, ease. Being with her was just—

Shinji shook his head, his mind drifting back to the present, to his chores, and to the fact that he needed to finish with the laundry and get started on dinner.

Asuka, he knew, would snicker derisively and jeer that he was pathetically housebroken. It seemed to bother her that being stuck with the lowliest tasks didn't upset him the way she thought it should. Of course, the redhead had much higher standards, and just because it was beneath her didn't mean it was beneath him.

The fact was that without Shinji doing the very things she made fun of him for, none of them would have anything clean to wear. Or have dishes to eat on, or have anything to eat that wasn't flash frozen and loaded with chemicals and preservatives. He kept this household running—he suspected even Asuka recognized that. He wouldn't like her nicknaming him "Mama Shinji" for his efforts, but he did feel some pride in what he did.

Not that he wouldn't have welcomed the help. Originally, all three roommates were supposed to divvy up the chores, rotating every week on who did what, when. Misato was too busy working and was hardly ever home, so she was excused. Asuka, in her normal fashion, had thrown a temper tantrum and gotten off the rotation. It was amazing how much she resembled a spoiled little girl when the need suited her.

So, it fell to him. The Great Third Child.

As Shinji reached the bottom of the unsorted pile, he spotted, much to his annoyance, a pair of flimsy white cotton panties, the sort girls usually wore to school under their uniforms. He knew immediately they were Asuka's. Shinji sighed, and picked them up.

Even with the changes to the chore schedule and his roommates refusing to help, there was still supposed to be a single fundamental rule regarding laundry, ironically imposed by Asuka herself after she moved in: they were each to wash their own underwear. Naturally, it had taken her all of five minutes to break that rule and it eventually became common for him to find two or three pairs of her panties in with the other laundry. When she'd been in the hospital, this had stopped being a problem, obviously, but it took her no time at all to go back to old habits once she returned.

By now he was convinced she didn't do it because she forgot or was lazy. No, that would be too simple and harmless. This was bait, and one Shinji was nowhere near dumb enough to fall for. Asuka knew he did the laundry. She knew he would find whatever she left in there. He always did. But should he actually try anything, certainly anything like whatever nasty things she was probably imagining, and get caught, Asuka would see that as undeniable proof that he was indeed the pervert she claimed him to be and never again let him forget it.

The reality, however, was just the opposite. Shinji usually really tried to respect her privacy and her person, even if he did sometimes have much less than honorable thoughts about her—any boy his age would after being confronted with a girl like Asuka. During the three long months she had been hospitalized, he didn't once go snooping into her room or messed with her things, intimate or otherwise, besides changing her sheets. He could fantasize, sure, but his fantasies existed only in his head. They weren't real. Leaving behind her panties hoping to humiliate him, on the other hand, was a very different matter.

It's not like I would even enjoy it! Shinji told himself hotly. I don't have a suicide wish. But maybe if a pair were to go missing, that would teach her a le—

Halfway through that idea, he heard the apartment door slide open with a hiss. Immediately a rush of hot blood rose to his cheeks, and he shoved the panties deep in the nearest laundry pile in a flash of panic, embarrassingly aware of the fact that Asuka would absolutely, positively explode if she were to actually find him with her underwear in his hands. Not even Unit-01 would be able to save him then.

"We are home," came Misato's voice from the entrance hall.

His cheeks now flushed furiously, Shinji thought it would seem suspicious if he didn't come out to greet them. He picked up the basket again and held it in front of him trying to hide any possible indiscretions, and stepped from the tiny washroom into the kitchen just as his two roommates entered.

Misato hung back, staying close to the kitchen doorway. Asuka rushed around the far side of the heavy wooden table that took up most of the space and headed for the living room. Having removed her shoes at the entrance, her bare feet thudded loudly on the smooth, uncarpeted floor. It took another heartbeat for her angry expression and even angrier body language to register in Shinji's head. By then it was too late.

"How did it go?" Shinji asked without thinking.

Asuka stopped in her tracks and turned to him. The blue orbs of her eyes seemed to be on fire. "How do you think?" she yelled, a snarl crawling on her face. "I can't even make it go! I can't do anything!"

"I-I don't ..." Shinji stammered, backing away slightly. "I'm sorry."

Asuka pitched forward, her shoulders raised, hands clenched into fists. "YOU are sorry? Sorry for what? Sorry I can't even make my Eva work? Sorry I'm such a failure?"

As she yelled, each word like an angry finger poking him in the chest, Shinji began shaking his head. "N-No! Of course not!"

This is impossible. Why is she mad? I didn't even do anything.

"Then tell me!" Asuka demanded. "You have your Eva. What the hell do YOU have to be sorry for?!"

Shinji swallowed uncomfortably, his throat suddenly very dry; his mind seized up, as if it simply could not shift into a higher gear to keep up with her anger. And the fact that he didn't know how to answer her brought the stark reality of their relationship—if their short, anti-social exchanges could even be called that—into a sad focus.

Whatever fanciful image he carried in his mind, and however he thought of her behind her back, Asuka wasn't and would never be anything he wished her to be. His imagining of her was just a selfish desire, not true affection. So was his concern.

And Asuka knew it. He could see the disgust on her face. How dare he say such stupid things? How dare he pretend that he cared?

Shinji lowered his head. "I'm sure you did your best."

"My BEST? My best is nothing!"

"That's enough, Asuka," Misato finally said, placing herself closer to Shinji's side of the table. Her voice was serious, but there was no anger in it. "It's not his fault. You shouldn't yell at him like it is."

Asuka rounded on their guardian—a reprieve for which Shinji was hugely grateful. "He can defend himself!" she bellowed. "And I'll yell at him if I want to!"

"He's just trying to help," Misato explained calmly. She wasn't looking at the redhead.

If anything, that seemed to make Asuka even angrier. "I don't want his help! I don't want yours! I'm so sick of this!"

She turned sharply on her pink heels, her short skirt flaring up dangerously high yet still managing to conceal her modesty, and stormed off. A few seconds later, Shinji and Misato heard her bedroom door violently slamming shut.

Shinji stared after her, feeling the blush returning to his cheeks, then he sighed and dropped his head.

It was a sign of how little regard they had for each other, he thought sadly, that her outbursts, however frequent, didn't really surprise him anymore. She had always been hot-tempered, but ever since coming out of the hospital she had become just plain bitter. Given what happened to her, perhaps it was understandable. What the Angel had done to her mind—that she could come back at all was remarkable. She was remarkable. But she didn't have to act like this all the time.

Again Shinji felt the now-familiar twinge of guilt, because if anyone should have been able to relate it was him, having had his own close encounters on several occasions, but how could he, an awkward teenage boy, relate with her, a raging fire of anger and resentment. He was afraid of her, afraid that coming a little bit closer would make all of her insults really hurt, and he didn't want that. And if he kept his distance ... how would that ever make things better?

Shinji shook his head dejectedly. When he turned to Misato, still standing there, he was confronted by another, more immediate problem. "Um ... Misato ... "

The Third Child struggled to get a hold of himself, to push Asuka back far enough in his mind so that he could bring out the things he wanted to say. For someone who had made it a character trait to apologize compulsively, it seemed such a difficult thing to do now in front of Misato—if only because he was very aware of how badly and purposefully he had cut her.

Her eyes were focused on the table, he saw, almost like she was afraid of what he might do. It made him feel awful. He didn't deserve to be looked after and cared for by someone like her, someone to whom he meant so much and who'd held him in his darkest moments. Now more than at any other moment he hated the things he'd said and how he'd treated her.

But the words for everything he wanted to say wouldn't come.

Misato sighed and turned. "Don't mind her," she said softly. "Asuka's had a rough day. You know how she gets. It's really not your fault."

He nodded silently.

Misato followed the same path as the redhead around the table into the living room, disappearing momentarily from sight. She returned with her red jacket and a gray duffel bag. Shinji hadn't even noticed that she was not wearing the jacket until now, and he found that strange because it had become as much a part of his mental image of her as Rei's uniform and Asuka's neural connectors.

Setting both the jacket and the bag down on the table, Misato went to use the bathroom. She noticed the partially done laundry stacked on top of the washing machine but said nothing before closing the door behind her. Shinji didn't get the sense she was trying to avoid him; he was the one who couldn't find a convenient opening.

It was hard. He knew he wanted to apologize, but didn't quite know how to take back all the awful things he'd already said.

When Misato returned to the kitchen after a moment, Shinji couldn't remain silent any longer. He stepped closer to her as she slipped her arms into the jacket's loose sleeves, holding on to the sides of the laundry basket so tightly it hurt as the plastic dug into his hands.

"You aren't staying for dinner?" he said cautiously.

"Not tonight," Misato said, picking up the duffel bag by its strap and slinging it over her right shoulder. The bag hung by her side, nuzzled against a flaring, attractive hip bone. "I came to drop Asuka off and get a few things. Hey—" she stopped and for a second seemed taken aback and straightened up. "You are talking to me now?"

Shinji blushed again, and this time it had nothing to do with Asuka's underwear. He was so ashamed of himself he could not keep his pale blue eyes focused on her; instead he dropped his gaze into the basket. "I—I talked to Rei."

"Oh?" Misato moved closer, her steps hesitant as if afraid she might scare him into being angry at her again just by being near him.

"And she said," Shinji continued, head still down, "that if I won't do anything because I am afraid, then I shouldn't be, because then I have nothing else worth losing."

Misato didn't say anything.

Shinji kept his eyes on the basket, wanting to avoid looking up and seeing the look on her face that would tell him he had better come up with something else if he wanted to be forgiven. She didn't have to forgive him at all; he wouldn't blame her if she never did.

And then he couldn't take it anymore. His shoulders hitched up instinctively, the coiled energy of his regret and guilt suddenly springing loose.

"I'm sorry, Misato!" he blurted out, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm so stupid. I shouldn't have—"

"So Rei said that, uh?" Misato said finally, her voice calm and soft.

Shinji nodded, expecting her to berate him savagely like Asuka always did. But then, Misato laughed. A harmless, pleasant laugh, and it so surprised him that he looked up to find a faint smile on her pretty face.

"Yeah," Misato chuckled. "That does sound like something Rei would say. It's spooky how she comes up with stuff like that. In a good way, really."

"Misato ..." Shinji was no longer certain she had heard his apology. "I said I'm so—"

She held up her hand and he fell quiet.

"Don't. You don't have to say you're sorry for what you feel. And you aren't stupid, either. You were right before. I can't make you pilot Eva—I don't want to make you. That's your choice. All I want is for you to know that your choices affect everyone around you."

Shinji took in those words with a gentle nod and bowed his head. He recognized Misato wasn't trying to sermonize him or rub in the fact that what he did was wrong—and yelling those hurtful things at her certainly was. Hers was just sincere advice.

The apprehension that had surrounded all previous thoughts of talking to his guardian was replaced by an affectionate feeling of warmth. Even if he didn't think he deserved it, he got the sense that she understood and forgave him.

"Well, I really should be going," Misato said, an upbeat tone in her voice that hadn't been there before. "Listen, make sure Asuka gets something to eat, okay? Don't tell her I said that. She won't like it. She isn't—her habits are not very healthy if you don't nag her." She gave him a thumbs-up. "So that's your mission for tonight, got it?"

"Easier said than done," Shinji replied gloomily. "Sounds like a suicide mission."

Misato smiled cautiously. "It's got to be easier than catching an Angel falling from orbit, right?" She waved him off, tucked her jacket underneath an arm, and left the apartment.

Shinji saw her out the door still holding the laundry basket tightly, its weight reminding him that despite everything there was still ordinary life to be had—that was if Asuka didn't slit his throat for asking if she wanted beef or chicken for dinner.

Sighing heavily, he determined not to make Asuka's life any harder. She had been at NERV all day, and she hated the cafeteria food. Shinji would bet his S-DAT she was hungry.

He couldn't bring himself to bother her with such a trivial thing as asking what she wanted to eat. She probably wouldn't appreciate it very much and might not even want whatever he made regardless, but he could do nothing else for her.

Yes, he'd make her dinner, something he knew she'd like, and he'd leave it on the table for her. Ready for whenever she was.

After the heated exchange with her roommates, Asuka lay on her bed for a long time hugging her pillow and staring at the door. A part of her wanted so badly for it to open and reveal Shinji standing on the other side; the same part that didn't want to be alone anymore; the same part that she absolutely hated.

Just once she would like things to go her way—for the universe to stop singling her out and pick on someone else for a change. After the horrible day she had, was that really too much to ask?

The door remained shut, without even a knock to ask if she wanted any dinner, if she was alright. Nobody came for her. Nobody wanted her, not even Stupid Shinji.

Asuka tore her eyes away from the door, and it felt like her heart was tearing as well. She clenched her teeth and tried to steel herself against it. The failure with Unit-02 had left her drained and heartbroken; her defenses were weak. Too many things pulling in too many directions at once. And just when she thought it couldn't get worse, Shinji had to ...

Couldn't he see how much pain she was in? Couldn't he see how bad things were for her right now? Unit-02 refused to synchronize with her—couldn't he see how much that hurt? Why did he have to ask her how it went? Why did he have to rub it in?

Because he just didn't care. Even after she had kissed him he had just stood there flabbergasted. She had waited for him, eyes almost watering from the emotions she had repressed for so long, mouth dry, heart pounding uncontrollably in her chest, clenched hands and bare feet cold. She had waited but he didn't move, didn't do anything.

When his gaze dropped to the floor between them, she had started yelling at him, rushing to the bathroom and making a show of rinsing the taste out of her mouth.

It hurt so badly to not even be able to get Stupid Shinji to pay attention to her. Or to show any sign that she might be something to him other than the awful redhead he was forced to share an apartment with.

She hated Shinji for ignoring her and hurting her. Like she hated her mother for dying. Like she hated Kaji for leaving without even saying goodbye. Like she hated Unit-02, and she hated the Angel for breaking into her mind and digging up all the painful things in her short, absolutely miserable life. She hated everything. And, most of all, she hated herself.

But Asuka knew nobody would have given a second thought to how she felt, and certainly not Shinji. Why would he? He had Wonder Girl to drool on.

Her mind suddenly produced an image of the two of them together, just like she'd seen them the day before in school. Shinji looked concerned, caring and interested. All the things he never did for her. And Rei—she didn't even seem to realize how lucky she was.

This was the last straw. Dejection and loss, the same predominant emotions which tormented her throughout Unit-02's activation, had become such a permanent part of her life that she had almost come to accept them as inevitable. But knowing that Shinji, someone she wanted to care about, had chosen a mindless porcelain doll instead of comforting her wounded self was more than Asuka could stand.

Her eyes began trembling. She squeezed them shut and drew the pillow more firmly against her, clinging to it with childish desperation as she tried to imagine the pillow holding her tightly in return; that it was Shinji lying in bed with her. It didn't help. Nothing really could. The emotions grew stronger, eating her like acid inside her chest.

They should have left me in the hospital. I should have stayed there. I shouldn't have ... I'm so stupid.

Feeling utterly pathetic, Asuka rolled onto her stomach, buried her face into the soft, sweet-scented linen sheets and fought the overwhelming urge to cry.

Misato Katsuragi hugged herself in a renewed attempt to keep warm. The room was dark and very cold—freezing, sub-zero cold produced by the liquid nitrogen used to cool down the MAGI's mainframe. The kind of cold she simply could not get used to no matter how many times she came here.

She sat on the floor, on a blanket she had the foresight to bring along, leaning against a wall, knees drawn up to her chest. Whenever she took a breath, the air expelled from her nose and mouth condensed in front of her, giving her something to amuse herself with while Hyuga, sitting next beside her, finished wiring the MAGI to his laptop.

She hadn't really wanted to get him into this, but she was in need of his expertise with computers and decryption. She had managed to pull some information, thanks to the codes left by Kaji, but she had hit a brick wall lately. Hyuga had theorized that it was probably due to the encryption keys having been changed recently.

Unfortunately, that meant they would have to hack MAGI's firewall instead of simply bypassing it.

"I apologize for getting you into this," Misato said. Her teeth were ratting.

Hyuga turned and pulled at the connection cables he presently held. The cold had turned his bare hands red. "No problem. At least you were nice enough to ask."

Misato smiled innocently. "I guess I could have pulled a gun on you if you refused."

Hyuga plugged the cables to some sort of terminal, and then plugged the terminal to his computer. He set the laptop on the floor where Misato could see it and rubbed his hands together for warmth before he started typing.

"I would have done it myself, but I'm not that good of a hacker. Actually, Shinji will tell you I can barely use a microwave. I know this could get you into trouble. I'm sorry," Misato said, leaning over Hyuga's shoulder as he began typing commands on his keyboard. Being this close to him, he felt so warm.

"I would never say no to a friend," Hyuga said.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Thank you for trusting me," Hyuga replied, without taking his eyes off the computer screen. His fingers moved even faster. "All right. I got through the firewall. We should be able to do our business and get out before MAGI can pinpoint the security breach. Do you have a disk or do you want me to download it to my computer hard drive?"

"No. It wouldn't be good for you to get caught with this stuff." Misato reached into her pocket and produced a disk, which she handed to Hyuga. The operator took it, inserted it into his laptop and began copying the files Misato had requested.

"My question to you, if I may, is why are YOU doing it?" he asked, turning away from the computer to look at Misato, who had leaned back after giving him the disk. "If the Commander finds out, the consequences will be—"

"I know, but I have to find the truth," Misato cut him short. And I have to know why Kaji died, she added to herself.

"But is it worth it?" Hyuga's face tightened with genuine concern.

"The truth will set you free, Hyuga," Misato said in a soft voice. Once again she drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, closing her eyes. She no longer felt like looking at the darkened world around her. Bad things always waited in the dark. "The truth will set you free."

Hyuga said nothing and turned back to the glow of the laptop's bright LCD screen. Misato let him go. As talkative as she was there was no point in harassing him when he was trying to work, and she felt that anything she might say would sound like a flimsy attempt at justifying what she was doing. What she was getting him to do for her.

For the next few minutes, there was only the quiet hum of machinery and the tapping on keys on a keyboard. And then she heard ...

The hairs stood up on the back of her neck for reasons completely unrelated to the cold. "Did you hear that?" she whispered.

Hyuga's head came up and he looked around. "No. What?"

"Keystrokes," Misato said, rolling quietly onto her knees.

"Major ..." Hyuga shifted his sitting posture sideways, looking at her like she was going crazy. "I'm typing."

Misato shook her head. "Not you. Much fainter."

She got to her feet, and reached into her jacket for her gun.

"Major!" Hyuga said as loudly as someone who was trying to whisper could. Misato moved around him into the dark. "Major, if you think we've been caught we need to get out of here."

"If we'd been caught we'd know it already," Misato said. "Stay put and don't make any noise."

"Be careful," he whispered.

In the darkness and the cold, Misato could feel her heart pounding in her chest with incredible clarity. Blind people often said that losing sight merely enhanced other senses to near superhuman levels. She wondered if that's what it was. The little pinpricks of red diodes from the computers rose like pedestals of stars around her. A human, man-made galaxy among the black void.

Her gun was freezing in her hands, her breath turning into a mist in front of her. She made it to the opposite end of the room, looking around. Nothing, just more computers. And something on the floor.

A ladder.

Misato had been aware that the computer towers extended both above and below the floor they were on, but she had never considered that this room might have more than one floor. She was beginning to feel increasingly foolish—even if what she heard were keystrokes, this floor should be empty and nobody could have gone down the ladder without her and Hyuga noticing. Curiosity, however, got the better of her.

The metal rungs on the ladder were cold. She winced at the touch while still holding her gun in her right hand. She had no problem descending with just her feet and one hand.

The room below was much what she expected, towers of equipment, red diodes, and humming. But she could tell by the way the light seemed to extend into infinity that this level was actually very much larger than the one above. Misato stood at the foot of the ladder, looking around. Concentrating on her hearing, she tried to penetrate the darkness, hoping to pick up the faint noise again.

When she didn't she headed back and caught a glance further down the ladder. It seemed like it went on forever—level after lever, deck after deck.

This place was a maze. Like everything Misato thought she knew about NERV, she had only scratched the surface and there was no telling how deep it all went. In the cold and the dark, she found that a terrifying thought.

To be continued ...

Chapter Text

Neon Genesis Evangelion: GENOCIDE

BY ROMMEL

“Hell is ... other people.” —Jean-Paul Sartre.

Genocide 0:03 / Hatred

It was well past midnight by the time NERV Major Misato Katsuragi returned home at the end of her latest eighteen-hour shift. 

With few exceptions, most of those hours had been spent sitting in her office reviewing large reams of near-useless paperwork or attending meetings where, as the Chief of Operations, she could offer little to no input. These days, lacking Angel attacks, her presence at such meetings was as superfluous as an accountant’s. In exchange for all that work, her muscles ached from exhaustion, her lower back screamed with each step she took and her feet were desperate to be rid of her shoes, and nothing of consequence had been achieved.   

And to think I used to like my job. I thought I was saving the world, and somewhere along the way, I’d find my revenge. Nothing motivates you through an all-nighter more than knowing it will get you some payback.

That felt like a lifetime ago, when the Angels were still a threat rather than just a question without an answer. When her sacrifices and those of the people around her had meaning. Right now, the warm glow of naive idealism long snuffed out, she wanted only to crash on her futon and go to sleep. 

She already had her keycard in her hand when she reached the door, but as soon as she entered the apartment she heard the whispering of the TV. Voices too soft and muted to make out properly, almost like ghostly whispers in the back of her head. She had told the children not to leave the TV on when they weren't watching—it was a waste of energy and did not help with the power bill—but things had been so strained lately that she didn't blame them if they disobeyed such an unimportant order.

Closing the door behind her, Misato took off her shoes on the landing, absently rubbing her tired feet, and flicked on the kitchen light to see where she was headed. She walked into the living room and stopped.

The TV had been left on, but not unattended. Asuka was lying on her belly in front of it, her chin resting in her hands, completely oblivious to Misato's entrance. In the flickering lights of the glowing tube, Misato could see a deeply thoughtful, lonely expression on her young face.

Misato didn't want to startle the girl. She thought about simply slipping quietly to her bedroom, but there was something tugging at her, somewhere in her chest, like a kind of heaviness which grounded her on the spot. 

Ever since Asuka had returned from the hospital, despite what Misato had told her and how she actually felt, it was becoming painfully obvious that she was failing her. They rarely saw each other lately. Misato would like to think it was unintentional because of her odd schedule and occasional late-night incursion into NERV’s computer servers, but she knew there was also an intentional element—at least on some subconscious level—because she was afraid of the responsibility. 

Whatever the excuse, it wasn’t good enough. The result was always the same: she couldn’t dedicate as much time to Asuka as she deserved, especially with all that was going on in her life and the problems with Unit-02. Like Shinji, Asuka had already endured more pain and hurt than most people did in a whole lifetime. Not a day went by that Misato didn't feel sorry for them. They deserved someone who cared.

Asuka’s case was particularly personal, however. It had been Misato who had talked her into coming home in the first place; Misato who said she might be able to pilot Unit-02; Misato who gave her hope only to dash it away and then ignored her. She did and should feel like she owed Asuka some measure or relief, if not happiness. She was her legal guardian, of course, and her commanding officer. Both of those positions required her to be concerned for her well-being. But she was also the only thing Asuka now had that approached what others might call family. And that demanded more.

Misato cleared her throat, hoping the noise would alert Asuka to her presence. When the redhead didn’t react, she finally spoke. "It's late, Asuka. What are you doing up?" She tried to sound patient, but keeping her stress hidden away from her words entirely proved impossible. “You know you are not supposed to.”

At first Asuka looked like she wouldn’t answer, then she said, “What does it look like I'm doing?” Her voice was a harsh whisper. Her eyes remained fixed on the screen. She didn't move a muscle. “I’m watching a show.”

“Really?” Misato called her bluff. “What’s the show about?”

Asuka frowned sourly. This time she didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Misato already knew she was lying.

“Go to bed, Asuka," Misato said, hoping to sound motherly rather than stern. "You have a very important test tomorrow. And this time you are also going to school. I know you don't care about it, but you are not playing hooky again. You aren’t sick and you already missed plenty. Staying home alone all day is not an option.”

Asuka still said nothing. Misato looked at her cautiously, trying to see how she'd react then sighed, not sure if the redhead had heard her. She took a chance. 

"Asuka-chan?"

The reaction was immediate, and loud. 

"Don’t call me that! I don’t use your dumb honorifics with you, don’t use them with me," Asuka snapped, her bare shoulders tensing visibly. “Why are you nagging me anyway?” She gave a tired pout. “It’s not like you care.”

That last jab hurt, and even more so because Misato knew she had every right to feel that way. She had cared, and still did, but she was just really bad at showing it. 

"What do you mean? Of course I care," Misato said, painfully aware that she couldn’t talk down to Asuka like a child, despite the fact that she very much still was. Her proud nature meant she would not accept sympathy or anything she perceived as being condescending, whether it was well intentioned or not. 

Silence might have been the best policy, as it had been before, but Misato decided such indifference would get her nowhere. At the very least, she had to let Asuka know others were interested in helping her, and that she didn’t have to carry the burden of being an Eva pilot and a teenager all alone. Other people could be there for her.

Misato would like to think she was one of them, despite her failings and mistakes. No mistake was permanent unless you refused to fix it. 

"Asuka, you need rest. Please go get some sleep and we’ll talk about things later.” 

The redhead said nothing.

Misato took a deep breath. She decided to try a different approach. “If you want me to, I can have a meeting with Ritsuko and ask her to stop the tests. Just for a little while. Until you feel up to it again."

"Why?" Asuka asked shortly, but Misato thought she heard a hollow ring in her usual shrill voice. “I don’t need you to stop the tests. I need the tests to work. That’s the only thing that matters. To me and to you. Now please go away. Stop pretending. And stop lying.” 

Is kindness not something she understands anymore? She’s really that far gone?

As she considered that possibility, Misato remembered what Ritsuko had said about Asuka being like a cat. She hadn’t really wanted to believe someone like Ritsuko could know anything regarding a person’s feelings, especially complicated ones like a young girl’s. But in this case she was right. Asuka might not be afraid, but she had been left alone and abandoned inside her little box for so long that she even forgot what compassion sounded like. Partly, it was Misato's own fault.

"I ... don't think the tests are good for you," Misato replied quietly. “Ritsuko will keep pushing you, and you’ll just become more and more exhausted. It won’t make anything better. I think you could use a break.”

"Since when have you been concerned with what is good for me?" Asuka said in a strikingly sarcastic tone. She turned her head slightly so that she could look at Misato sideways, as if seeking to measure her response. Her blue eyes glinted in the glow of the television—icy jewels hard enough to cut diamonds.

"I've always been concerned, Asuka," Misato said, trying not to let her guilt come across in her words. “Not just as your guardian, but even before that. All the way back to Germany when you were with Kaji.”

Asuka looked her over, eyes moving up and down intently, her feet crossed at the ankles swinging back and forth ever so gently in the air. Then a look of distaste came over her young features, like she was holding something bitter in her mouth. 

"Only because it's part of your job,” the redhead said. “And only when it's convenient to you."

It hurt to realize she was right. Of course, that realization was nothing new. And it hurt all the more because Misato did sincerely care about Asuka—she cared very much, in fact, even if the short moments she shared with her, when she saw her really early in the morning as she was getting ready for school or later at night or at NERV, never allowed her to show it.

But despite not showing it as she should, she cared. It was just so hard with someone like Asuka. Her attitude made it almost like combat. How were you supposed to demonstrate your caring for a person when they did nothing but lash out at you?

"That's not true," Misato said. “Asuka, come on—”

"I suppose it's not true, even though you never once came to see me in the hospital," Asuka hissed, looking away from Misato and fixing her gaze back on the television. “I suppose it’s not true even though you never talk to me. I'm just this girl you live with and never see. Everything you need to know about me is in my file, right?”

Something heavy hit Misato in the chest. "It's not ... like that. I was just busy. Before. So much happened in so little time, I just never got around to it."

"So I’m right. You didn’t have time. You didn’t ‘get around to it’, as if I were some lottery ticket you missed out on buying. I just wasn't very convenient."

"Asuka ..." Misato shook her head. 

"It’s fine," Asuka said. "I don't want you to be concerned for me. Just don't say that it isn't true. Don’t lie to me. I'm grown up now. I can deal with the truth."

"I was concerned, but ..." Misato began, then realized the right words would not come. How could she justify having abandoned her to Asuka when she couldn’t even justify it to herself? She decided for honesty. "Asuka, you are grown up. But you have to understand that sometimes we can't do the things we wish we could. That’s part of being a grown-up, too."

"You don't even believe that. If you are concerned—and I'm not saying I think you are—then it's only because it makes you feel better about yourself. It makes you feel like a less horrible person. Like the idiot. It has nothing to do with me."

Misato fell silent and just stared at her, stunned at having her words thrown back in her face so easily and so effectively.

Maybe it was a byproduct of her training, but Asuka certainly had a talent for hitting her target, and in some really painful ways. Unfortunately, that usually meant she was also brutally honest, unabashed and obnoxious. All those things pushed people away, even if those people just wanted to help.

Should anyone actually try, like Shinji did in his shy, polite way, or like Misato now, the result was always the same—Asuka would lash out. Ritsuko claimed she did this out of fear. Misato had her doubts. Asuka didn’t seem afraid; the exact opposite, in fact. 

It wasn’t like Asuka was completely wrong in her accusations either. Offering her help did make Misato feel better about herself. Well, it would make her feel better if Asuka actually accepted the comfort she wanted to provide her. Was that selfish? Perhaps a little. Misato had always felt like she genuinely cared, but then why, in the three long months of her hospitalization, did she not go see her once?

You cared, but you didn’t care enough to bother. And you think it’s wrong that she hates you for it? The miracle is that she came home with you at all. In your mind, looking for secrets was more important than her.

Misato shook her head. "It has everything to do with you. It always has," she started, but when Asuka refused to look at her again, she realized the hopelessness of her position. "I’m … sorry. I guess I can't make you change your mind about me just by talking. Things have gone beyond that. But I hope you do realize that, despite everything, there are still people around you. Now. And none of them want to see you suffer."

“Those people can go to Hell.” 

I shouldn’t have expected anything else at this point , Misato though. But even then the words still hurt, and even more so because of the serious tone that indicated Asuka was being sincere; that she really did want to be left absolutely, utterly alone. “I'm sorry that's how you see it. I really am, Asuka.”

Asuka said nothing. Her head dropped slightly; her eyes fixed on the television. From that point on, Misato knew she meant to ignore her. She sighed in resignation.

“Good night, Asuka,” she murmured, but tried to keep from sounding defeated. “Go to bed. Consider that an order from your superior officer."

The redhead shut off the TV with a forceful jab of the remote and dragged herself to her feet. “Fine. I’m going. No need to pull rank on me like that just because you’re losing the argument so badly.”  

Misato glared at her and kept it up as the redhead walked to her room and slammed the door behind her. Once she was gone, Misato realized she felt angry; with Asuka, in part, but mostly with herself and with the universe for stopping her from helping her loved ones like she wished she could. 

And she felt tired. Much too tired.     

She remembered the dirty, checkered tiled floor and filthy bed but the rest was blank, as if a part of her mind had been deleted. For all she knew, perhaps that was true. It would explain many things.

The air was heavy, loaded with dust and the smell of decay that came with age. Nobody had been here in a long time. There was almost no light, only enough to see the faint outlines of worn-out, rusted medical equipment that did not seem to have been used in many years. All of it appeared broken.

Dead things. Sad reminders of a life lost.

Rei Ayanami, the First Child and the third girl to carry that name, didn’t know how she’d come to end up here. She remembered pain and voices and an awful feeling of fingers on her bare skin, and then she was walking. After a while, she stopped. Now here she was, standing in the middle of this old, haunting room, her ghostly white flesh almost glowing in the darkness. She was naked, but she didn’t feel cold. She didn’t feel anything, just dead. Inert.

I died, but I am not dead.

There was something missing, she realized. She didn’t know what it was. Something wasn’t where it was supposed to be in her chest. Like she had no heart. Something important to the person she was and the one she had been.

The memories are not mine. This body is not mine. This soul is not mine. This face is not mine. This heart is not mine. If nothing is mine, then what am I? 

She blinked for what seemed like the first time in hours and looked around. Where was she? She wondered. Why was this place so familiar? Rei had never been here before, of that she was sure. And yet she felt like she had always been here, always living in the dark, always naked.

Was it a dream?

A memory?

She approached the bed slowly, and the soft shuffling of her feet filled the room. Her body was heavy and stiff. When she looked down, she saw the sheets on the bed were dirty, and there were dried blood stains on the yellowing material. Her own blood? It was possible. 

Softly, she pressed her hand on the sheets. They were warm, pleasant to the touch. Was this her bed? Her past? No, somehow she knew. Not hers. Rei Ayanami’s. The other her. The her who died. The her Shinji Ikari saw when he looked. The her he cared for and missed. 

“Rei, what are you doing?”

Rei turned to the sound of the familiar voice and found Doctor Ritsuko Akagi standing where she had been before, holding a flashlight. She couldn’t see the woman’s face, only a shock of her blonde hair and white lab coat. The harsh light hurt her eyes and so she looked away.

“How did you get here?” Doctor Akagi repeated.

“I do not know,” Rei said honestly. “It felt like I was walking in my sleep.”

“I said you could take a break. That wasn’t permission to wander off,” the blonde doctor said sternly. “This is a big place, it would be incredibly easy to get lost forever if you don’t know your way out, or nobody knows where you are.”

Rei nodded her head slightly. “I am sorry to have worried you, Doctor Akagi.”

Doctor Akagi turned around.

“I wasn’t worried at all.” She made a motion with her hand, a signal to Rei that she was supposed to follow. “Come on.”

Rei followed her obediently, falling in step behind her as she led the way out of the darkened room and into a pitch-black hallway illuminated only by the flashlight and a bright doorway at the very end. The damp air clung to her as sweat, the gloom entered her pores like some kind of virus. Shapes appeared along the walls: doors, broken equipment, pipes, shards of glass, cardboard boxes, medical supplies.

The only sound was the clicking of Ritsuko's heels, the rustling of her coat, and Rei's quiet padding on the tiles.

“Familiar, isn’t it?” Doctor Akagi said, keeping her gaze straight ahead. Rei could only see a flash of yellow hair along the silhouette of her head.

“What is this place, Doctor Akagi?” Rei asked, unable to hold her curiosity. “I have never been here before, and yet there is something ... I do not know what to call it.”

“To you, this place means nothing,” Doctor Akagi answered coolly. “This is where she was raised. Your predecessor. This was her world for a long time.”

Rei felt a sudden pang of sadness. “In the dark?” she said.

“We used to have lighting when it was still in use. Of course we wouldn't have raised her in the dark. That would have made for a very badly adjusted individual,” Doctor Akagi added. “But why do you care? You didn’t grow up here. You came from a glass tube.”

Rei didn't know what to feel—how to feel. Only that she felt something odd and empty once again in that familiar spot inside her chest.

“She grew up?” 

Ritsuko Akagi stopped, but did not turn. Rei stopped, too, and stood there, red eyes carefully examining the woman in front of her. The doctor didn't seem quite able to put her thoughts into words. Rei didn't mean to trouble her. Her question had not been intended to do that, but it seemed to have regardless.

“Rei,” finally Doctor Akagi said, “for someone who is very intelligent, you sure ask a lot of dumb questions.”

A sudden cold draft of air touched her skin, making her shiver. “Do you hate me, Doctor Akagi?”

The doctor sighed, shifting partially back towards Rei. It was impossible to see the expression on her face and Rei knew it was the same with her own face. She thought that was good, because she didn't know what expression to make.

“Hate is a strong word, Rei. It is meant to hurt. People don’t seem to understand now. You shouldn’t use it unless you mean it—and even if you do there are always other ways to say it without being so blunt. Every word creates a ripple when you use it, and those ripples linger far longer than anything you say.” She paused. “But no, I don’t hate who you are. My feelings are not that specific. I hate what you are; what you represent.”

This is what being hated feels like , Rei thought. It was such a familiar thing. Like she had lived with it for a long time.

Without knowing why she dropped her gaze to the floor.

“You know, I destroyed the Dummy System for the same reason,” Doctor Akagi said bitterly. Her voice had a strange hardness to it. “Soulless things shouldn’t hold the same value as human beings. You were no different than those things until you were born. Then everything changed and you became who you are.”

“I am soulless?” In the dark, even Rei's soft whisper seemed to carry on forever.

“No, weren’t you paying attention?” Doctor Akagi’s eyes flashed in sudden anger. “I said everything changed for you. You have a soul. But Angels have souls—would you call them human?”

Rei did not offer an answer, but she knew what it was supposed to be.

No. Having a soul is not what makes you human.

“Don’t flatter yourself by pretending to be more than you were created as, Rei. Understanding is not your purpose. You may feel better now, but in the end it will only lead you to misery.” Doctor Akagi turned back, and resumed walking down the hallway behind the beam of light from her flashlight, her heels once again clicking ominously as she went. “Now, enough with the questions. To be honest, the answers have absolutely no relevance for you. We still have experiments to run.”

Rei followed her quietly, every footstep feeling as heavy as her heart. This was her lot, she knew, the only reason for her existence. She had to fulfill her purpose or she would be discarded, and whether she liked it or not was irrelevant. Still, as she walked naked on the cold floor, she found that she did not want to go back.

She did not want to be hated anymore.

Shinji hesitated a moment before entering the bustling classroom. It was exactly the wrong thing to do. Less than three seconds later, Asuka came barreling into him from behind, nearly pushing him over. 

“H-Hey!” the redhead huffed, annoyed. “Out of the way, idiot! Geez! What’s the idea?”

“Sorr—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Asuka pushed past him before he could finish his apology and went to greet Hikari, who was standing near the front of the class working on arranging some papers. Like she usually did, the Second Child attracted quite a few of the other girls for whom her mere proximity—pretty idol and foreign Evangelion pilot that she was—would provide a social boost, and the lustful stares and hushed whispers of several boys.

Shinji doubted that Asuka knew any of those girls’ names, or could remember their faces, or if she’d ever been to any of their houses. They were just props on a stage for Asuka to find amusement when she wasn’t locked in her room.

So many people want to be her friend, and they flock to her looks like bees to honey, yet somehow, she always seems alone. Even when she’s laughing, there’s … something else in her eyes.  

He sighed, pushing away the usual strange feeling when it came to Asuka, and trundled to his desk.

Kensuke, occupying the desk next to his, looked up from what he had been typing at his computer station as he approached. “Man, it’s not fair,” his friend grumbled. “Eva pilots always get all the attention anywhere they go. You practically are celebrities.” 

“It’s just Asuka,” Shinji said. “Rei doesn’t get any attention ...” I don’t either , he added silently. And even if he did, he would try to avoid it.

Kensuke had never really understood what it was like, not even when another of their small group had gotten brutally mauled by the incident with Unit-03— yeah, by me , Shinji reminded himself. Dummy System or not, he probably wouldn’t be able to look Toji in the eyes if they ever met again. 

As Shinji set his book bag down on his own desk, he glanced around the room and quickly spotted Rei’s blue mane. She was sitting by the window, her red eyes lost in the landscape beyond and far away from the noise and the crowd, an elbow propped up on the desk, her chin resting on a white hand.

She was always like this in class; never speaking unless spoken to; never asking a question of clarification on homework or tests or anything.

Looking at Rei, Shinji remembered what Misato had told him the day before. The inevitable news since Rei announced her intention to pilot Unit-00 again, and one which almost kept him from getting any sleep. He had managed to put it in the back of his mind thanks to the morning routine and having to deal with Asuka's usual hostility.

He could not resist the urge to approach her—he had to say something to reassure her, despite being sure Rei didn’t need it and that he would only be making himself feel better. In this sense, their relationship was decidedly one-sided.

Shinji had known all along that Rei activating Unit-00 was compounded with him activating Unit-01. Asuka's Unit-02 was already active, although not fully functional. That left the other two Evas. Misato had told him that he’d be there when it happened, probably because she knew he was concerned, but he hadn’t considered they would do the activations back-to-back.

But that was the decision. Resource conservation, Misato had called it. Unit-01 would go first, then Unit-00. And before them, Unit-02 would also be run through a test sequence. It would take hours.  

Rei didn’t take her gaze from the window as he came to stand beside her desk and look down on her, clenching his hands nervously the way he always did when something made him feel uncomfortable. He knew despite her indifference that her thoughts were not entirely elsewhere even if she did appear that way.

“Rei?”

“What is it?” she said softly, still not moving a muscle.

Any other person would have seemed rude. But Rei's attitude was something he had come to expect, and accept in a way. Regardless of anything he might say, and whether she disagreed with him or not, she would not make him feel as though he was completely wrong—she would not judge him in the same way he didn't judge her. It was that passivity which made her so approachable.

And it made him glad he had her; Asuka wouldn't listen, and if she did, she would yell; Misato would listen then try to talk him out of or into something; Rei just listened. Nothing more.

“Um,” Shinji struggled for a second to find the right thing to say, then it came to him. He should just be honest because Rei would want him to, and because she would be honest with him in return. “Misato said today’s the day. I mean, Unit-00 is ready. That means I’ll be going back into Unit-01 as well.”

For a second there was no reaction, and Shinji started wondering if he had actually said that out loud. In some form or another, those thoughts had been running around his head so persistently that he couldn’t be sure. Being worried about Rei seemed to have become like being worried about the weather: it happened a lot and without him realizing he was doing it.

“Yes, you are correct.” Rei sounded completely uninterested when she finally responded, her voice just a whisper. “I received a reminder this morning. There was also an email with the daily schedule. It includes all three units. I believed it was a mistake so I called. It is accurate.”

Shinji nodded. “Yeah. Asuka will be there too. The three of us will be in our Evas today. It’ll be the first time since ... ah, well, in a while.”

“I suppose it will be,” Rei said plainly. “I do not think the start-up sequences for all three would be scheduled on the same day. I can not understand the reason for it. The available personnel will be stretched to capacity.”

It was just like her to worry about personnel at a time like this. Detachment did not even begin to describe it.

Shinji wasn’t expecting her to be concerned for herself—that would be rather unlike her, and would probably be more cause for concern than the test itself. After all, he was the worrywart. But he had, however, expected some reaction, something to show she understood the seriousness of the situation, if only to ease his own fears about the whole thing.

Rei could be a little too brave for the sake of everyone around her.

“Are you ... are you scared?” Shinji asked, hoping his own apprehension didn’t show in his voice. He only partially succeeded, but if Rei noticed anything she didn’t let on.

“No,” Rei said flatly. “Why should I be?”

“Well, it’s the first time,” Shinji said. He was embarrassingly aware that it sounded childish considering all they’d been through. “It’d be natural to be afraid.”

“Not for me. And you? Are you afraid?” Her voice was almost absent as she turned his own question back around.

Shinji gulped stiffly. The answer seemed obvious enough, but he said it anyway. “Um, not for myself. I’m afraid for you. There's no way I wouldn’t be. Unit-01’s gonna work. It always does. But you've never done this before and the last time ...” He would rather not think about it so he stopped. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll be there if anything happens.”

“Like what?”

Like you dying , he wanted desperately to say, the memory of her sacrifice still too fresh in his mind. He caught himself. Rei might not be afraid—he was certainly fearful enough for the both of them, he felt—but she didn't need him saying something like that. “Like well, you know, anything.”

“There is nothing to fear from 'anything’.” The word sounded weird when she said it. “You should be more specific.”

Shinji let his shoulder sag along with his eyes. “I ... can't. Maybe I'm just in denial. I just don't want anything bad to happen to you.”

“I know,” Rei said. “You wish to protect me.”

Shinji nodded.

“And who will protect her?” Rei turned her head ever so slightly.

Shinji followed her gaze and realized she was looking at Asuka. The redhead turned up her nose haughtily and twisted away when she realized they were both watching her, continuing to chat with the entourage of girls gathered around her. She sat on her desk like a queen on her throne, her feet up on the seat of her chair, one hand grabbing the edge of the desk, the other playing with a lock of her hair. Glossy red, her neural connectors stood out vividly.

There was no doubt that she had once again become an idol to their classmates, but Shinji knew better. Unlike them, he had seen her hit bottom and heard her scream.

“Asuka doesn't want anybody to protect her,” Shinji said sullenly, turning his head back to Rei. “Even if I tried, she’d just yell at me. It’s you I’m really worried about.”

He really had no choice. How could he worry about Asuka when she wouldn't even allow him to do that for her? Every time he’d expressed his concern, she had instantly thrown it back with angry and hurtful words. And while it was true that she had no obligation to believe he was being sincere, which for some reason she never did, wouldn’t it be better if she let him try to help her, not because he pitied her, but because it was important and because her life also mattered? 

For all her hostility, Shinji knew Asuka did not deserve being hurt any more than Rei did. He wished he could support her properly and protect her if needed, but by now he’d recognized that it was impossible. He was so hopelessly unsure of anything related to her he was even hesitant in expressing sympathy. Rei was much easier to deal with; she didn't fight him every step of the way.

That, Shinji had long come to realize, said as much about himself as it did about Asuka. He had already accepted the fact that he was completely inadequate when it came to the redhead.

“I do not worry,” Rei said quietly. “Even if the worst were to happen, it would not be so bad. Perhaps it would be for others, but not for myself.”

Shinji didn’t want to argue with her about that. He just wished she cared as much for her own life as he did—maybe then she wouldn't be so eager to put it on the line for his father. It was an odd feeling to know what the person you worried so much about didn't care that you did. Rei Ayanami was always like that. She would do anything if his father ordered it. 

For many obvious reasons, that bothered him immensely.

Up near the front, Asuka was laughing—that high-pitched laugh she normally used, calculated to attract attention. Hikari too was smiling, happy to enjoy whatever joke she was sharing with her friend. Other girls looked at her in admiration, even gratitude for being allowed in Asuka's circle.  

Shinji felt the tightness in his chest ease. They hardly ever spoke now—Shinji wouldn't know what to say anyway—but at least in school Asuka seemed like she could have some cheerful moments. He wished that carried over to her home life, and that she could smile and laugh when they were in the apartment, watching TV, doing homework, or just eating dinner. It certainly would help a lot.

But no, it seemed Asuka’s laughter and smiles were reserved for Hikari and her almost-friends. Shinji was a little jealous, he had to admit, and also glad. Just seeing Asuka find some measure of happiness, with whoever it was, felt good. 

He imagined it would have been just as good to have Rei be more like Asuka in that regard. To have her laugh a little, and act like a normal girl.

“Why are you smiling?” Rei asked him suddenly.

Shinji shook his head, snapping back to reality. He returned his attention to the First Child, realizing he had been staring at Asuka way too long, whatever expression had been on his face vanished. “Excuse me?”

“You were smiling,” Rei said. “Why?”

Was he? Shinji had not even noticed. “It's nothing. I just ... I was thinking of something that made me feel good.”

“I see.”

Shinji wasn't sure what she meant by that. Maybe she had misunderstood the gesture, since she was not quite adept at human interaction, and even less adept with feelings. But the possibility that he might have been smiling over Asuka was too weird so Shinji changed subjects. “So ... listen, Rei, at least promise me you'll look after yourself.”

“My fate is in the hands of other people,” Rei said. “I have accepted that. Doing anything else would just be painful.”

Shinji felt a taste of bitterness in his mouth. Sadly, he knew exactly whom she meant by “other people.” But his father didn’t care for her any more than he cared for him. He didn’t think Rei was naive enough to believe he did. If nothing else, the slight hint of resignation in her voice proved it.

Rei knew she was being used.

There was no time for Shinji to discuss his feelings about his father. The bell suddenly rang, followed immediately by Hikari's call for the students to go back to their desks. The girls around Asuka scattered, chatting until the very last moment. The redheaded pilot peered over her shoulder, either at him or at Rei. Shinji couldn’t tell. Then she turned away again and took her seat. For a second he thought he saw a sour expression come over her pretty face.

She was probably mad at him, he thought, but couldn’t think of anything specific he might have done. Asuka didn’t need a reason to be mad. Rei, for her part, gave no hint that she’d even heard the bell in the first place; her blank expression didn't change.

Shinji never stopped being amazed by the polarizing extremes of their personalities.

Quickly returning to his desk next to Kensuke, Shinji dropped into his seat and pulled up his computer screen. Within a minute he had to stand and sit again as the teacher entered and Hikari called, “Rise! Bow! Sit!”

Looking around him, the rest of the scene seemed almost unreal. Regular students in a regular classroom, doing what students did in classrooms every day of the week. Nowhere was it evident that for three of them it was little more than a farce.

The teacher began his lecture in earnest, ignoring the dozens of bored faces doing everything they possibly could to pass the time without appearing to be doing just that. Most of them simply pretended to take notes while really playing with the computers or browsing documents and in some cases sending messages using the school’s IM system.

A sudden flashing icon on the corner of his own screen caught his attention. Shinji looked down with curiosity and saw he had a message waiting to be read, from S.Asuka_Langley no less. He frowned as he moved the cursor over the icon. This was something new; forget that he hadn't even noticed she was typing, Asuka never sent him messages. He clicked on it.

“Don't stand in front of the door next time and I won't yell at you, okay?”

Shinji blinked, confused. He looked up and saw Asuka sitting perfectly straight in her chair, not moving, her golden-red hair falling down to the middle of her back.

He read the message again. Even in her sharp, haughty voice it almost sounded like she was saying sorry. And though that was probably not the case, he wanted desperately to believe Asuka wouldn't have sent such a message for nothing. He typed back a single word.

“Okay.”

Unit-00 was not ready, but it would have to do for now. As a small army of technicians worked to secure it to the cage by means of an improvised restraining system, most of the required armor components were still missing. Only the helmet, in its bare orange primer with its single red eye, was in place. 

To Ritsuko Akagi’s keen eye it resembled a huge, lanky humanoid, although it wasn't exactly human-looking yet. The skin was several tones of brown and gray, depending on the origin of that particular body segment, covering lean muscles that were slightly off in comparison to human proportions. The limbs were too long and the torso much too narrow and the head too small.

It was truly a modern Frankenstein's monster, its body a patchwork of spare parts, some cloned, some regenerated, and some, like the spinal cord and head, were actually remnants of older failed models kept in the forgotten depths of the Terminal Dogma facility. 

Even Unit-00's core, protruding as a dark red sphere from its chest, had to be scrounged together since they wholly lacked the ability to make it from scratch. The core contents itself could only be transferred, not copied or duplicated, which could become an issue that might create problems with interoperability. Ritsuko was aware of the shortcomings inherent in the system. Thankfully, the pilot's singular origin allowed some leeway in that respect. And then there was the interface itself. In truth, that might be the biggest problem if they were careless.    

Unlike other pilots, Rei was not intrinsically linked to a specific core. The normal relationships between pilot and Eva did not apply to her, and the nature of the link between her and Unit-00 was not the same as anyone else. Earlier cross-synchronization experiments had already determined her limited compatibility to pilot Unit-01. As she should be, all things considered. 

Leaning her elbows against the safety railing, Ritsuko looked down at the armorless Evangelion with contempt. She had a hand pressed against the side of her face, a careworn expression on her features. She had been standing there for a while, thinking how much she hated it.

The irony was not lost on her. This was, after all, her life's work. At least her mother could say that MAGI had reflected who she was as a woman, a mother, and a scientist. That it represented a part of her. Ritsuko did not share that kind of connection with any of the Eva units. They were not a part of her. She had come to loathe them. And Unit-00 was the most loathsome of the group.

It wasn't really the first anymore, so calling it the prototype would not be an accurate identification. Technically, it was the last. But Ritsuko hated it as she had its predecessor, probably because of who was its pilot. And even that did not represent any kind of continuity, since Rei Ayanami, like her Eva, was basically a thing only recently created. But the pilot she was meant to replace, and the woman whose genes she shared were gone, and they were never coming back. 

If only he would realize that, Ritsuko thought, then maybe ...   

Suddenly, she ground her teeth in anger. She had told Rei that she hated what she represented, but that was an odd way of putting it. It implied a distinction between who and what she was, as if the essence of a person could somehow be separated from the physical shell of the body it inhabited.

As far as Ritsuko was concerned, it was a ridiculous idea. The AT Field bonded physical and non-physical elements of reality into one being. Even Rei could not transcend that, regardless of what she was. 

She should have just told her how she felt about her, perhaps. Rei wouldn't care and it would have made Ritsuko feel better. She didn’t understand why she hadn’t.

“A penny for your thoughts, Doctor.”

Ritsuko recognized his voice at once, and turned her head to see Sub-Commander Fuyutsuki standing there, his hands in his pockets. He looked fatherly, as he always did, with an interested expression carved on his heavily lined features.

“It’s nothing important,” Ritsuko said, trying her best to smile.

“How can it not be important if you are the one thinking it? Um, excuse me for saying it, but you look rather tired.”

Ritsuko shook her head. “I must be crashing.” 

If anything Fuyutsuki seemed more understanding. “Caffeine is good for what it is. It's still no substitute for real rest. It's good to remember that every once in a while. I have seen even the best students burn out.”     

“I haven’t been a student for many years.” 

“Every day you learn something new,” Fuyutsuki pointed out. “That makes us all students.”

Ritsuko said nothing. Her days in a university classroom felt like they belonged to another life, one in which her mother was both a challenge and motivation, and her reputation among her peers a thing to fear. The Great Doctor Naoko Akagi—how could anyone live up to that, her own daughter included?

“Are you worried about the activation?” Fuyutsuki asked, his gaze leaving Ritsuko and wandering over to Unit-00. “I see they have locked it down already.”

Ritsuko straightened, taking her elbows off the metal railing. “There are so many things that can go wrong. I think I would feel better if we waited until the dummy was complete, but, alas, we don't always get what we want and we are pressed for time. Experimenting with the Tablet doesn't help, I suppose.”

“Rei should be able to handle it.” Fuyutsuki sounded convinced, and it was hard to tell if he really was or if he was only putting up a front for her benefit. 

“Theoretically,” Ritsuko corrected. “With all the modifications and additional safety parameters she should be able to handle it. I have already prepared a synthesized version for Unit-02 as well, but I’ve decided that we will run it with the normal interface package until we have no choice. Giving Unit-00 test priority makes sense, since at least Rei can synch with it. If she makes it work, there will be little need for Unit-02 to have a pilot.”

Fuyutsuki picked up on her dark tone right away. “You seem doubtful.”

“What does it matter if I’m doubtful or not?” Ritsuko said, turning back to look at Unit-00. “Nothing I say can make him change his mind. He is set on this, and you know how he is. I’d have more luck arguing with a wrench.”

“I know better than I can say.” 

“Then talk to him. We are running out of time, yes, but recklessness will get us all killed.” Ritsuko realized she didn’t have to point out something that obvious, but she felt compelled to do so anyway. 

“The man’s heart is set. I suppose the same goes for myself,” Fuyutsuki said. He nodded approvingly towards Unit-00. “Lieutenant Ibuki did a good job, didn't she?”

Even if he didn't say it, Ritsuko was aware that a compliment on the student was also a compliment on the teacher—her, in this case. But she didn't feel complimented. Oddly, she felt like she wanted to be back in her cell. At least then she wouldn't be forced to look at this thing anymore.

It seems dead, a moving phantom. Like its pilot. 

“Indeed,” Ritsuko conceded. “She did.”  

"Financially speaking, this city is like a black hole: it sucks every yen that comes within a light-year with hardly anything to account for where the money goes," Junichi Nakajima said, trying and mostly succeeding in masking his disgust from the Tokyo-3 Council. “The Budget Office and the Ministry of the Interior do not mind this fact as a general position, but some other heads are beginning to turn in this direction. That is not a good thing, gentlemen."

This was the part of the job that he really hated. He had spent most of his life as a soldier, not a politician, and despite what Kluge said, making that change was not easy. A soldier always knew who the enemy was; a politician thought everyone was the enemy and consequently turned into the scum that soldiers were then sent to destroy.

It made Nakajima sick that he had to play the political role just to keep his cover.

"You are right, Agent Nakajima. That is not good." Nobutake Hibiki, chairman of the Council said. "But I'm sure that you are aware of the magnitude of this operation. Money is needed in vast amounts."

"That is all acceptable. What isn't is the fact that the funds were made available to you six weeks ago and we have yet to see any progress. Even more troubling is the lack of receipts. Of any kind of paper trail." Nakajima cast a glance at the other members of the council. They were all old men, which reminded him of the old Politburo he had once read ruled Russia in the middle and late twentieth century.

"When working in the field you can not guide yourself by any schedule, nor concern yourself too much with paperwork,” the chairman replied. “As a former military officer, you can understand that. The engineering required—it isn’t like building a model airplane. The money is well spent, I assure you."

"As a former military officer I also understand that excuses are meant to hide failure, more often than not," Nakajima said, bluntly. So much for politics, he thought. “And I also understand that objectives are measured by their inherent usefulness. There isn’t a lot of that coming out of Tokyo-3 these days.”

"Agent Nakajima, you misunderstand," Chairman Hibiki said as he rose to his feet. "This council is fighting a war on two fronts: The Ministry on one side and NERV on the other. We have to go about this in a way that will please both, because your organization has failed to get rid of NERV like you promised. At least the UN knew how to stay out of our business, which is more useful than the incessant oversight of the government."

Nakajima tilted his head provocatively. "Are you saying this is our fault?"

"No," the chairman said, shaking his head. "I'm saying that, for us to work more efficiently, one of these two fronts must be eliminated. Either you scratch NERV, or the Ministry gets off our backs."

"Neither is possible at this moment," Nakajima said. He would have loved to simply shoot the chairman and end the argument. “We can not get rid of NERV, and we are the civilian authority so we are not going anywhere.”

“Then your complaints, while duly noted, simply add to the uselessness. We can not be hounded like this, regardless of what your boss says. He is not an economist, after all.”

“The taxpayers have a right to know what their money is being spent on,” Nakajima said.  

“On concrete and steel. What else is needed?”

“But you can’t show that without receipts,” Nakajima pointed out. “The Prime Minister’s Office is already snooping around. They suspect—by which I mean someone probably told them—that some of the money has found its way to foreign interests in China and Russia. That is both a violation of Japanese law and UN agreements.” 

“You will have to ask Gendo Ikari about things like that. We merely fulfill our obligations as required by our mandate. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The gathered men all nodded and whispered their agreement. Nakajima had been told to expect this kind of shameless stonewalling, but even without being prepared for it he would have found it fairly predictable coming from people interested only in keeping their power.

“I suppose that fancy new apartment you bought your daughter in Kyoto is also part of your mandate.”

The Chairman shrugged. “A gift. For her wedding. Purchased with private funds.” 

All funds are private if you don’t show where the money comes from , Nakajima thought. Or where it goes.

“In any case,” the Chairman added, “that is none of the Ministry’s concern. I would appreciate it if you stayed out of my private affairs. I’m sure there’s a lot about your boss Kluge that he would be quite inconvenienced to suddenly have become public. The business in East Germany just before the Wall came down for example. And about you as well. We aren’t fools. We know how to deal with burdens.”

Nakajima tried to ignore the open, boldfaced threat, but it wasn’t easy. “I was not assigned to be a burden. I am here simply to remind you of our finite resources and the need for some returns on this investment.”

“Then you should let us do our jobs,” another of the council members said. “That is our duty, after all. And you should stop implying what everyone in this room is certain you are implying, Agent Nakajima.”

Nakajima bit his lip to keep from making the reply he wanted to make. This councilman was much younger than the rest, which probably accounted for his tactlessness.

And he must still be twenty years older than me , Nakajima thought. What the hell am I doing with my life?

His father had once asked him the same question, when a then-17-year-old Junichi Nakajima had told him he’d lied about his age to join the military. Up until that point the idea had been for him to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a politician. It was what the entire family wanted from him; the future they had chosen for him.

He joined the military to spite them—there was honor in fighting for something instead of lying for a living. His father had threatened to disown him, but he didn’t care. All his life he’d felt alienated; now he would be free. 

When he shipped out there had been no one there to bid him farewell. It hadn’t bothered him. Fake sincerity was worse than no sincerity. It was just more lies. Exactly the sort of thing he was trying to do now. It seemed his life had come full circle despite his best attempts.

“Gentlemen,” another of the assembled men spoke up. “I am sure it is better for everyone involved to get along here. Instead of trying to trip each other up at every turn, we should focus on our common goals—that is the reconstruction of the city we have been entrusted with.”

“Very much so,” Nakajima said. “We have to trust that each of us here has the best interest of the city at heart. It’s the only way anything good will come out of this situation.”

The Chairman agreed. “Of course. This is a battle for the future, and we each have our orders to follow.”

Yes, but some orders are harder than others. And more illegal.

Nearly an hour later the meeting finally adjourned. Slowly, the councilmen left the room as deliberately as men who were not used to being rushed were inclined to do. More than one of them gave Nakajima a suspicious stare, although lacking any real resentment.

The conference room empty, Nakajima dropped into one of the chairs. His sore body complained as he leaned back and closed his eyes.

He was ready to go home. Hopefully, to get some sleep after another night spent trying to hack through NERV's servers. Even after months, it was still impossible. The security was simply too tight. But for the most part all he had to worry about was boredom so it was a rather cushy part of his job. Well, that was what he thought, then several nights ago things almost went wrong.

Nakajima had not been aware that there was anyone in the server room with him until he heard the footsteps on the ladder, and then on the deck. He had set himself up in a corner between two CPU towers, mostly because it would help conserve body heat and because the computers themselves ran hot. Quietly but quickly, he pressed his back against the wall and reached into his uniform jacket for his gun, hoping against hope that he wouldn't be forced to use it. He did not want to kill anyone. Not ever again.

When the footsteps began to fade, he scooted forward and peered around the server hiding him from view, catching a glimpse of a red jacket. He knew who she was instantly—he had seen the jacket earlier.

Misato Katsuragi.

None of the questions that arose from seeing her there made sense to Nakajima so he had pushed them into the back of his mind, along with everything else he tried to keep from thinking about. It was getting rather crowded back there recently.  

He opened his eyes again and looked around the room. 

Hours wasted, untold millions unaccounted for, no one willing to answer. And a boss who was not known for his patience and very well known for a lot of nastier things. If results were all that mattered, Nakajima was, by now, sure he could not deliver them.     

Asuka tossed her wet towel on the bench that ran down the length of the locker room, next to her discarded plugsuit, and reached into her locker for her underwear. As she did, she caught a glimpse of the slender naked girl with round blue eyes and loose golden-red hair who suddenly appeared in the mirror opposite her. She looked so young. Too young for the pain and hurt and anger she was forced to bear. 

Yet those things never left her, even when she tried to forget and did her best; when she went to sleep at night and woke up in the morning, inside or outside Unit-02, and, like now, when she looked in a mirror. 

Asuka clenched her teeth, feeling a rising, vicious impulse to slam her fist into her reflection. She despised that girl. She despised the weakness she saw on that face. She despised the brokenness in those eyes. And despised that it was her own self.

How , she wondered bitterly, can someone feel so disgusted just looking at themselves?

Ever since she was a little girl, Asuka had been aware that most adults saw her very negatively and thought she only cared about herself. But the reality was different; if she could now choose to be anyone, the last person Asuka would choose would be the girl in the mirror. 

Most of those same adults were too stupid to even realize how easy they had it. At least they could bury their sorrows in sex or alcohol or ... something else when given a choice. But Asuka had no choice; whatever she might claim, she wouldn’t be an adult for several years, legally and in the eyes of all who knew her. Meanwhile, her childhood lay wasted behind her, like a mangled corpse left to rot by the side of the road. A childhood without happiness, and full of death and grief.

Asuka despised this about herself too. Being a teenager was like being stuck in limbo, in the most unfair and cruel manner possible. She wasn’t a woman yet, but already had to endure the consequences of womanhood every month; she wasn’t ready for sex—didn’t even like people touching her—but wanted desperately to somehow fill the void she felt inside of her. She sure as Hell couldn’t buy any alcohol, either. So what was left to her? What could she do? 

For the largest part of her life, the answer had been to pilot her Eva. No matter how many bad things happened to her, she would have Unit-02 along with the sense of pride it provided her to compensate. Those were the two constants around which she could build her future and set her purpose. Of course, that was before the universe, karma, God or whatever apparently decided it just wasn’t fair that she should have those things after all and so took them away like it had taken her Mama.  

Her pride she’d lost when the 15th Angel turned her mind into a horror show and forced her to watch while anyone with a radio heard her cry and scream. As for her Eva … Asuka had no real reason to be surprised by her failure with Unit-02 anymore, but it was still hard to accept it. Her latest synchronization test had been awful. After weeks of trying, she was still only barely above the starting indicator. Without really knowing why, she always expected some improvement that never materialized. Even the constant reassurance from those around her didn’t help. There was nothing more any of them could do.

Today was especially bad. Stupid Shinji and the Commander’s doll had both been around to see her fail. The humiliation was almost too much even for her. And it wasn’t over.

Dammit, I forgot. I need to get going.    

Bending down, Asuka quickly stepped into her panties and pulled them up her legs. She turned her head to avoid looking at her reflection again as she snatched her bra off the top shelf inside the locker and wriggled her arms into it. Next, she put on her blouse and worked her way up the buttons before slipping into her uniform jumper, clasping it securely around her narrow waist after tucking in and pressing her blouse.

All this she did in a rush, moving purposefully. She had rushed through her shower routine too, only taking long enough to rinse the worst of the LCL out of her hair and scrub herself down to prevent the liquid from forming a sticky residue on her skin, then hurriedly drying off. There had barely been time to register the pleasant feeling of the hot water cascading down her back.

She would have liked to linger, enjoying the feeling of warmth as a steamy mist rose around her, but not today. She needed to be done before ...

Rei Ayanami entered the locker room like a white ghost, her footsteps making only the faintest sound as she walked over to her own locker, a few places down from Asuka. The redhead tried to ignore her. Rei began undressing, unbuttoning her blouse and folding it neatly before moving on to removing her skirt.

The proximity of the doll was enough to make the hairs on the back of Asuka's neck stand on end. She hated the girl—that was no mere hyperbole. She had hated Rei Ayanami since the day they met, and hated her even more ever since the First Child had saved Asuka from the Angel that broke into her mind. And then there was her “friendly” relationship with Shinji.

Asuka had long since stopped wondering how she could feel such vile emotions towards her. Like her, Ayanami was a teenager, not old enough to even be properly called a woman. She hardly ever spoke—certainly never spoke to Asuka—and they only saw each other at school or, like now, at NERV. They barely knew each other at the personal level, even though Asuka recognized they’d both been through a lot. In another universe they might have been able to comfort one another.

But as uncalled for as it might be, Asuka just hated her.

Plain and simple hatred.

As Rei continued to undress, Asuka found that she could no longer stand being in the same room with the doll. She promptly emptied her locker and slammed the door shut loudly. Holding her book bag, neural connectors, shoes, and socks in her arms, she stormed barefoot to the entrance, brushing past Rei's now topless form.

“Is there a problem, Pilot Soryu?” Rei asked as Asuka walked by, her voice soft and flat, the way it usually was regardless of who she was speaking to, or about what. “I did not mean to disturb you.”

Asuka stopped on her tracks but did not turn. She was clutching her belongings so furiously tight that her arms hurt, her slender hands turning into claws. “No.”

The word could have easily been a thrown dagger, poisoned with anger.

“Am I required to ask about your test? Do you wish to have a conversation with me? I am usually never alone with other girls my own age.”

“Just shut up!” Asuka spat. “I don't want to talk to you. I don’t want to hear from you. I don't even want to look at you. Just being around you makes me sick.”

“Oh,” Rei's voice did not change, and if she was offended at Asuka's tone she hid it well. “Is there something I could do to—”

“Make me like you?” Asuka interrupted her, turning her head and glaring furiously at the other pilot. Rei’s bra was off by now, leaving her pale alabaster chest bare. This had no effect on her demeanor whatsoever. She might as well have been fully clothed. “Sure, there's one thing. You can die today.”

“I … see.” 

Rei's porcelain face did not change. She didn't even blink. And the lack of a response just angered Asuka all the more. What could Shinji ever see in this doll—this little emotionless doll? How could he possibly choose that over a living, breathing human being like herself, who actually had a mind of her own and could feel things?

Or maybe that was why he was so close to Rei Ayanami; like his father, maybe he just wanted a doll that would do whatever she was told. A doll who would never talk back, who would die for him if he wanted her to. It was sick.

Asuka would never be like that, regardless of how desperate and lonely she felt. She would never be a doll.

Realizing the pointlessness of saying anything more, Asuka resumed her escape. But now there was something heavy in her chest. The thought of Shinji and Rei had, through whatever strange alchemy anger held over the mind, created a tight sensation that threatened to close down like a pincer around her heart.

By the time she made it to the exit, Asuka could hold back no longer. She stopped again and spun, her eyes narrowed beneath a deep scowl. “Stay away from Shinji,” she demanded. “He doesn't need somebody like you.”

“Is that what he thinks?” Rei said; again her voice was soft but completely emotionless.

“No. That's what I think. Stay away from him.”

“I should imagine that if the Third Child no longer is to associate with me, then that should be his decision, not yours. Even if you do have his well-being in mind. If he does not want me to speak to him, he should tell me. I would not be angry.”

“Pathetic!” Asuka laughed bitterly. “So the doll wouldn't even mind being dumped like yesterday's garbage? I didn't realize you were so well trained.”

Rei shook her head slightly. “It is not training, but if Ikari should make that decision then I would hope to understand it. I would not begrudge him for it.”

“Whatever,” Asuka retorted with barely controlled anger. “Stay away from him. For his own good. And yours. Unless you want to have a problem with me.”

Rei shook her head. “I do not understand.”

“Sure you do. You might be able to fool Stupid Shinji with your act, but you don't fool me. I see you for what you are—a heartless doll, incapable of feeling anything. So what's the point in having someone have feelings for you? Hah, what's the point in even being alive? That's why I really want you to die in your Eva today. You'd be doing everyone a favor.”

Leaving those words to hang in the air, and her own shrill voice filling her ears, Asuka rushed out of the locker room. It wasn't until she made it to the other end of the hallway that she spotted a small equipment closet and ducked in to finish fixing up her uniform. At the very least to put her shoes on.

“Stupid,” Asuka growled under her breath, not sure if she was still cursing the doll or herself. She threw her things on a nearby crate, and stood there in silence with her fists clenched, waiting for something—she didn’t know what exactly—to stop aching.

Shinji Ikari felt his entire body relax in the darkness, giving in to the odd and familiar sense of belonging. He slowly breathed the LCL that filled the metallic confines of the entry plug and soaked everything, letting it in and out of his lungs in a steady rhythm. 

Echoes and whispers floated easily around him like a mist; things he could not properly understand but that somehow made it all better. Like a mother's soft cooing to her child, the sensation provided no answers. And the question he’d asked himself a hundred times already remained. 

Why was he here again? He’d promised to himself that he would never do it—it was too painful after what he did to Kaworu. Yet here he was, ready to once more ride the beast he had never fully controlled.

And it felt ... nice. No, it went beyond that, actually. 

It was as if Unit-01 could sense his apprehension and responded to it. Shinji knew this was more than just a machine, that there was a more primal and complex connection happening here, but it didn't make sense. There were still so many things he didn't know. The Evangelion was too complicated. That was why he was so afraid for Rei.

"Main power activated. Initiating neural connections 1 to 78 on the first block," Maya said over the intercom, her voice more serious than Shinji could recall hearing it in a long time. “Proceed to the second block upon successful completion.”

He was a part of Eva—all the pilots were. Together, he and Unit-01 created a unique bond that didn't ever seem possible with other people. For a time Asuka had done so with her Unit-02 as well, and indeed her Eva had seemed to be the only thing that could make her happy. But Unit-00 was entirely unpredictable.

Savage, a real beast , Shinji thought.

"Synch status is nominal across the board and holding," said a male voice Shinji recognized as Hyuga's. "Activate second block, connections 79 to 134."

"Clearing primary borderline. All green. Safety checks well within the limits." Another male voice, Aoba's. "All A-10 links enabled."

"Initiating third block connections, neural waves nominal."

Shinji tightened his grip on the main controls on either site of his command seat. He felt tense, his heartbeat quickening. He thought about Rei and how she must be feeling. It would be the first time for her—truly the first time—and knowing what had happened before he had no idea how she could find the courage.

He would be safe here, Unit-01 always protected him; Rei was another matter. It was for her that he decided to break his own promise to himself, and why he was here. She was his answer.

Almost a full minute went by before the sound of the speakers echoed again through the quiet entry plug.

The darkness inside the entry plug came suddenly to an end, plunging the cylindrical space into a rainbow of swirling color before quickly resolving itself into a clear cockpit that became like a transparent window from which he could see the outside world. A warped canopy that corrupted even the light that passed through it.

It was a digital illusion; the entry plug was buried deep inside the Eva, surrounded by flesh and metal and thick armor. But Unit-01’s senses belonged to him now, and his to it.

"Final borderline cleared, connections complete. Synch Rate holding at 81.98%. Battery enabled, external power nominal. S2 engine secured and inactive. Evangelion Unit-01 has been successfully activated."

Shinji sighed. Small bubbles floated from his lips to the top of the plug. That was that—Unit-01 was now activated for the first time in months. His promise was broken. He eased back into the command seat without really ever becoming aware that he had tensed up.

“Nicely done, Shinji,” Misato said over the radio. Her voice was cheerful. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm fine,” Shinji replied, doing a quick mental check. “Everything feels like it used to.”

“We'll take care of everything on this end, don't you worry about anything. Maya's on top of things. Ritsuko is here too. Your job's done for now.”

His job was done, Shinji repeated to himself. Not that he ever did anything because Unit-01 synched to him naturally with no real conscious effort on his part. It worked. It just did. Always. He wondered why it couldn't work the same way for either Rei or Asuka. In the case of the latter, it would no doubt do a lot to ease her grief and the heavy feeling of bitterness that seemed to surround her, and in the case of the former ... he still didn't believe Rei belonged in an Evangelion, period.

And that he was apparently the only one that cared was a source of endless frustration. At least Misato seemed to recognize why it was not right, but even then she did nothing to stop it. Shinji already knew she didn't have a choice. Like she didn't have a choice about him.

While before he might have resented her for that, now blaming her for doing her duty felt childish. Misato did what she could to protect them, and if she could help it Shinji himself wouldn't be sitting inside Unit-01. Neither would Rei. He wasn’t sure about Asuka.  

“Perform routine system check,” someone said on the radio, a high-pitched female voice Shinji had not heard before. “Second team, move on to Unit-00. Follow predetermined safety parameters and report as soon as POST is completed before full synchronization.”

“Understood. Unit-00 is ready for POST and reporting.”

He anxiously glanced out of the cockpit-like layout of his plug and saw the blue colored Unit-00.

If Unit-00 went berserk, Shinji would have to stop it—no matter what, he would save the pilot. He was very aware of the limitations of the restraint system holding Unit-01 in place and that it would not hold him if he really tried to break out of it, but he was also sure that Misato would likely release him if the need arose.

“Misato?” Shinji called out, knowing she was listening to him.

“Yes, Shinji?”

“Can you keep a communication channel open? I want to listen in while Unit-00 is activated.”

There was a moment of hesitation on Misato's part, then he heard her say, “Ritsuko?” Whatever the blonde doctor replied was not audible enough to be picked up by the microphone, but Misato relayed it instead. “Ritsuko says it'll just clutter up the communications array. Maya agrees with her. Sorry.”

“Yeah, okay,” Shinji sighed, a little disappointed.

It was just like Doctor Akagi to want to keep him in the dark. That woman, who he had once liked, had no compassion in her heart. The way she talked to Rei made him sick to his stomach, like she was just a doll to her.

And, of course, Shinji still remembered watching her destroy the Dummy System. He still has nightmares about that grotesque scene sometimes—the Rei look-alikes falling apart in the LCL, their eyes open and staring mindlessly, and he could have sworn he heard laughter.

To think that Rei, the girl he wanted to protect, had come from that place ...  

On the outside a figure clad in a form-fitting white suit then stepped onto the gantry surrounding Unit-00's ghastly, extremely lanky body. Shinji's attention became intently focused on Rei as she walked to the area where her entry plug had just been inserted into its receptacle behind her Eva's unarmored neck.

There was a detached airiness to her stride, as if she weren't even there. The quiet elegance of her movements and the slender shape of her young body were both accented by her plugsuit, which fitted her like a second skin. Unlike the severe red color of Asuka's suit or the rather neutral blue-white combination of Shinji's own, Rei's was almost entirely white except for a few accents of green on the harness beneath her breasts and the twin dark gray lines running from her backside down along the outside of her legs.

The suit was pressurized in the sense that it was held in place by a vacuum, molding it to the wearer's every curve. While Shinji had never thought he looked very heroic in his suit, despite being assured otherwise, Rei looked dashing and feminine beyond words, a white angel with blue hair.

Shinji knew how frail she was, too. She may not be his Rei, not Ayanami, but she was still a human being. Somebody had to be her guardian angel. Somebody had to care enough about her that they would risk being hurt themselves or hurting others for her sake and break promises for her.  

And that somebody was Shinji Ikari.

That was why he was here, the only reason he had found it in himself to fight the demons of his past and of Eva. He had to protect Rei just as she had done several times for him.

Perhaps it was guilt—in fact, Shinji was pretty sure it was. When he first found out about Rei, he had been so terrified of her he cut her off completely from his life. But after months of avoiding her, it seemed like he just couldn't stay away from her. A part of that was no doubt the lingering feelings he still had for Ayanami. Making that distinction between them was almost impossible. Even now, at unguarded moments, he found himself thinking of them as the same person.

That, he knew, was another reason. In protecting Rei, a part of him felt like he was actually protecting Ayanami. He had failed her once; he did not want to do so again.  

Shinji would like to think he would do the same for Asuka if she let him, and for Misato if she needed him to. Did that make him brave? He didn't think so. It just meant they were important to him.

Rei stopped at the foot of her entry plug. She placed a hand on the huge metal cylinder and stood there for a moment. Shinji could have used Unit-01’s capabilities to zoom in on her image and get a better look, but decided that it would be like an invasion of her privacy.

She looked behind herself, and for a second her eyes, distinctly red even from a distance, seemed to stare into Shinji before moving away, up towards the window of the control room. Shinji followed her gaze and saw Ritsuko standing there.

Shinji frowned. Was Rei having second thoughts? Was she not ready for this? Was she being forced?

Then, before he could answer any of those questions, Rei turned back and climbed through the hatch of her entry plug. Into the darkness within.

I'll be protecting you , Shinji mouthed silently to himself, watching her disappear from view and remembering the night when she had said those very same words to him. I promise.

"All right, that's one down," Maya announced. A noticeable look of relief flashed through her otherwise carefully composed face. "Unit-00's pilot is now in place. Flood the entry plug with LCL."

“Flooding commencing,” an operator confirmed.

Misato nodded only out of habit. Neither her approval nor acknowledgement were strictly required at the moment. As the LCL began filling Unit-00's plug, its progress slowly tracked by a colored graph on a computer monitor, the NERV Major scanned the control room around her. In front, near the thick armored windows overlooking the cages, Ritsuko was looking out at the enormous metal and concrete cage that held the two Evas. Haruna, Aoba and Hyuga sat on their respective consoles. Maya stood besides Misato, doing her best to appear calm and collected, and not making a very convincing show of it.

She had every right to be apprehensive, Misato considered. This was Maya’s project, after all, representing months of work, endless hours, dozens of night shifts, and tremendous expense. 

For safety reasons no one else besides this small staff was allowed in the room. Not that there were that many people left who could perform high-level procedures like this effectively. Even Misato was only there in the interest of the children.

"Flooding complete," Haruna called from her station. It would be the girl's second ever activation test—the first having taken place with Unit-01 just minutes ago. The excitement in her voice was odd, but not unacceptable. She was effectively Maya’s replacement as Maya was moved up the chain months ago. New and untainted.

"Begin Unit-00 activation sequence,” Maya said. She turned to Misato. “Here we go. Let's cross our fingers."

“We should keep an eye on the loading interface for the A-10 connection,” Ritsuko said, not taking her eyes from the thick armored window. Even to Misato, who had known her for a long time, she seemed very tense. “The new program hasn't been tested on a live subject.”

“Live subject?” Misato frowned. The term caused her empty stomach to turn. She hated Ritsuko's detachment with a passion. It wouldn't kill her to actually refer to the children as people.  

“Yes,” Ritsuko replied without apparently noticing the other woman’s distaste for her choice of words. “Our simulations, while rather comprehensive, are still based on a computer conscience. MAGI can account for certain shortcomings in the human mind, sure, but it can not adequately simulate every variation. Therefore, the results of those simulations still leave an unknown element that we must address. Connecting Rei to the system should provide more clarity.”

Misato almost rolled her eyes. “Of all the things that can go wrong, you are worried about a computer program's results?”

“Unexpected problems often become the biggest problems, Major Katsuragi,” Maya said. Misato was taken aback by how that seemed exactly like something Ritsuko would say. “I suppose that is a law of experimentation. It's very similar to Murphy's. Doctor Akagi is just being thorough.”

Ritsuko turned her head to give Maya an odd look of approval. “Indeed. We must rule out every possibility for error. A simulator is not a human mind, and a human mind is required.” 

Funny how she’s only human when it’s convenient , Misato thought angrily. And she remembered what Asuka had told her the night before. 

Maya nodded eagerly. “Right. The MAGI can’t provide enough data. Only the connections between Unit-00’s central processor and Rei’s brain can do that.” 

Misato stayed quiet, looking and waiting, but she had the uneasy feeling that Ritsuko’s cold demeanor had started to rub off on her warm-hearted protégé far too much. She didn’t think she liked that. Indifference to human suffering had never led to anything good; on the contrary, it made difficult things even worse.

“And we’ve taken steps to prevent more serious complications,” Ritsuko added as she returned her attention to the glass. “That's why I wanted to have Unit-01 out there at the same time. Just in case.”

Yes, it’s obvious now, you bitch , Misato fumed as she suddenly realized why Ritsuko had arranged the activation tests the way she had. Somehow she kept her rising anger in check.

“So you want Shinji to clean up your mess in case your calculations are wrong. Ritsuko, that’s callous, even for you. You’re putting him in a situation where he might have to hurt Rei in order to stop Unit-00. You know this, right?”

Ritsuko's reply was completely emotionless. “No. Trust me. The maintenance crews will take care of the mess. Shinji is there to make sure we are all still around afterward.”

Being inside Unit-00 was strange—stranger than before and very different from anything she thought she remembered. Rei Ayanami had never felt anything like it. It was like being isolated from the rest of the world in a metal grave, and as the LCL flooded the entry plug, she felt its cold grip through the thin material of her plugsuit. When the liquid finally rose above her head and she took a breath, she realized it smelled like blood.

“Flooding complete,” a voice announced through one of the speakers. “Pressure inside acceptable limits.” 

After the voice was gone, however, the silence was even deeper than it had been before. Rei leaned back on her seat, feeling the two control sticks she had on both sides. She had never been so alone in all her short life.

This is where she died, she thought.

She had always felt awkward in this place, the girl that came before her; Rei knew. The other Rei. It wasn't fear or pain or anything as powerful as that, but more of a feeling, a faint sense, that she didn't belong. That there was already something else here. Someone. And she wanted her out.

"We are ready to start," a woman’s voice broke through the silence. “Rei, can you hear me?”

"Yes."

"Good. We'll now begin power-up procedures and voltage check on all systems. Please stand by. This channel will remain open for you. Don't hesitate if any issues come up. Try to relax and clear your head."

A light went through the entry plug like a tidal wave, a rainbow that had somehow been twisted into a ring running the length of the plug's cylinder. And suddenly Rei felt nausea. She immediately covered her mouth with both hands out of reflex.

"Why ...” she asked, swallowing and gagging, “does it feel this way?"

"I'm sorry,” the voice replied. “It's your body's natural reaction to the synchronization process. Close your eyes and think of nothing. We'll do the rest."

Rei nodded and tried to clear her mind, as instructed. After what felt like an eternity, the nausea faded and she was able to remove her hands from over her mouth. The entry plug's walls turned into a swirling, patternless rainbow, every color changing and merging with the other. She had read why that happened—the phosphorescent diodes charging to different voltages randomly to reset them.

No, Rei quickly corrected herself. She hadn't read that. It hadn't been her. She was just remembering it, but the experience itself was not her own. Nothing was.

"Initiate the A-10 nerve connections."

A new scent came to her—something distinguishable even with the smell and taste of the LCL drowning her senses. She knew this new scent. She hated it, and she didn't know why. Before that sensation dissipated, Rei heard a voice. 

“Rei, are you worried?” Gendo Ikari had asked her after telling her that she would be activating Unit-00.

“No,” the girl with Rei’s face said.

That was not me.   

Then another voice echoed in the back of her mind. A shrill, high-pitched tone ringing with what she had come to identify as bitterness. “I didn't realize you were so well trained!” 

It hurts when she talks like that. The Second is like me. Pilot. Student. Girl. Why does it hurt?

“Rei, think of nothing,” a new voice ordered over the radio. A woman’s voice this time. Lieutenant Ibuki’s maybe. She said something else, but then the voice faded away to nothingness, like someone had suddenly turned down the volume.

“Think of nothing,” the words came again, but this time spoken in Rei’s voice. Rei knew she had not said them. It was HER voice, but coming from somewhere in the dark of her mind, distant, belonging to whomever she had been in the past rather than to her as she was now. A phantom’s words. The words of her dreams.  

"Your brain signal is spiking. Think of nothing. Relax," Lieutenant Ibuki’s voice said with increasing concern, but the words were lost among the LCL. Rei was no longer listening. She couldn't. Her head was beginning to hurt. “Rei, can you hear me?”

Rei closed her eyes. There was only darkness in her life now. She was turning in her seat, pulling something behind her. Her body was eaten away by tendrils under her skin, corrupting her. She was afraid, but she couldn’t let the Angel get to Ikari. 

“Why ... did you ... have ... to ... do that to me?” Rei heard herself say. “I tried to forget ... really tried ... to leave you behind ... to move away ... to die, but you wouldn't let me.”

“Rei, you are not making any sense.”

And then there was a flash of orange light. And she couldn't breathe anymore. Her skin burned as if her plugsuit had suddenly been set on fire. Her head throbbed, like painful blows of a hammer against her skull.

What is this? She thought. Why does it feel like this? It hurts. Everything hurts.

And she felt herself fall—her heart, her mind, her whole being just falling, further inside the Eva, until she recognized nothing but deep sadness and despair, and loneliness so thick it was what it must have felt like to be the last living thing in all the world.

“Rei? Rei, do you hear me?” Little by little, the words faded. Then Rei Ayanami heard only silence. 

"Linkage sequence complete,” Aoba reported, his face a mask of concern. “Abnormal brain signals on all circuits. Initiating first Link-up phase. Should we continue?" he raised his head as he said this and looked expectantly at Maya.

Instead, it was Ritsuko who replied. "Is it tolerable?"

There was a moment of hesitation. Aoba checked his computer before giving his answer, "Barely. We are 0.5% within the threshold."

"Continue,” Ritsuko ordered. “Let's get this over with as quickly as possible," she added to Maya, whose worried face clearly indicated she disagreed with the decision.

Aoba went back to his console, but not before looking doubtful at Hyuga. The spectacled operator shook his head. Standing behind them, Misato could see they didn’t agree with the decision either. But Maya, technically the one in charge, nodded. She was with Ritsuko. 

"Ah, brain activity has increased exponentially," Haruna called out from her console. "The synchrograph is all over the place. Patterns are shifting continuously."

"Rejection starting in the central nervous system! Abnormal readings on all levels!" Aoba shouted.

"How can you continue with this?" Finally, Misato stepped in. She walked closer to Ritsuko and reached out a hand to grab her by the arm. “This isn't safe anymore. You are putting Rei in danger for the sake of an experiment.”

"We are within limits." Ritsuko stared her down firmly. “There is no physical threat to the pilot. Besides, it’s not my experiment.”

Goddamn you , Misato was furious. She turned to Maya. “Lieutenant Ibuki, you will call this off immediately.”

Maya looked at her for a moment, then at Ritsuko, then dropped her head like a chastised puppy. And it was then, her insides clenched with anger, that Misato realized Maya wouldn’t be doing anything against Ritsuko’s wishes. Ritsuko was not in charge of this particular test, but she was in charge of Maya. 

"Rejection spreading to other systems!"

"Abort test!" Misato yelled, wheeling back to Ritsuko, who just stood there calmly looking outside the window at Unit-00. “Ritsuko!”

“Not yet,” Ritsuko said. “If this is ever going to work, we need as much usable data as we can. There will not be another chance. I know it must seem harsh to you, Misato, but that is simply because you do not know the consequences of failure.”

“Second thought pattern detected!” Hyuga all but screamed. “What the hell?” 

Maya jerked her head in his direction so fast it was a wonder her neck didn't snap. She rushed to his console and leaned over his shoulder. “That's impossible,” she said. “Is contamination affecting the sensors?” 

“I can’t tell,” Hyuga said. 

Misato moved back to get a look at his screen—sure enough, where there should have just been one jagged line indicating Rei's thought signal being broadcast from her A-10 connectors, she saw two lines crossing each other and merging back into one.

“Maybe some kind of electronic interference coming from the signal buffers?” Maya asked no one in particular. “Electromagnetic?”

“Not over a closed system,” Hyuga said, staring at his own screen. “The only thing that should show up here are Rei's brain waves. Maybe it's some kind of thought noise randomly coalescing into a wave pattern on a close enough frequency to be picked up and cause interference?”

“Mathematically, what are the odds of that?”

Hyuga shook his head. “I don't think we have numbers that small.”

“It's a malfunction,” Ritsuko offered calmly. “A misread. The sensors should only be picking up Rei's A-10 wave because it is the only link that can exist between the pilot and the Eva. The most likely cause for two signals would be equipment failure. In fact, the entire system seems to be breaking down. We'll have to try to diagnose the problems one by one and fix them.”

Maya looked at her strangely, “But ma'am—”

“What else are you suggesting, Lieutenant?” Ritsuko interrupted the younger woman’s protest. Her voice was as no-nonsense as Misato had ever heard it. “That you think there is a second mind inside Unit-00? Is THAT what the Commander should expect to read in your report?”

Maya's manner changed immediately, to that more befitting a shamed schoolgirl standing before a scolding teacher than someone of her rank and experience. “No, ma'am.”

“No,” Ritsuko repeated. “Because it’s insane. Aoba, purge the system,” she ordered. “Reset as many of the parameters as you can. Do we still have communication with the pilot?”

“Just static,” Aoba said.

“Vitals?”

“Steady pulse. LCL temperature and pressure are normal. Video monitoring equipment not responding, but other than the synchrograph, she would seem to be fine.”

“We can't go on,” Misato said. “Not without knowing for sure that she's alright.”

“She's fine, why wouldn't she be?” Ritsuko said with a certainty no one else in the room seemed to share. “Maya?”

The short-haired girl looked extremely uncomfortable. “I ... don’t have any reason to think otherwise. If you say it’s fine, then—”

“See?” Ritsuko said to Misato, opening her hands as if demonstrating that she had nothing to hide. “I don't suppose you'd want to consider the fact that we essentially had to put Unit-00 back together from scraps. There were always bound to be problems like this.”

Very reluctantly, Misato conceded the point. Aside from the errant readings—readings they all agreed could not be explained—there was no real danger. She was not in agreement, but there was little she could do short of pulling her gun on Ritsuko.

“I'd feel better if we could talk to her,” Misato said.

“So would I. Her direct input would be very useful.” Ritsuko turned back to the assembled crew. “Change over to log diagnosis. I want a record of everything we do. Check the electric connections. Make sure nothing is coming through the entry plug’s Faraday cage.”

A series of positive acknowledgments followed those orders. Ritsuko glanced at Misato, saw her face. She added, “And get Rei back on the comm. I don’t care if someone has to run a plastic cup on a string right up to Unit-00’s access hatch. We need information.”

The cloudless sky above her head was a deep, dark crimson, like the color of blood diluted in water. Under this canopy lay a vast orange ocean of LCL, its glassy surface completely flat as far as the eye could see. There was no wind, no stars, nothing. 

Rei Ayanami stood perfectly still, the strange ocean up to her thighs, looking down at her own reflection in the tide. Her white plugsuit appeared almost a dirty golden-red, and she saw it distort and ripple even though nothing else was moving around her. Behind her rose a dead tree, with seven decayed branches splitting skywards like bony fingers reaching out from a grave towards the angry red sky. 

“Is this Unit-00?” she asked no one. Her voice carried on forever over the LCL. She noticed that the lips of her reflection did not move when she spoke. “No. This is someone else.”

Rei turned her head to look more closely at the tree and realized that it did not have that wooden texture that would be expected from trees everywhere. The whole structure, trunk and branches alike, seemed as though it was made of twisted limb-shaped shadows even though it did not cast one onto the surface of the LCL—arms and legs all knotted together and rising up in a huge mass. And it was black. Completely and utterly black.

“Where am I?”

The last thing she remembered was the feeling of nausea as Unit-00 was activated. She heard voices whispering faintly in her ear, stirring locks of short blue hair, but the words made no sense, as if spoken in a language she was not meant to understand.

“Am I dead?” Rei asked. “Is this Hell?”

Nothing. She looked around. She must still be inside the Evangelion, possibly in some kind of dream-like state induced by the stress of the activation. Since it was her first time, such a reaction could be explained.

After all, Unit-00 had not felt like anything else she'd experienced before.

“You are different.”

The words were not spoken. There was no sound. Only a chill that ran up her body and somehow transformed into language. She looked down at herself and saw that her plugsuit had vanished and she was naked. But her reflection had not changed—it stared up at her with cold red eyes that could not possibly be human.

For the first time, she was seeing what others saw.

She reached down, her fingertips brushing the surface, causing ripples to distort her reflection. She suddenly felt cold. Whatever it was, she was touching it.

“Who are you?” she asked again, unafraid.

Her reflection shifted, its features wrinkling in annoyance. Again she heard that strange voice. “You are different. You do not feel like those before.”

“I am not like anyone else,” Rei said. “I am myself.”

“Are you not afraid?” her reflection asked, red eyes narrowing.

“No.”

“I should have known,” the thing said. “Nobody has ever been able to speak to me as you are doing now. That is how I know you are different. That is how I know of your uniqueness. I am unique as well.”

Rei was curious. “No one has ever spoken to you?”

“Not in this manner. Not like equals,” it said. “If I must answer your questions then I shall say only that I have never been given a name. I exist by myself, a part of nothing else. But I learned from contact with those that came before that to exist by oneself is meaningless. The true value of existence can only be calculated by the contact between beings. My existence is merely my reflection in the minds of others, as they see me. As you see me. So I am you and I am myself as well.”

“Are you an Angel?”

“No. I am free from the curse of the Tetragrammaton, what you might call God. I am as you are, a creation of man. Those you call Angels are simply an aberration born out of a path that leads to destruction. As everything in nature must have balance, so too must existence have a counter-existence. A beginning must have an end. Your Angels are but alternate parts of yourself. The antithesis to everything you are. Your end. Do you not know this?”

Rei shook her head slightly. “Why should I?”

“Because in knowledge lies understanding. Therefore, in that link lies the means by which I am to fulfill my purpose and thus the reason why I exist. Those that came before possessed a wealth of knowledge, experience accumulated through years of heartbreak and loss. They understood fear, loneliness, hatred, love. But you are foreign to all those things. To me you feel ... clean. You feel empty.”

She felt a chill run over her, and the LCL around her legs suddenly became much colder. She looked down at her reflection on the rippling surface, and saw that her face was frowning. 

Except it wasn’t really her face. She could not feel the muscles of her brow tightening, nor the kind of emotions that went hand in hand with that expression.

“So, in turn, it is I who must now ask you a question,” the voice said again. “What are you?”

“I am Rei Ayanami. I am myself.”

The LCL grew even colder—so cold that it felt like it was almost burning her.

She winced at the pain, shrinking her shoulders and drawing her arms closer to herself, but could not escape it. “It hurts.”

“Your name is not an answer. Not even to yourself. It is simply a lie created by others and given to you. It does not answer the question.”

Rei shook her head, unable to think of anything else. “Then I do not know.”

“What are you, stupid?” The voice changed halfway through that sentence. The shrill, familiar tones of the Second Child now seemed to pierce the air and stab her everywhere.

Rei had never minded her fellow pilot; the Second Child was loud and hostile in ways Rei simply didn’t understand, but she was only being herself. She didn’t dislike her for that any more than she disliked Doctor Akagi. But now there was something about this voice that filled her with dread. Something about what she’d said.

“I do not understand,” Rei called out, keeling forward as she did. “I do not understand. Why does it hurt?”

“I want you to die,” the Second Child’s voice said again. “You’d be doing everyone a favor. I want you to die.”

Would she really? Was Rei hated so much that others really wished her harm? Was everything she thought she knew about her relationships with others just a misunderstanding? Even the things she thought she knew—the feelings she attached to people like Shinji Ikari—were wrong because she was incapable of comprehending them.

Because she was empty.

And she was hated.

The Second's voice came again. “You would die if he asked you to.”

Rei could hear and feel the venom in those words almost as if it were running inside her veins. It stung badly, sparking small flares of pain into an all-consuming firestorm. The answer was obvious—undeniable.

“Yes.”

The voice changed again, into Commander Ikari's. “Rei, are you worried?”

The pain turned to something else—fear—terror—her mind did not know how to describe it. An awful realization of what it meant to be nothing and yet live amongst beings who expected her to understand.

“I do not want to die,” Rei cried, wrapping her arms protectively around herself, slouching forwards. Her knees remained frozen, the only thing keeping her from falling.

In the LCL, her plug-suited reflection was grinning broadly, madly. “I hate what you represent.”

“Why ...” Rei hissed in pain, grimacing, “why does it hurt?”

“Pain is life,” her grinning counterpart said. “Pain validates your existence. And, in turn, it validates mine. You are but reflections on a mirror of sorrow and solitude. You humans, sad creatures. You fear pain as you fear Hell, and go about your lives without realizing the truth. Your Hell is other people ... and so is your pain.”

And something grasped her underneath the LCL—hard fingers that felt scaly against the soft pale skin of her ankles, her calves, working their way up her legs. She jerked away but she was held tight on the spot. Her heart was racing.

Laughter from behind her made her turn. She was looking at the tree again, and in her shock noticed dozens of gleaming red eyes staring at her from dark faces now carved into the dead wood.

Her own face.

The LCL seemed to explode in front of her, and she turned again. Standing there was herself—blue hair, white-black plugsuit, gleaming red eyes that carried a kind of power Rei had never felt.

She could smell the LCL on her shape, like a mist of blood in the air, clinging to her. The red eyes fixed on to her, wide surreal orbs lacking in all compassion or humanity. The thing reached out a hand and grasped her wrists. Rei shuddered at the touch. It was repulsive. Cold. Dead.

And before Rei knew it she was being pulled down into the LCL, beneath the surface until the red sky disappeared in a rippling mass above.

Rei sank deeper. The light faded, so beautiful right before it died, and in the darkness she heard her own name being called. Over and over.

Ayanami.

"Who are you?"

Rei did not know where she was; she did know, however, that it was not in this world. It was a different space, in a different time. Here she felt no sense of humanity. Here she was not Rei Ayanami; she was something else.

"Who are you?" she asked again.

”You know who I am,” the voice answered.

Ayanami.

"Who are you?"

“I am you,” the voice said. “What you were and what you will be. What he made you.”

Ikari.

“He made you human.”

"Was I not human before I met him?"

Rei Ayanami.

“You know the answer.”

“Rei!” Another voice, very familiar and yet vague, like a lost relative she had not seen in a long time. Someone that cared about her and yet was distant.

"Who am I?" Rei asked the new voice, hoping it would answer her. But all her hopes always turned to nothing. Wasn't it a fundamental quality of human beings to keep hoping despite knowing it was useless? That it was hopeless?

“REI!” The familiar voice again, and this time it was accompanied by a feeling of warmth.

"Who am I?"

“REI!”

Rei opened her eyes slowly and gazed at the figure above her, her expression slack, completely blank. Shinji Ikari grabbed her shoulders and shook them slightly in an attempt to wake her.

"Rei," Shinji said, his concern leaking into his voice. He was bending low over her—the entry plug had been opened but she was still sitting on the command seat. Behind him she saw four technicians, clad in coveralls and holding different instruments. One had a hand around Shinji’s arm, but had apparently given up trying to pull him away. "Are you all right?"

Rei nodded weakly. The world felt hazy, as if someone had taken an eraser and smudged all the details. She saw his young face, his pale blue eyes looking down at her full of compassion and worry, and a sort of undeniable affection. She didn’t understand.

"What ... happened?" Rei’s voice was weak and very hoarse, making it sound as though she had been screaming for a long time. She couldn’t remember if she had been. She was exhausted, breath barely clinging in her lungs.

"I don’t know," Shinji said, the emotion finally becoming too much and he seemed to be on the verge of tears, which he brushed away with the back of his gloved hands. “Once they called off the test and shut down Unit-01, I came to see them open your plug. Are you ... are you okay? When I saw you were passed out, I thought you might have gotten hurt.”

"Is that why you are sad?" Rei asked, innocently. She was like a child asking her parents about the cruel world. “You should not worry.”

"Don't be silly, Rei," Shinji said and hugged her tightly. “I have to worry about you. The only sad thing is that you don’t even worry about yourself. It’s so wrong, but I guess you are just brave.”

“Brave ...” Rei rolled her head, and though the warmth of his embrace was comforting the world all around her began to slip away. Brave—she wasn’t brave at all. She just didn’t know how to be afraid, didn’t know because she had never truly had anything to be afraid of. Until now.

She had a vague notion that her lips were moving, but the words didn’t register. Shinji’s expression changed, and she knew that whatever she was saying had shocked him. Then finally her own voice came to her.

“Thank ... you ... for everything.”

He blinked, his hands slipping around her shoulders as he hugged her again. "You don’t have to. Understand? I will always be there."

Rei couldn’t answer. She felt her muscles relaxing, her body and mind fading. Suddenly, she was cold, and breathing became really hard.

“Rei?” She saw his face scrunch up as he called her name. "Rei? What’s wrong?"

Rei tried lifting her hand to touch that face, but she might as well have tried to touch the moon. A soft gurgling noise rose from her lips and she tasted LCL in the back of her throat. Vaguely, she was aware that Shinji began shaking her, crying her name, followed by a flurry of motion as many hands pulled him off and came to meet her.

Rei, the Third Child kept calling her. Rei. Not Ayanami. Rei. And then he began to scream it. That was the last she knew.  

“I suppose there is no need to speculate about the result,” Gendo Ikari said. He turned away from Sub-Commander Fuyutsuki so he could face the blue-haired girl now lying unconscious in the bed. "The full system is still too complex for a human subject to control.”

“Even for Rei,” Fuyutsuki said grimly.

Doctor Akagi was sitting beside Rei on a small metal chair, holding a needle. She had a stethoscope around her neck and a weary look on her face. Who even knew how many hours she’d been working at this point.

“I had hoped that would not be the case,” Commander Ikari said, “but there does not seem to be a way around it now.”

Fuyutsuki cast a glance towards Rei. The First Child appeared to be sleeping peacefully. She had been slipping in and out of consciousness and vomiting for an hour or so before Ikari had finally ordered her sedated to spare her any more side effects. He had tried to talk to her with no success, and even Fuyutsuki had been concerned about the level of empathy he showed her.

Granted, this Rei Ayanami was the last one but it was still strange that Ikari would care to such a degree. He knew, of course, of the potential underlying reasons for that behavior. Gendo's love for Yui was very strong, and so was Fuyutsuki's. But they'd both be fools to think of her that way.

Doctor Akagi had done a preliminary check-up, and concluded that Rei was lucky Maya had been fast enough to sever the connections to Unit-00, despite the Doctor’s protests, and that the flimsy software firewall had lasted as long as it did. Otherwise, the doctor had told Ikari, Rei's brain would have been reduced to being completely useless.

"We must try to find another solution," Sub-Commander Fuyutsuki said, knowing that he was only stating the obvious. They had already sent the disk to the Chinese Branch. There was no going back. "The fact that both Unit-00 and the pilot reacted in such a way indicates that the code is simply incompatible with the human brain."

“Not incompatible,” Doctor Akagi said, straightening over Rei, the syringe containing the sedative in her hand. “You could say the human mind is simply not advanced enough.”

"The Dummy System should be strong enough to handle the code," Ikari said, turning away from Doctor Akagi towards Fuyutsuki. "But it will take some more time to complete it. We'll have to settle for using the synthesized version on Unit-02's main interface program as soon as it is advisable."

"Even though Unit-02 is in such a wretched state?” Ritsuko said. “Its pilot is not yet capable of using it."

"Her Synch Rate is over the starting indicator, that's a good sign," Ikari said. “And more than we need.”

"We can always use Unit-01," Fuyutsuki suggested. “I know you are against that, but it's a backup plan in case things get out of control.”

Gendo Ikari was clearly in disagreement. "Unit-01 is not to be tampered with. Not unless it's absolutely necessary. If we can't get the Dummy System running in time, then we'll gamble with the Second Child and Unit-02. We always seem to be gambling everything, don't we Fuyutsuki? But, then again, that's why we have survived this long."

Fuyutsuki nodded, but there was enough of an inflection in his superior's voice to tell him that he wasn't really asking. The answer was plainly obvious to all three of them. Finally, Ikari turned over to Rei, signaling that he had no further need for them. Fuyutsuki exchanged a look with Doctor Akagi on the way out of the room.

The unflinching blonde managed to hold on to her doubts until they were alone in the elevator.

“Do you think he's being unreasonable?” she asked, watching the scrolling floor numbers tick by on the counter. “The Tablet almost presents more risks than any possible benefit.”

Fuyutsuki was not very surprised by her frankness—they had known each other so long that it was permissible despite rank. “In Unit-02 it might not even be an issue at all since the Second Child currently can't synch with it to our satisfaction.”

“And what if she can?” Ritsuko said. “You saw what it did to Rei. We have data, of course, but that can only help us so much. Yes, we have modified it, and it should be safe as far as we can tell. Then again, we thought it would be safe for Rei as well.”

The former teacher nodded, listening to her opinion as he always listened to the opinions of his students and colleagues, which included both Ritsuko Akagi’s mother, Naoko, and Gendo Ikari's wife, Yui. “Is he asking for the impossible?”

Ritsuko flashed him a grim look.

“It is possible, but our resources are more limited than before,” she said. “And every mistake costs us time.”

“Time is just a measure of our success.”

“You sound just like him,” Ritsuko said sarcastically, a clear edge to her voice. “You could have fooled me. But the truth is you don't like this any more than I do.”

“I have my doubts,” Fuyutsuki said, very aware that he did not have to hide his disagreements with their Commander from her. She was obviously on his side as far as the Emerald Tablet was concerned. Or, at least, its implementation.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Ritsuko frowned gravely. “If you have doubts, you might consider backing me up on this. Maybe we can talk him out of it.”

“I have already tried,” he said. “But he is right. We are against the wall and fast running out of time. We have bribed greedy nations into protecting us at great cost, and shared technology which has no business being outside this fortress lest it be used against us. It will not last. And when the vetoes run out? We, the children included, will all end up in front of a firing squad. This is the path we chose, and now we must walk it.”

Doctor Akagi gave him a look that indicated she expected more, although what, he wasn’t sure. But Fuyutsuki knew when to push an issue and when to let it go, and while he wasn’t very happy with this current turn of events, failure was always a possibility. Failure could be anticipated. 

What could not be anticipated was recklessness, such as, for example, destroying the Dummy System in the first place. Had that been available they could have simply connected it to Unit-00 or Unit-02 directly, or used the Tablet to enhance the fighting capabilities of both Eva units at once and there would be no need whatsoever to risk Rei or the Second Child. But that milk was already spoiled, thanks to Doctor Akagi’s own doing.

A more spiteful man might have mentioned that, but not Kozo Fuyutsuki. Unless they could turn back the clock, it would serve little purpose. And they couldn’t. Pushing forward was the only way.  

“I suppose you are right,” Doctor Akagi said, sighing. “At any rate, Rei was the best possible subject because of her unique qualities, and because she is still, essentially, a blank slate that the Tablet's more aggressive protocols could not prey upon. Anyone else would have made the potential for disaster incalculable. It had to be her. The data we compiled will help us create a stronger firewall program for future use. That is the most I think we can salvage from this.”

Fuyutsuki looked at her carefully. She had returned her eyes on the floor counter, whether to avoid his gaze or simply out of intense concentration, he could not tell. “Always thinking ahead, aren't you, Doctor?”

Ritsuko ignored his comment. “But the Tablet did prey on her. And that means—”

“That we were wrong about Rei,” Fuyutsuki finished for her. He had already considered this. And, he was sure, so had Ikari.

“It's not Rei that worries me.”

“No?”

“I fear both you and the Commander possess a fundamental misunderstanding of the situation. You are worried about the technology. But the technology is perfect in the sense that it can be relied on to do exactly what it was engineered to do. It does not fail or second-guess unless we instruct it to do so, and unless we do so ourselves. It does not make mistakes. I'm afraid that is exclusively the realm of human beings.”

She did make a good point, but Fuyutsuki did not wholly agree with it. Human fallibility was such a staple of what it meant to be human that it was almost inevitable under certain circumstances. Even so, human beings also had the ability to consciously realize their mistakes and to take steps to correct them. If they had time.

Maya Ibuki sat in the large, mostly empty cafeteria in Central Dogma, nursing her third beer. Because it was a wide open space, with high ceilings and large glass windows that offered a great view of the greenery outside, it was one of the few places in Central Dogma that did not feel like a tomb. Despite that, there was hardly a person in sight at this hour.

The Lieutenant had never been fond of drinking, but Misato had told her that it would make her feel better. She figured the Major would know. And after Unit-00’s failure and Rei getting hurt, Maya certainly needed to feel better like she needed air. So she had decided to hit the bottle in an attempt to drown her sorrows. 

Funnily enough, Aoba had told her once that he preferred her with a few drinks in her, an amusing but annoying thought. Her fellow technicians were probably still in the cage, running diagnostics and locking everything down. Maya had been excused.

She still didn’t understand what had gone wrong. Even Shinji, a complete neophyte, had not suffered such a severe reaction to the Evangelion his first time. And Rei had done this many times before. It didn’t make sense for her to lapse like that. Ritsuko had wanted to explain it away, but the explanations felt hollow. In the end it had all been Maya’s responsibility, even if the report she submitted carried both of their names.

The cheerful voice caught her by surprise.

"Hey, Doctor Ibuki!" 

Maya lifted her head just as Junichi Nakajima dropped into the seat next to her.

"Hello," Maya said, in a low, sulky voice. Her hands clamped around the beer mug as if she thought he would try to take it away from her. "Are you working the night shift?"

"Yes. I just got a glimpse of my office, and there was a pile of paper, so I decided to sneak out. I really didn’t sign up for this, you know," Nakajima said. "They told me it would be an easy desk job, not that it would be mind-numbingly boring. You? I thought you went home."

"No,” Maya dejectedly. “I can't go home, not after what happened. Not today."

"Don't blame yourself, Doctor."

"Stop it. I am not a doctor,” she corrected him harshly. “I don’t even have a graduate degree. I’m just stupid old Maya. And who else is there to blame if not me, huh? It's my job to make Lazarus work, and it's my job to protect Rei's life. Today, I did neither."

"Don't be so negative," Nakajima said, in his most comforting voice. “The First is alive, right?”

Maya could only guess that he had heard about what happened from one of the technicians, apparently from someone who didn’t know the meaning of the word “Top Secret.” Whatever. She was not really interested in keeping secrets at the moment either.

"Yes, Agent Nakajima-san," Maya said, shaking her head. "She’s alive. But being alive doesn’t mean she’s well. And it is my fault because it’s my project and my test. The Commander will want my head on a plate now. I don’t think he was too happy with having me in charge from the start."

"Come on, Lieutenant—I can call you that, right?” Nakajima said and waited for her nod. “Your Commander must understand that the only thing to blame here are the circumstances. You get lots of that in the military. Try not to dwell on it. Go home, take a shower, and catch a nap. Everybody has the right to have a bad day."

"I don't think I can do any of those things right now."

"All you gotta do is go home and you'll start feeling better.” To her surprise, Nakajima seemed truly understanding. She had expected he would start asking questions and pumping her for information by now. But maybe she had really figured him all wrong. “You have a place in the city, don’t you? I'll give you a ride. I don’t want to be here any more than you."

It really was shocking. This government spy was the last person she’d expect this sort of kindness from. And what would be the point in refusing anyway? She couldn’t get in any more trouble than she already was.

"What about your work?" she asked. “Isn’t it important?”

Nakajima waved his hand dismissively. "I have my doubts. After all this time. I’m afraid I’m never going to find what I’m looking for. Some things are too well hidden.” He tried a smile. “Besides, I really do need to get the hell out of here before I become allergic to fresh air."

Maya could raise glass to that, so she did. She quickly drank the rest of her beer, then got up and followed Nakajima, stumbling slightly along the way.  

“So she's going to be okay?” Shinji said into the phone, unable to keep the huge relief he felt from his voice.

He had been anxiously waiting for news about Rei ever since Misato practically forced him to come home, some three hours ago. She had promised to let him know how she was doing as soon as possible and given all that had happened between them recently Shinji hadn't questioned that she would. Her call had been a godsend.

“Yeah, Ritsuko says she'll be back on her feet in a couple of days,” Misato said on the other side of the line. “I'm sorry it's taken me this long to get back to you. But there's nothing to worry about. Rei's a tough girl, she's seen worse.”

Finally, after hours of dread and uncertainty, Shinji felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “That's good.”

“Anyway, don't you worry about her. I'll try to arrange for you to visit as soon as she's able to have you, but I've got to get going now, Shinji. I'll be here all night so don't wait up, and don't let Asuka stay up too late either.”

He wished she could see the look of gratitude on his face, the last part of her message not even registering. “Thank you, Misato.”

“I promised, didn't I?” She said, adding hastily, “Bye.”

“Bye.”

The line went dead with a click.

As he turned to hang up the phone where it belonged on the kitchen table, Shinji caught his breath. Asuka was standing like a statue on the doorway to the living room, her pretty face set firmly, her stiff posture indicating that she was in a bad mood and already annoyed even though he hadn't said anything yet. He couldn’t tell how long she’d been there, or how much she’d heard.

“Who was it?” Asuka demanded. Her eyes locked on him with such force that he wasn't sure he would be able to reply. “Were you talking to Misato? Was it about my test?”

Shinji shook his head slowly. “N-no, it was about Rei,” he managed. “She wasn't seriously hurt during Unit-00's activation.”

He had added that last part without thinking. He knew Asuka wouldn't care, assuming she knew about Rei's trouble with Unit-00 at all. As far as he was aware, she had left the Geo-Front and come home immediately after her own test without so much as talking to anyone.

Asuka scoffed. “Bah, I thought it was something important.”

“Her life is important to me,” Shinji said. That, too, he said without thinking. He couldn’t help it, because it was the truth. “I care about her.”

“I don't even know why,” Asuka said with a frown, and the anger and derision in her voice made him suddenly grit his teeth. “She is just a doll—the Commander’s little doll that will do anything to make her master happy. Why would her life be important to you when it’s not even important to her?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

He didn't like the way that came out either. He made it sound as if Asuka was completely unable to ever care about anyone other than herself. But ... Well, had she ever? Even to him, who did her cooking and laundry, she’d never said a word of thanks.

“I wouldn’t understand?” Asuka's voice began to rise. “I wouldn’t understand!”

She stalked angrily around the wooden table, her frown deepening into an ugly scowl, and pushed in on him until her bare feet were almost on top of his. “You can be so stupid!” she yelled in his face. “She’s just a puppet. Do you think she’ll love you because you care? She’s a doll! She can’t love you! She can't feel anything!”

Shinji could not hold the angry blues of her eyes and so he dropped his gaze, following the slender shape of her neck and down her body, noticing how the oversized mustard T-shirt she wore completely hid the lines of her lithe frame and clung to her so loosely it seemed about ready to slip off her shoulders.

He focused finally on her right hand, clenched into a fist by her side, provocatively close to the spot where the creamy-white flesh of her upper thigh disappeared under the hem of her skimpy dark shorts. The garment itself was loose-fitting but fairly high-cut, reaching a few inches lower than the shirt, and covered only a little more than underwear would.

It was always awkward to have her like this, barely clothed with hardly a step between them. Always so aggressive. 

“R-Rei is not a doll,” he muttered.

“Look at me when you talk, idiot!” Asuka stomped down hard on his foot, the impact of her heel sending a dull pain through him. His eyes snapped back to hers instantly, and the contempt he saw reflected on those blue jewels sparked a kind of anger he hadn't felt in a long time. “She is a doll! Why can’t you see that?”

Shinji recognized Asuka was much too different from Rei to like her, but she didn't have to hate her either. Rei didn't deserve it. After all, he was different from Asuka too. 

“Rei is not—”

“God, you are so stupid.”

“Rei is NOT a doll!” His words were pure emotion now, and in a harsh voice that didn't sound like it belonged to him. The frustration he'd felt directed at himself since Asuka's coming out of the hospital seemed for the first time to turn outwards. “Just because you say that doesn't make it true. She has emotions!”

“She's a stuffed animal!” Asuka barked. “Not even a human being! She’s a thing with nothing inside!”

“She’s more of a human being than you are!”

Asuka’s eyes suddenly burned with fury. “Screw you, Third! And your stupid little puppet. I hope you enjoyed watching her suffer today. I really do. It’s a shame she didn’t just die!”

Something came over him. In that single instant of pure resentment, Shinji raised his hand and slapped her across the face.

And then he froze, staring at her in complete astonishment, as much by what she'd said as by what he'd done. Never in a million years did he think he'd have the guts to hit her, no matter how much she deserved it. He could stand a lot from her—he had to or he simply wouldn't have been able to live with her. But actually hearing Asuka wish such a thing on Rei was too much. He had never been so angry at her. His hand stung; it felt strangely pleasant.

Asuka didn't back away.

“Idiot!” she screamed at him, rubbing her cheek where he had hit her. He didn't care—she could scream herself hoarse if she wanted. Her eyes were wide with anger, her lips held back into a menacing snarl, white teeth bared. “I hate you!”

The awful reply spilled from Shinji’s lips before he could stop it. 

“I hate you too!” he yelled. “If anyone should die, it’s YOU!”

For a second he wasn’t sure he’d actually said it aloud. How could he? How could anyone? And then ... something happened to Asuka's face.

Where before there had been nothing but anger, now he saw ... he saw that her eyes were wide and shaking. She did nothing, said nothing, apparently in emotional shock. A strange, hopeless smirk spread over her sharp features, and a gentle noise like a whimper escaped her throat, and her quivering eyes became watery as she was about to ...

Shinji stood perfectly still, but knowing, as angry as she had made him, that he had crossed the line. Even someone as angry and defensive as Asuka had her limit and he had just reached it. He had just—

Without another word Asuka lunged forward, wrapped her hands around his neck, and squeezed tightly.

It took Shinji a moment to understand what was happening—it didn't seem real. All he could feel were her fingers digging into his soft flesh, strangling him.

And maybe he should die for what he had just said to her, he thought; for the way he had treated her all this time; for making her suffer, for abandoning her, for somehow failing her in every way you could fail someone. If she wanted to take his life, he would not stop her.

Shinji closed his eyes, so that the sight of her hateful glare wouldn’t be the very last thing he remembered her by. He wanted to remember the girl he had met one sunny day on a ship out at sea, wearing a breezy yellow sundress and a blue choker around her neck. The girl whose pride always seemed to fuel great courage and determination. The girl that had given him his first kiss. She would be rid of him now. He would never hurt her again.

His head forced back by her strength, Shinji let his body go limp in resignation and heard her breathing, ragged and uneven, and then something else.

The pressure on his throat eased slowly. Air and life returned to his lungs, but he felt as if he had already died inside. He opened his eyes as Asuka's hands fell away from him and saw a ceiling that was still strange despite having lived here so long. Then he looked down and saw Asuka turn away, so close that he could smell her sweat and the scent of her hair, as she buried her face in her hands like a broken little girl.

And then Asuka started to cry.

He had done this to her, like he had done it to Misato, and was stunned by the immediate realization that up till now he had never actually seen or heard Asuka openly cry. Once, when she lay down beside him during their training, she’d whimpered for her mother in her sleep, and when the Angel broke into her mind, she’d sobbed over the communication system. But not cry, not even when at times he thought she should. 

Asuka had endured everything she had, all the hardships and tragedy and pain, without ever letting him see her tears. She was that strong.

But now … it was because of him. 

Swallowing uncomfortably hard and fighting the urge to rub his throat, Shinji leaned closer to her without knowing exactly what he was supposed to do. But he knew in the depths of his heart that he had to somehow find a way—words, gestures, anything—to console her.

He lifted his hand as if to take one of her sagging shoulders, and said softly, “Asuka, please don’t cry. I didn't mean—”

“Get away from me!” Asuka bellowed at the top of her lungs, her voice shaking and unrecognizable. She shoved him away violently, sending him stumbling backwards into the front of a nearby kitchen cabinet. “I hate you! I HATE YOU!”

He braced himself against the hard wooden surface, but in the time it took her to say that he managed to catch a glimpse of her eyes again, for a split second only. It was as if something had shattered behind the deep blue irises.

There was so much pain there, so much anger and despair. And he didn't even know why.

Suddenly, his guilt seemed to have stopped the beating of his heart.

How could he, a pathetic doormat as Asuka had often called him, have brought her to this? How deep must he have hurt her to make her cry?

Shinji couldn't stand to see her like this. He was sorry. More than ever before, he was sorry. He wanted to tell her, but before he could utter a single word of apology Asuka spun around and fled, her golden-red mane billowing behind her. The sound of her anguished weeping as she rushed across the empty apartment filled his ears. Then he heard her bedroom door slamming shut, followed by silence.

Using his hand, he tried to rub away the sensation of Asuka’s strangling fingers from his neck. He leaned against the counter she had pushed him into, body stiff, and little by little, the fingers faded. What he felt deeper inside him didn’t; the same dreary emptiness he’d felt after Kaworu’s death; the same void which had lingered with him since that moment, ever so ready to swallow him. 

Whether it was an echo of that old wound or a new one opening up Shinji couldn’t tell, but the feeling was there, growing darker and stronger, and he no longer had any defense against it. 

Kaworu was an Angel. However painful, that remained true. But Asuka was just a young girl, a fellow pilot, his roommate, classmate, friend and maybe even more than that. And he had hit her and made her cry. He had hurt someone close to him again—hurt her very badly. She would never talk to him again, or want to see him, or want to live with him in the same apartment. Whatever bonds may have connected them, he had torn apart. 

Exhausted, he slid down until he was sitting curled up on the floor. He wrapped his arms around himself protectively and hung his head low between his knees, the relief he had felt at having good news about Rei completely forgotten.

“I’m sorry,” Shinji whimpered to no one. “I’m so sorry, Asuka.”

As stinging hot tears began running down his young cheeks and his whimpers turned to crying, he finally realized what the emptiness that haunted him meant. He finally knew.

His heart was broken.

To be continued ...

Chapter Text

Neon Genesis Evangelion: GENOCIDE

BY ROMMEL

“The most important thing we put into any relationship is not what we say or what we do, but what we are.”—Stephen R. Covey

Genocide 0:04 / Expectations

NERV Major Misato Katsuragi dropped into her chair in the small metal cube that passed for her office and placed her aching head against the desk, wishing she wouldn’t have to raise it again for a long time. Like all her other wishes, she knew this one was impossible.  

The papers, folders and other office supplies which normally occupied her workspace lay scattered on the floor. In her surge of despair and anger, she had swept them off, not caring in the slightest if they were important or not. She was beyond giving a damn. The truly important things, the people in her life, were already broken and it seemed she couldn’t do anything about it. 

Misato closed her eyes, feeling like she didn’t have the strength to keep them open. But it was much harder to stop thinking. 

I’m an idiot, she thought, the words full of misery. It was the same thought she’d been repeating like a dark prayer for the last hour. I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot.  

It had been so much easier dealing with the Angels. When it came to battle, all she had to do was act as she was trained, give orders, and try to avoid putting those she cared about in any more danger than absolutely necessary. But even when there were dangers, the battlefield always produced a sense of emotional certainty in her—complex human actions reduced themselves to means and ends, black and white, fronts and flanks, offense and defense. 

And how could it not? Battles could be predicted, tactics can be adjusted, and in the end, bullets and blades were always more certain than feelings. Sitting there, alone and exhausted, Misato craved certainty.

I should go home, Misato told herself. But she knew she couldn’t. Home was the problem, and going there meant she would have to go up to Shinji and Asuka and admit that she had made a mistake—a mistake the three of them now had to deal with. She would have to look in Shinji's face and see all the pain she had heard when he called her, his voice quivering and breaking, nearly sobbing, as he told her he'd had a fight with Asuka.

I’m such an idiot. I put him in that situation. I’m as much to blame as anyone.    

"Still moping?"

Misato recognized the voice instantly. She did not even bother to open her eyes to look at Ritsuko Akagi. She heard the blonde woman step into the cubicle, her heels clicking distinctly against the floor.

"Leave me alone," Misato said, her voice a low drawl, weariness showing clearly. She did not lift her head from the desk. 

“Isn’t that Asuka’s line?” She heard Ritsuko pull a chair and sit in front of her desk. “This place is a mess. You did that?” There was a pause, then something that could have been a sigh. “Misato, you really shouldn’t be so emotional about—”

“Please. Not now, Ritsuko. I’m begging you.”

Ritsuko went quiet, but it seemed like she had been expecting more from Misato, and when nothing came she added in an unusually sympathetic tone, “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

Misato snickered. The sound was loaded with bitterness, bordering on resentment. “With you? You have no idea how funny that sounds.”

“I don't hear you laughing.”

Laughter—Misato would have given anything to hear Shinji laugh right now. She would give anything to see Asuka smile. She didn't know why, but some of the best things in her life had become attached to the children; her surrogate and hopelessly dysfunctional family.   

"You were right. I should have listened to you, Ri-chan,” Misato said after a moment, bracing herself for the admonishment she knew would be coming from her so-called friend. She had already told Ritsuko about the fight, obviously, in as much detail as she had managed to get out of Shinji. “You always know best."

"You couldn't have predicted this would happen, Misato." Ritsuko said, and for a second her comforting tone threw Misato for a loop.

Suddenly, not believing this could be the same person whose inhumanity she’d come to despise, Misato opened her eyes. The bright light of her office hurt for a second as she cast her gaze across the desk. Sure enough, it was Ritsuko Akagi in front of her, clad in her familiar white lab coat and wearing a strangely comforting expression on her face.

Seeing that and not the expected wall of cold animosity, Misato realised she couldn’t hold on to her anguish any longer.

"I don't know what to do, Ritsuko.” Her words were almost a plea. “They are really gonna end up killing each other. I can't watch them all the time. I can’t make them like each other. I can’t even talk to Asuka without her hating me. I wish there was a way. I wish I could just … reach her. But I can't.”

“If you think there’s no other way, then I guess we should separate them for their own safety," Ritsuko suggested. "I can get Asuka a place inside Central Dogma with just a phone call. It should not be a problem as far as housing is concerned. We currently have a lot of room from staff departures.”

For their own safety , Misato repeated, feeling utterly heartbroken that such a statement even needed to be said. She shook her head. 

“I don't think she'd like to live underground. And leaving her alone … ”

“Or I could give her a prescription,” Ritsuko said, but when she saw Misato's incredulous face, she added, “I mean, if you think her mood has become a problem. It wouldn't be healthy or productive for her to go around while displaying violent symptoms of personality disorder.”

"Asuka doesn't have a personality disorder. And I’m not going to have her medicated.” Misato shook her head more firmly, determined to avoid anything which could hurt the troublesome redhead more than help her. It was true that she’d offered Asuka sleeping pills, but there was a big difference between those and full-blown antidepressants or mood stabilizers. “No, it’ll likely only make things worse. Besides, I DARE you to make her take anything she doesn’t want to. You’d have an easier time trying to get an aircraft carrier to stop on a dime.”

Ritsuko didn’t really have a sense of humor, but she did give Misato a grin. “I suppose you are right. You know her better than me. But you can’t ignore that she has a chronic anger problem, likely linked to depression stemming from her failure with Unit-02 and possibly related to Shinji.”

“She needs counseling and understanding, not chemicals. Your drugs won’t fix the problem. They will just hide it.” 

Ritsuko had enough sense to refrain from arguing her point. She pressed her lips together and thought. “Well, what about staying at a hotel? She already commutes to school and here by train. It would just be a longer trip. It wouldn’t be permanent, only until an apartment could be procured.”

Misato had already considered that possibility, and already dismissed it. “I don't want her to be alone,” she said. “I think maybe I should try to get her to stay with a friend. Someone she won't try to kill."

“I imagine that’s a very short list.”  

A very short list indeed, Misato thought. Asuka, for all her outgoing flamboyance, didn’t really have any friends. Of course, it didn’t really help that she acted like she was better than everyone else. Were she not as pretty, people would simply ignore her rather than put up with her. That said quite a lot about just how unlikeable Asuka was. Having repeatedly tried and failed to get close to her, even Misato had to admit it was hopeless.

And then there was Shinji … his withdrawn personality was the exact opposite to Asuka's arrogant one—much more introverted and far less showy. And yet he, unlike Asuka, did have people around him; people who cared about what happened to him and who would stay at his side through good times and bad. Because at least he allowed them to stay.

Misato had the best intentions in bringing Asuka home. She thought she was doing her a favor by giving her the support she needed, the kindness she honestly thought the girl deserved. In reality, all she really did was place an unfair burden on Shinji by expecting him to be able to deal with someone who could lash out as violently as Asuka regardless of how wounded she might be.

Once again, she had failed to take responsibility for her actions. Another failure in a long list. Just once, Misato wanted to do something right.  

After a long silence, the reproachful tone Misato had expected finally showed in Ritsuko's voice.

“You are not leaving yourself a lot of options. I understand you have reservations, and your reasons are sound, but you are not going to find a solution that makes you happy. Not with something like this. You have to settle for the best option out of a bunch of bad options.”

“That's easy for you to say,” Misato replied sharply. “You don't care. But it's not my happiness that matters here.”

Ritsuko sighed. “This isn’t about anyone’s happiness. You know that.”

Misato said nothing. Of course she knew that, just as she knew Ritsuko was right—there was no good option, just lessening degrees of bad ones. But which one would trouble Asuka the least? Staying with Shinji was not an option at all, so she had to go somewhere else.

“Misato, if you can’t decide then there’s not much I can do to help with this,” Ritsuko added, quickly noticing the other woman's reluctance. “I'm sure you would agree that human relations isn’t my area of expertise. Never has been. Give me a computer and an on-off switch and I’m all set. But you are their guardian. You took that responsibility. There’s no changing that now. They’re your children. It's your call.”

“They’re not my children,” Misato felt awful just having to say that. “I’m their commanding officer. I never have been more than—” 

“Don’t be so ridiculous. Everyone in this place knows what they are. Hell, at least your children talk. Mine just meow and scratch if you don’t feed them and are always moody.”

“So … almost exactly like Asuka?” Misato chuckled despite herself. She imagined a small angry cat with orange fur, pointy ears, and blue eyes under a very nasty frown. And also very long and bloody claws. 

“Well, I did make the comparison before,” Ritsuko reminded her. “It was fitting then and it’s fitting now. Some behavior is pure nature, regardless of species.”

Misato wondered if perhaps she should be bothered by Ritsuko comparing Asuka to an animal, again, but given how important her cats were to her she knew it wasn’t meant as an insult. And she was here, which meant she was genuinely worried about the children or Misato, or maybe both.   

“You know, you are such a good liar, Ritsuko Akagi,” Misato said after a moment. She leaned back in her seat and met the other woman’s steady gaze. “You walk around making everyone think you don’t have a heart, but you are really a big softie. Deep down. Very deep down.”  

Ritsuko made a face which indicated she didn’t quite agree, but just as she was about to reply, Misato heard a strange humming noise. The blonde reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out a vibrating pager.

“Duty calls,” Ritsuko got to her feet.

“It’s the 21st Century, Ritsuko. The apex of humanity’s technological progress. As a result, they have these wonderful things called cell phones these days. Even the children carry them. You can actually talk to people on them.”

Ritsuko shrugged. She casually slid the pager back into her coat and turned her attention to Misato again. 

“What makes you think I want to talk to people?” Her face hardened. “Just so we are clear, when you decide what to do, please make sure to let me know. I must be able to get in touch with Asuka. Unit-02 might not be functional at the moment, but it is still important, and we can't afford to let Asuka sit idle. After all, there's a reason we released her from the hospital in the first place.”

Pursing her lips, Misato fought the urge to think that might have been Ritsuko’s real reason for talking to her all along. Not because of Asuka, only because of Unit-02. She decided she’d rather avoid bringing it up.

"I will. This won't interfere with your project. Err, schedule. Whatever it is."

"Please see to it that it doesn't, Misato," Ritsuko said. Her tone was serious. "The Commander is displeased enough with the Lazarus setbacks. Problems with the children are the last thing we need now. It’s important that we stick to our schedule."

“It would be easier to make decisions if I had more information.” Misato frowned. "For example, when are you going to tell me exactly what's going on? There are no more Angels. Or at least that’s what we were told. Why the rush?"

"Angels are not the worst that can happen to us now,” Ritsuko said, and Misato suspected it would have been easier to get answers from rock.   

“Evangelions exist to fight Angels,” Misato pointed out. She tried not sounding angry, but it was close. “If not Angels, then what are we supposed to fight? Will I have to ask these kids to kill people? I deserve to know.”

“Don't worry about it for now. I wouldn’t keep any mission-critical information from you, if only on the basis that I’m not a tactician and tactical abilities are and will continue to be required in the near future. The Commander understands that too."  

Misato rose to her feet and locked her dark eyes with Ritsuko's, leaning forward over her desk. “In other words, you’ll just ring your little bell when you need me.”

“That’s how hierarchy works. Your problem is that you’ve always made it personal.” The blonde doctor shook her head and smiled weakly. "You look like crap, Misato." She reached out with a hand and tousled Misato's long purple hair. "Asuka and Shinji are not the only ones you should be concerned about. Get yourself some rest."

"Nah, I think I'd rather have a beer." Misato pulled back, her lips twisted, and ran a hand through her hair, making a show fixing it up. “A really cold one.”

“I thought you quit.”

Misato smiled ruefully. “I did. Unfortunately.” 

Ritsuko made a disapproving face. She said nothing as she turned around and headed through the door into the hallway beyond, heels clicking away into silence. Once again Misato dropped onto her chair and returned her head to her desk, replaying the options Ritsuko had given her along with her own objections.   

Then, deciding that she wasn’t going to help anyone by sitting around moping, Misato picked herself up, reached into one of her desk drawers, and pulled out a little address book. Had she been a good guardian, she couldn't help thinking, she would have already programmed the number she was looking for into her phone. She had just never had the time. Never thought to bother.

I never had time. Three months looking for secrets while I ignored the people who were really important to me. But maybe now I can do something to help.  

The name and number stared at her from the tiny page—her last resort. It was either this or Asuka would have no choice but to be alone. Only one person would take her in, as she had done before.

So, feeling ashamed that she would have to ask this again, Misato called Hikari Horaki.

The images appeared on the tactical holographic display table in groups of three and in four different rows. They were all taken during a span of fifteen minutes as the satellite's camera made a pass four hundred kilometers overhead. A grid had been laid on top of the landscape in each image, outlining topographical contours and enhancing blurry shapes into high-resolution images. Two rulers for scale framed the top and left sides of the display, along with helpful labels depicting altitude, latitude, and longitude.

Closer examination of each image showed a massive industrial complex surrounded by a sprawling network of roads and railway lines like the spokes on a wheel, leading to a massive pyramid-shaped central structure. The pyramid was black, with a red cap at the top. From a different angle, they might have been able to see the yellow star on the red flag hoisted above the capstone.

To the north of the pyramid, a strange, enormously large humanoid shape was shown being rolled along one of the rail lines in a transport car, its contours distinctive despite the fact that it had been covered in black tarps. They might as well have tried to hide a battleship.

Sub-Commander Kozo Fuyutsuki made an effort to remember everything he knew about this operation, but it wasn't until he saw the time stamp in the upper right corner that it clicked. 

"Can we confirm that the Chinese Branch has advanced their schedule?" Fuyutsuki asked, leaning closer over the table, hoping that perhaps he wasn’t seeing what he suspected. But there was no doubt.

The humanoid shape was an Evangelion, the Chinese-made Unit-A, and it was being transported far earlier than it was supposed to.

"Yes,” Commander Ikari said with the slightest nod of his head. “Our agent tells me that they will be ready for the first activation test within the week, possibly even sooner than that. That is more than two months ahead of schedule."

We are going to die , was Fuyutsuki’s first reaction. It was quickly followed by, It should not be a surprise they would stab us in the back.  

Ikari wasn’t poring over the photographs. It was likely, Fuyutsuki realized, that he had studied them in advance, or that he simply knew enough to make any visual evidence unnecessary. He stood away from the table, partially shrouded in the shadows produced by the room’s dim lighting.

Fuyutsuki, so close to the table, was lit in its white-blue glow, turning his face paler than normal and at the same time seeming to accent the many recessed lines created by age and years of loss. 

To his immediate right stood Doctor Ritsuko Akagi, her angular face equally lit, green eyes fixed on the table. Much younger, her features showed signs of constant worry and the usual lack of sleep. The shadows under her eyes seemed deeper than they should have been. She remained quiet as she examined the evidence laid before her with a keen green gaze. Fuyutsuki gave her a glance, and couldn't help the thought that, save for her pale blonde hair, it could have been Naoko standing next to him. Just as it had been in the beginning.

Fighting a pang of nostalgia, Fuyutsuki returned his attention to more pressing matters, to the images in front of him and the danger they represented.

"Do we know that they intend to activate it?" It was likely an unnecessary question, but he hoped to be proven wrong. His hopes were swiftly, predictably dashed.

“We have reason to believe that a pilot has been selected,” Ikari said. “Nothing too specific for now, only that certain arrangements have been made similar to our own selection and preparation procedures. They have an expansive intelligence department.”

The first victim, Fuyutsuki thought, grimly. And not the last by any means.

“Obviously they did not go to Marduk,” Doctor Akagi commented. She had not spoken since entering the room a few minutes ago and taking her place around the display. Her voice was sharp, betraying no emotion whatsoever. She was like her mother in that regard too.

Fuyutsuki turned his head to her. His eyes narrowed. “What about core viability?”

“They wouldn't have selected a pilot without a working core,” the bleached blonde doctor said. “Or at least a core they believe they can work with. Otherwise, this would be a rather pointless exercise.”

“They would know Marduk is not reliable,” Ikari said from the shadows. “The pilot in itself is not relevant at this point. My main concern is whether or not they intend to use the Tablet for the activation.”

Doctor Akagi nodded. “We have to assume so. There’s no reason they wouldn’t. We have given assurances as to its reliability.”

“All lies, of course,” Fuyutsuki muttered despite himself, a cold trickle of fear running down his back. "Can we be ready in, what, five days? Seven days?"

Doctor Akagi was already shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. The answer is no.” She turned to Ikari. “You knew they would try to do something like this, didn’t you? That’s why you wanted Rei’s first test to run the Tablet’s software without waiting for proper analysis. It’s why you’ve been pushing Unit-02 so hard even though its pilot is mentally fried. You knew they would—”  

“No,” Ikari cut her off. “I did not know. I expected they would try to advance their schedule, that is true. Greedy men eager for power are seldom patient. But I expected they would advance it by a week. Two weeks at the most. That left us plenty of time.”

“Well, you were only half wrong, if that serves as consolation. It’s two months .” Doctor Akagi shook her head. “We are stretched thin as it is. We can’t be ready for this.”  

"We must," Ikari said. He turned his attention fully to the doctor now. The lenses of his glasses reflected back the light and seemed to glow a solid white, hiding his eyes. “Doctor, I want you to suspend everything else and focus on getting Unit-00 operational. Lazarus should take absolute priority. Nothing is as important. Revert to the old configuration as soon as possible and schedule a second activation.”

“Rei is still in the hospital,” Doctor Akagi said. “The effects of the previous contact have not been fully diagnosed.”

“Is she physically capable of piloting Unit-00?” Ikari asked coldly.  

"Her body recovers very quickly.”

The reply didn’t answer the question directly, Fuyutsuki noted. Doctor Akagi always gave a sense of detached indifference when it came to Rei, even though the girl's well-being was her personal responsibility. To her, Rei Ayanami had never had any intrinsic value as a human being. 

Indeed, she openly challenged that definition in some of her more contentious reports. As far as she was concerned, Rei served only as a science project; something to be observed from a distance, to be analyzed and experimented on, but not to be sympathized with or become attached to. None of that changed the fact that they needed her.

And Ritsuko Akagi seemed to despise her all the more for it.

“Then Rei's health status should be no obstacle,” Ikari said. “Lieutenant Ibuki is still looking for the root of the activation problems. She believes it's because of the complexity of the new programming, does she not? That should provide us with a plausible pretext for the overhaul."

"People are bound to ask uncomfortable questions," Doctor Akagi said. "Major Katsuragi in particular. I’m not sure how long I can keep lying to her."

"It won’t matter in a few days unless we exert the greatest effort,” Ikari replied. “We have no choice. The current situation has to be dealt with first and foremost. Katsuragi’s questions can wait."

Fuyutsuki drew down his brow at the Commander’s answer. That’s the same sort of dismissive attitude that landed us in his mess, he thought. Even the best lies are a poor shield over time. 

He kept that criticism to himself, knowing that while it would reinforce his previously correct assessment, it still offered no solution. And, in this case, providing the Emerald Tablet to the Chinese had been both necessary and a calculated risk. They had to be given something to ensure their cooperation as long as NERV needed it. But they were also given specific instructions and timelines. 

Ikari had not trusted the Chinese Sixth Branch to do entirely as they were told, obviously, but he had depended on them to follow the schedule within some reasonable approximation and dismissed the idea that they were far too ambitious to do as they were bid. Fuyutsuki had warned against it, among other issues. Now that he was proven right, the Sub-Commander might have called it predictable. Mankind in general had seldom shown restraint after attaining the capability to wield new, powerful weapons. Japan knew that better than anyone and bore the scars.   

In Ikari's mind, however, the Chinese would realize that they stood to gain so much more by their compliance to NERV's directives—and his own personal authority—that any disobedience ran contrary to the logic of the situation. Such complacency could now prove just as deadly a sin as allowing them access to the Tablet in the first place. Under normal circumstances, a standard activation by the Chinese Branch would not trouble anyone in this room. However, the use of the Tablet in that activation changed everything.   

Nothing more needed to be said. Everyone present understood they were in a race for their lives, and likely, every life on the planet. Everyone present also knew they were not ready to win that race.  

“With your permission, then, I will assemble a team and proceed with Unit-00’s re-fit,” Doctor Akagi said. “I would much rather get started sooner than later. I will also look into clearing Rei for a second activation test as soon as possible. Unless you have any objections.”

Ikari looked at her sternly for a moment, a look that was both a warning and permission.

“No objections.”

As Doctor Akagi stepped back from the table and headed to the door, Ikari turned to Fuyutsuki. “Maintain a link to the UN's spy satellites and keep an eye on our Chinese friends. I don’t want any more nasty surprises."

"As ordered," the Sub-Commander answered. “Should we alert the Security Council?”

Ikari thought about his answer for a long, silent moment, his face stony as he weighed the enormity of the decision he was required to make. 

In a strange way, Fuyutsuki felt relieved seeing his superior take his time. He had always known Gendo Ikari was not the heartless maniac people seemed to think. Whatever impressions others might take from him, Ikari chose to see the world in terms of means and ends rather than merely efficient brutality. But it was reassuring to have it confirmed during a crisis like this. Decisions like this should never be made lightly. 

Finally, after another full minute of silent deliberation, Ikari shook his head and said heavily, “No. Foreknowledge denotes complicity.”

Fuyutsuki nodded without saying a word. Sacrifices had to be made, and they could be terrible in scope. It was only to be expected under such dire circumstances. He had understood that from the beginning. So had Yui.

And what will happen when we run out of things to sacrifice? NERV’s Sub-Commander wondered. Will that be the day we are victorious, or the day the world ends?     

“Asuka’s gone to school,” Misato said softly from the doorway. She meant for her voice to be comforting, Shinji was sure, but he felt no comfort from it. “She’ll be staying with Hikari for now. I don’t know if she’ll be coming back.”

It was early in the morning, around the time when Shinji would normally be up and getting ready for school. Asuka would be on his heels, barking orders left and right. Make breakfast, prepare bentos, put your shoes on—normal stuff like that. Misato would look at them from the kitchen table, shaking her head and wondering how they managed to make it work every day.

They didn’t. They never had. Their interactions were the result of their characters, hers domineering and his subservient, and coexisted only because they had to. They had never managed to come to terms with one another; not as teens, not as roommates, not even as Eva pilots. Was it surprising at all, then, that they couldn’t live together?

With no Asuka to hound him and no desire to rise, Shinji still lay on his bed, facing the wall so that his back was to Misato. His S-DAT had died during the night, but even then, he hadn’t felt like getting up and finding batteries. From that point on, his only companion had been the silence as he waited in vain for sleep to relieve him of his hurt.

He’d already been awake for hours when Misato knocked on his bedroom door. Hearing no reply, she quietly slid it open. Unlike Asuka, he’d never bothered installing a lock. He wished now that he had.

Misato was looking at him, and he could almost feel the pity in her eyes. He could sense it across the room like the beam of a flashlight. And it made the guilt harder to bear. He didn’t deserve her pity—if she only knew what he’d said to Asuka she wouldn’t pity him. Even if she knew the redhead had said it to him first, even if she knew Asuka had tried to strangle him. She would despise him, too.

I don’t deserve anything else. I hit Asuka. I made her cry.

Behind him, he heard Misato sigh, finally realizing he wasn’t going to answer her. 

“Shinji, I understand that some things are hard to talk about. But that doesn’t mean you should keep them to yourself. And you do have people around you who are willing to listen. You can say anything and I won’t judge you. I promise.”

She paused, perhaps to give him a chance to say something. To refute her, maybe, or to tell her how she was wrong and he was alone.

But what was the point in saying those things? In saying anything? It didn’t even matter if he was alone or not. He FELT alone. And that was the only way he should feel after what he’d said and done to Asuka.

“Maybe you could go see Rei,” Misato suggested. “I think she’s well enough for visits. I’m sure she’d like to have you around. It’d make her feel better for sure. Don’t worry about school today, I’ll make something up. That always works.”        

Shinji kept staring at the wall. He could not, however, ignore the fact that Rei would indeed be someone—the only one—he could talk to without feeling worse than he did now. Everyone else would drive the stake of guilt deeper. Rei Ayanami would just listen.

Rei—it was because he defended her that Asuka had gotten upset in the first place. What else was he supposed to do? Shinji could tolerate Asuka being abusive towards him—her insults and her punches had become the routine—but for her to treat Rei, who couldn't even defend herself, that way was more than even the human doormat could bear.

He had done it without thinking, yet he had only thrown Asuka’s own words back at her. They were hurtful words, but they were HER words. She had only been on the receiving end of the same kind of spite she used on everyone else. That was what it felt like to have someone tell you they hated you, that they wanted you to die. Like she had done to Rei.

But if that logic was true, why did it feel so wrong? Why had it made him cry? Why did it make Asuka cry?

Because it was me who said them. I was supposed to help her. I was supposed to be her friend. I was supposed to care. Instead, I hurt her.

“This is just like what happened with that boy, isn’t it?” Misato continued to talk, as if her words could somehow make everything better. She didn't understand at all. “You felt like it was your fault, even though nobody wanted to blame you. I’m not your mother, Shinji. I know that. I’m not going to tell you everything will be alright when I’m not sure it will be. But what I can tell you is that it will never get better unless you decide to make an effort.”    

“His name was Kaworu,” Shinji said suddenly. It was the first time he spoke to her that morning, and the first time he spoke of his white-haired friend. “That boy—his name was Kaworu.”

“Shinji, he was an Angel.”

“He had a name!”

Misato fell silent for a moment. Then she said softly, “Okay. Kaworu. Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” She hesitated. “Just think about what I said, okay? Don’t let this be like before. You don’t have to. You are not alone.”  

Shinji heard her move away, the sound of her footsteps slightly muted by her stockings. His bedroom door slid closed. Misato would be going to work and probably wouldn’t be coming back until very late, or until tomorrow, maybe even the day after that. For all practical purposes, she was out of his life. 

And he knew he could say the same about Asuka.

Instead of helping, that made him feel even worse. Shinji buried his face in his pillow and bit his lip, hoping the pain would distract him from the other hurts. It didn’t. He bit down harder.

In the empty classroom, Hikari Horaki's sigh seemed to carry on forever. 

No one in school could ever say that it was unusual for her to stay after class for clean-up duty. She did it at least once a week, and often twice or three times as needed. But she didn’t always like it. And sometimes, she only stayed reluctantly. Today, for example, she was especially reluctant.

The call from Major Misato Katsuragi the night before had been a surprise, even if it wasn’t the first time Hikari received one. And she had known, before the NERV Major began explaining, that it couldn’t be anything good. It certainly wasn’t. Asuka and Shinji had a fight, and Asuka would be needing a new place she could move into, again. Major Katsuragi wouldn’t say over what the fight was about, or what made it so nasty that they couldn’t live together anymore.

That Asuka and Shinji were always arguing and fighting like an old married couple—much like she and Toji had, and still did whenever she visited him in the hospital—was something the whole school had learned to live with. Fights between them were as common as the rain in spring. But from the strain on Major Katsuragi's voice, Hikari could tell this was different.

Whatever the reasons, Hikari didn't hesitate. Yes, she would gladly take Asuka in. The Major thanked her sincerely and stated she would arrange for some of the redhead’s belongings to be taken over.

Things didn't go quite so smoothly after that.

When do they ever go smoothly with Asuka and Shinji? Hikari thought dourly. Never. That’s when. 

Shinji, Major Katsuragi had informed her, would not be going to school. However, Asuka would meet her like any other day. The problem was that, up until now, the German girl hadn’t shown up like she was supposed to. Actually, none of the three children attended. And Hikari had gone from worried, to utterly mortified. It would be the second time Asuka went missing on her.

No matter how much she stressed out about her grades, or giving detentions, assigning duties and reprimands, Hikari was aware that such problems were trifles when compared to Asuka’s. Even if she had managed to pull herself together and lead a somewhat normal life after what had happened to her—and Hikari thought she deserved a lot of credit for that, even admiration—she was not and never could be a normal girl.

She had been there when Asuka finally broke down. Having never experienced the kind of trauma the redhead had endured, she could not really relate to her on the sort of level she would’ve wanted. She could not understand. And as Asuka cried herself to sleep that night many months ago, Hikari had been utterly unable to comfort her. She had felt useless and undeserving. There she was, supposedly caring for someone, and yet she did nothing in the end. She was the worst sort of friend.

Then Asuka ran away. She had been a shell by then, not eating or going to school or even speaking and just sitting in front of the TV all day playing video games. Hikari barely managed to drag her out of bed in the morning, but the bright and animated girl she had befriended was already gone. 

Without her Eva, Asuka had told her, she had no reason to live. No reason to care about anything. The next day Section 2 had come looking for her in school. That was how Hikari found out she was missing.     

That was why she worried so much now.

“Miss Horaki?”

“Uh?” Hikari jerked her head, snapping out of her reverie and turning to the pony-tailed brunette now occupying the desk next to hers. 

Keiko Nagara looked serious, her young features drawn, leaning back against the edge of the desk. Her brunette hair was slightly lighter in color than Hikari's and she had no freckles, but they could have been sisters. More than once this had led to confusion among students and even teachers.

Hikari had never liked that. Keiko was not the sort of girl you wanted to be associated with. The last Hikari had seen of her she’d gone with the others to return the cleaning supplies, leaving her to sit alone in the classroom, her hands on her lap holding her flip cell phone.

“We put everything back,” Keiko said. “Kaz and Aida already left, but I thought you should know.”

“Thank you,” Hikari said, forcing a smile before lowering her gaze to the phone in her hands once more. “You can go now.”

That should have been the end of it. Hikari had nothing else to say and it was getting late, but she failed to account for Keiko’s curiosity. “Is there something wrong?” the pony-tailed girl asked.

“No.”

Keiko inched closer, with all the care and caution of someone who knew she was intruding, and yet also unwilling to let things go.  

“Miss Horaki, I know it's none of my business, but you've been asking everyone if they've seen Asuka. And, well, you asked me twice,” Keiko hesitantly held up two fingers, “I’m not dumb. I can tell something's going on. Nobody asks me anything unless they are desperate, and no one asks twice even if they are. And Asuka didn't come to school today, so if anyone knows what's going on, it's you.”

“Why do you even care?” Hikari said. She fixed the other girl with a stern gaze. “It's not like she's your friend.”

Keiko shrunk back, and the hurt look that came over her face made Hikari despise herself for the sudden harshness of what she had just said. She knew Keiko openly admired Asuka, as did many other students—some, particularly the males, for very selfish and dubious reasons—but it still surprised her that she'd bother asking so bluntly given how Asuka treated her in return.

The simple fact was that Asuka ‘tolerated’ the other girls only because she couldn't shun them if she wanted to be the center of attention. She almost didn't have a choice on the matter—idols needed fans to make them idols, after all. In exchange, she was practically worshiped. But that same tolerance just didn't seem to apply to Keiko Nagara, and she constantly found herself on the outside looking in.

Being the alpha-female of their group, Asuka behaved in a specially vile way towards her, gleefully putting her down in front of the other girls as if that would serve to reinforce her own status. The others, of course, were keen to follow her example. Yet Keiko usually ignored or just refused to accept the truth. She was clearly not wanted and continued to try nudging into Asuka's circle like some abused puppy looking for affection.

If she was being honest, Hikari thought it was a little sad. 

Either she’s dumb or desperate, but it really doesn’t matter.

“I'm sorry,” Keiko murmured, lowering her head. “I won't bother you anymore.”

As the other girl turned to leave, Hikari got to her feet. “Keiko, wait,” she said hurriedly, softening her tone. Her words brought Keiko to a halt. “I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I just … You are right. I'm worried about Asuka.”

“It's okay, Miss Horaki,” Keiko said lightheartedly, waving a hand. It was a front—Hikari had enough experience to tell. “I'm sure Asuka has a good reason to cut class. She is an Eva pilot, you know.”

There was no way Hikari could miss the awe in the other girl's voice, nor the sudden admiring twinkle in her eyes. It made her wonder if Keiko might like Asuka as the boys did. That would explain a few things. 

“Yeah, I know,” Hikari said after a moment. “This isn't about that. She was supposed to move in with me today.”

“Really?” Keiko's brown eyes opened so wide it made Hikari uncomfortable.

Hikari just nodded. I shouldn’t have said anything. Asuka is gonna be angry, and she should be. This is no one else's business but the two of us and maybe Major Katsuragi.  

“Well then, you need to get going!” Keiko said.

Hikari frowned. It just didn’t seem right for Keiko to be so concerned over someone who always treated her badly, and who would very much not return the favor. Either Keiko was faking her concern or didn’t understand what being disliked was all about.  

“I can't,” Hikari said. Her frustration was growing, but she did her best to keep it off her voice. “I was supposed to meet her in school. She might come in. If I’m not here, then I’ll miss her completely.”

“I think if she was going to come in, she would be here already,” Keiko countered. She pressed her lips in thought. “Listen, I've got an idea. You can go. I'll stay, and if I see Asuka I'll send her to your place.”

“What about your parents? Isn’t anyone waiting for you at home?”

“That’s fine,” Keiko assured her. “It’s only my guardian, and she always works late.”

“You'll still get into trouble. The administration doesn't like students hanging around after class without a good reason.”

Keiko brushed her off. “I'll just explain what's going on. The teachers like me anyway. One of the advantages of always being picked on.”

Suddenly, Hikari thought she understood—Keiko offering to help her had less to do with the fact that she thought Hikari should go find Asuka and more to do with her being Asuka's best friend. No doubt she hoped the redhead would hear about her helpfulness from the mouth of someone who she trusted and liked enough to move in with.

Hikari came within a heartbeat of telling her she would do no such thing when her concern for Asuka won out. Misguided it might be, but it was still an option. And one Hikari could turn to her advantage.

“Okay.” She nodded. “Let’s do it your way. You stay, I go.”

Keiko gave her a smile, making Hikari feel strangely guilty for taking advantage of her willingness to befriend Asuka at any cost. Maybe she should put in a few good words with Asuka on her behalf—no, she definitely would. When she found her.

“Thank you,” Hikari said, and found that she meant it. She was glad for that, although belatedly; life was too short to hold grudges or get mad at people over such petty things. “I’ll call you back, too. So you don’t have to wait all night.”

“Deal!”

With at least one of her problems solved, Hikari exited the classroom and headed for her locker. She quickly keyed her combination into the lock, toed off her rubber-soled slippers and changed them for her outdoor shoes, hurriedly grabbing her book bag in the process. Then she slammed the locker door closed again and headed to the school’s front gate, walking as briskly as she could without actually running.

Once outside, the late afternoon sun beating down on her, Hikari glanced at her cell phone and checked for messages just in case. Her mailbox was empty. No calls or messages. And she had a signal. 

I hope she didn’t wander off again, she thought, feeling something tighten in her chest. Asuka, I want to help, but you have to give me a chance.  

The narrow sidewalk leading away from the school bustled with students, mostly due to the multitude of shops still open. There were also a few salarymen mixed in with the younger crowd, along with some construction workers who seemed to be everywhere these days.  

Hikari carefully avoided running into people as she walked in front of the small arcade located on the corner nearest to the pedestrian crosswalk. The place was popular with most students, providing a welcome break after enduring a day full of schoolwork, lectures and teachers. Hikari had never been big on video games herself—the only reason she even bought a console was for dating sims—but Asuka and her had hung out there a few times, sometimes along with Shinji and Kensuke.

Even if she didn't like video games, such playful moments were few and far between and she had thoroughly enjoyed them. Toji was the only one missing. Hikari always wished he could be there with them. He loved video games. 

Soon I can go visit him again. Hikari smiled. Just another week. I’ll bring him some takoyaki this time.   

Wanting something to remind her of her not-yet-official boyfriend, she peered wistfully through the front window, and she immediately recognized the figure leaning over one of the flashy, loud machines—her golden-red hair and pointy scarlet hair clips gave her away.

Asuka was wearing her uniform, too, meaning she had indeed left for school that morning as her guardian said she would. Hikari sighed, her heart feeling like it had plunged down to her feet. She reached into her bag and took out her phone. Keiko answered on the first ring.

“It’s me,” she told the other girl. “I found her. Thanks. Please go home.”

“You did? I can go join—”

Hikari hung up, closed her eyes, took a deep breath and then made her way inside the arcade. There were only a few other students in the noisy space, and most were giving the frowning redheaded girl a wide berth. With good reason. She looked … like someone who didn’t want anyone around her. Hikari noticed she was playing some kind of Eva-inspired shooting game called “Angel Takedown”, which seemed oddly fitting. 

"Asuka?" Hikari called out to her distracted friend while she approached, thinking it would be unwise to startle someone who was both volatile and combat-trained.

Asuka turned her head at the sound of Hikari's voice. Her eyes were dull, so much so that they seemed a completely different shade of blue. They were the eyes, Hikari recognized at once, of someone who had been through a deeply personal tragedy. She could hardly believe this was the same cheerful, outgoing girl she had always known. And yet it was not the first time she saw her like this. 

The heartbreaking difference was that before it had been an Angel who attacked her. Asuka had endured that and came back. So how could a mere fight with Shinji Ikari have done this to her?

"Uh ... hi, Hikari." Asuka forced herself to smile.

"Hi." Checking the arcade screen, Hikari noticed the initials ALS held all of the Top Ten scoring records—all time-stamped within the last few hours. "Ah, did … Did you go to school at all?” She tried to sound casual, but it was impossible. “I’ve been really worried. Major Katsuragi told me that—"

"School didn't seem important," Asuka said flatly. She returned her attention to the game, moving the controls with short, practiced movements. “I don’t really care about it.”

"I thought something happened to you."

Asuka did not reply to that.

Hikari swallowed awkwardly, uncertain of how far she should allow her curiosity to push the issue. She waited until Asuka finished the level before trying again, "Asuka, I know something bad happened. Major Katsuragi told me that you and Shinji … had problems."

Her friend stared at the next loading screen, ignoring her. Hikari found more meaning in the heavy silence that followed than on any words Asuka might utter. The German redhead might be many things, but coy was certainly not one of them by any stretch. And she didn’t usually avoid a subject as deliberately as she was doing now—she’d try to deflect attention, denying that something was bothering her while haughtily claiming she was fine. This time there was no such pretense. 

This time she was hurt, and it showed.         

She wasn't going to get to Asuka like this, Hikari realized. She might be her closest friend but that didn't mean she understood her or what she was going through, never had and probably never would. She had to find another way.

"You know I've been really wanting to talk to you for a long time. About what happened before with the Eva in the city. But it’s not really important now, I guess. Ever since you came out of the hospital, I’ve just been glad to have you around.” Hikari paused and smiled amicably. “And I'm glad we are going to be roommates again.” She reached out a hand intuitively in a gesture of support.

Asuka quickly pulled her own hand away. "I told Misato not to bother you with this. I don’t want to go anywhere with you or anyone else. Just leave me alone.”

Then she turned her head, no longer focusing on the flashing screen but on the window beyond. Hikari could not see her eyes or her expression, only her stiff body language. The young Class Representative was not at all discouraged by this behavior.

Any of the girls who merely hung around Asuka for her looks and their own status would have given up right then and there, thinking her a lost case and not worth the trouble. But Hikari was not one of them; where other girls might admire Asuka for her popularity and discard her the moment she became a problem, Hikari had long ago gotten used to the burdens which came with the redhead’s particular friendship. This was, partially at least, a result of always playing second fiddle to Asuka, and from being one of the few people—perhaps the only one—who’d seen her at her lowest. 

Of course, that wasn’t because Asuka had made it easier for her than for anyone else. In fact, Hikari had always suspected, although she’d never confirmed, that the only reason the instantly popular Eva pilot had been drawn to befriend her in the first place was because of her position as an authority figure. It certainly had not been Hikari’s looks or any other personal quality. More than any other girl Hikari had ever met, Asuka held extremely high standards for others, ones that matched the almost impossible standards she always seemed to set for herself. To Asuka, rank mattered. If people didn't measure up—like, say, Keiko Nagara—then they were not good enough.

Despite how snobbish and even arrogant that attitude might be, Hikari had never thought it was her place to judge her based solely on it. Because, like a frozen, unforgiving iceberg, there was a lot more to Asuka beneath the surface. She could seem shallow from a distance, but actually, when you got close you discovered she was a very complicated girl who was prone to odd contradictions and full of surprises. Their relationship, for example, should not have worked based solely on their different personalities, yet it did.

By now, through the trials and tribulations born out of their normal school lives and Asuka’s duty as an Evangelion pilot, they had somehow gone beyond matters of status or standards. Against all odds, they had developed what could only be described as true fondness between them, tolerance of each other’s flaws and even understanding, however one-sided those things could be at times. Hikari would still call it a real friendship. She thought Asuka should hear that.

"You know, Asuka,” Hikari gently placed a hand on the redhead’s shoulder, “I am your friend, for better or worse. You are … you are like one of my sisters. You are family, and family members are supposed to look after one another. I understand if you feel embarrassed, but there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Trust me. I will always look up to you. And I’ll always want to help you.”

“I’m not your sister.” Asuka shrugged her hand off. “I don’t have any family. I don’t need a family.”  

“Do it for me then,” Hikari said, trying to ignore the bitter note in her friend’s voice. “I told you Kodama moved out, right? Not that long ago. So, I need someone to talk to, you know, about girl stuff. I need someone to tell me if my outfit matches my shoes. I need someone to tell me how I could do better than being just a boring class representative. Someone whose opinion I value.”

“You mean you need someone to tell you what to do,” Asuka said, her tone turning sarcastic. “That's a big sister, and you have one already.”

“Well, yeah, but she moved. And anyway, I think it's more like a best friend.”

It was semantics, really. Asuka had always been far too egotistic to bother with such familial distinctions, but they did indicate a closer relationship which was just the point Hikari wanted to make. Rather than argue, however, the redhead lowered her head slightly.

"I'll just be a burden. I can’t pilot my Eva, so … that’s all I am to anyone. Why would you care? Even Shinji didn’t."

"Because I just do. And you have never been a burden, Asuka.” Hikari waved off the objection despite her own doubts. She hated hearing someone like Asuka use such a dejected tone, and knew the reason for it must have been very painful. “I’d be honored to have you. Pen-Pen will be happy to see you, too. I can tell he misses you."

It was a syrupy thing to say, almost cliché in its simplicity, but it was sincere. Hikari shuffled around to the side, making sure the other girl could see her. 

“Please?” she smiled. “For me?”

Asuka sighed and let a little hint of appreciation enter her features. She took a long time to think about what was really being offered. Hikari didn’t try to pretend to sneak some sympathy below the redhead’s radar, but she did hope to make her realize that it was okay to accept some comfort when she needed it.

You know you don’t want to be alone. Come on. It’s okay to need help every once in a while. Let me do that for you.

Hikari reached again for her friend’s shoulder to make her point. When Asuka didn’t object this time, the pigtailed girl knew she had succeeded. “Let's go,” she said. “Some of your things are probably already waiting for you.”

She got a nod and a half-smile in return. Given what she had seen so far, Hikari was willing to accept that as a step in the right direction. Hopefully, the first of many.

Hikari waited for Asuka to gather her book bag, then the two of them walked outside and started making their way down the street towards their designated train station, moving through a much thinner crowd than the one Hikari had encountered earlier. As they walked, Hikari was careful not to look terribly concerned, even though she could not help casting an occasional glance in Asuka’s direction, quickly looking away when she thought the other girl might see her. The train entered the station almost as soon as they did.

They found a pair of seats, but when Asuka sat down Hikari excused herself and stepped back onto the aisle, turning aside. She fetched her cell phone and sent a brief text message to Major Katsuragi and another to Keiko, thanking her in writing this time for her helpfulness, adding that Asuka appreciated the gesture—a lie, but a well-meaning one. She did all of it quietly, hoping the noise of the train would mask the clicking of the keys from the proud and arrogant redhead who wouldn’t take kindly to such subterfuge. 

I should send one to Shinji, too, Hikari thought, with a sudden bitter feeling. And scold him for what he did … only I still don’t know what that was. She decided against it. She would need to demand answers from him in person.

When the messages were sent, Hikari slipped the phone back into her pocket and finally took a seat to Asuka’s right. “Just some last-minute class business,” she explained. “You know how it is. Some students couldn’t find their shoes if you don’t remind them where they left them.”   

Asuka would have normally been rightly annoyed by such behavior. Now she just stared out the window in brooding, uncharacteristic, utterly miserable silence.

Hikari opened her book bag in search of something to distract her from the sudden awkwardness, but as she did she also realized that Asuka’s silence bothered her almost as much as her tone earlier had. And she wondered again what Shinji Ikari could have possibly done to hurt her so badly.

Hyuga yawned loudly, stretching his arms like someone who’d just gotten out of bed. Then he turned to Misato. “Sorry, Ma’am.” He shook his head and pushed his glasses back into place. “I didn’t get any sleep last night.”

“No need to be polite around me. You should know that by now.” Misato dismissed him with a shrug of her shoulders and put her cell phone away into a pocket inside her jacket. Section 2 had already reported Asuka never arrived at school, but this time they knew where she was, and they had orders to convey her to Miss Horaki’s by the end of the day anyway so there was no need to worry. But it seemed the ever-reliable Hikari had taken matters into her own hands. “Ritsuko insisted Unit-00 should be worked on overnight, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, me and about every other tech she could find.” He stifled another yawn. “She seems to have found another gear. I don’t know how she does it. She’ll be in charge of Unit-00’s next test as well.”

Maya will probably be relieved, Misato thought. She raised her head and looked around them.  

Talking inside Central Dogma was not advisable—there was surveillance everywhere, and the risk of being overheard was a constant problem. But instead of meeting on the watermelon field like they had in the past, Misato had elected to drive them a good distance from NERV HQ to a small clearing south of the pyramid where the trees grew thickest. There they stood, leaning against the side of her car, their conversation as private as it could possibly be. The air was thick with the scent of the forest. 

“Ritsuko is a workaholic,” Misato said. “Always has been, even in school. I think she assumes everyone around her is as well. If you ask me, I think that’s an impossible expectation to set on people. Maya worked on that thing for months. She deserves a lot of credit.”

The look on Hyuga’s face made it clear he agreed. “Unit-00 isn't even combat capable. Most of its armor is missing. And it's going to stay missing because we don't have enough components. Regeneration is 80%. One arm is still entirely inadequate. And Doctor Akagi is already looking at clearing Rei for a second activation, despite the other doctors’ orders.”

Misato felt a surge of intense dislike for Ritsuko. It was by no means a new feeling. “That's just reckless. Even for her.”

“It gets worse. I tried accessing Rei's recent medical history but it's sealed—military grade encryption. Obviously, there's something she doesn't want anyone to see. Why else would she do that?”

“I agree. It’s pretty obvious she's keeping a secret.” Like, for example, Misato thought acidly, the fact that Rei is really a clone, one of a whole aquarium full, and that the Rei everyone has always known actually died and was replaced like a broken part in an automobile.

God, that still made her stomach turn. And Ritsuko just had to get Shinji involved in that, too. Misato had seen enough to know the blonde woman was capable of hiding anything.

“Any idea about the rush?” she asked.  

“Only guesswork. I know it has something to do with China. Well, it could be anything really, but our link with the Chinese branch has been on non-stop like we are waiting for something. I have no clue about what is going on over there. But some people are starting to get really mad.”

Misato frowned, recalling information from some dusty corner of her mind. “The Chinese have an Eva unit, right?”

“Do you want the official or the unofficial answer?” Hyuga shifted his weight, turning so that he was leaning slightly on his side, facing her. His features were knotted with evident concern. He didn’t like any of this any more than she did. 

“Yeah, I guess it all depends on who you ask these days. It’s just unbelievable.”

“That’s what worries me, actually. I shouldn’t be telling you this—you are an authority figure after all—but, well, I have a pen pal. Inside the Chinese Branch. We share messages regularly on a private forum. Let’s just say we are not the only ones burning the midnight oil.”

Given how much time he spent in front of a computer, Misato was not surprised to hear that he had contacts with the other branches. Hers only extended to the German branch, and mostly ended after Kaji and Asuka’s transfer. “Lots of counterfeit movies have come from that friendship, I trust.”

“And a lot more,” Hyuga admitted. “Quite a lot more.” 

“If you start winking at me, I’m gonna get angry,” Misato said. “I get what you are trying to say. You don’t have to be so evasive about it. It’s me you're talking to. Please. This isn’t a spy movie.”

“Ah, right. Sorry. I’m just not used to this kind of thing.” 

I’m not either. This was Kaji’s game.

Misato was trying to be patient and to make her voice match her intentions, but the last two days had been so taxing she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep it up. “Hyuga, tell me about your friend,” she said, then turned her head to lock her eyes on his. “Does he have information we can use?” 

“Unfortunately, he's located in Shanghai, not Beijing. A little out of the loop you might say. But he’s been awfully busy these last few days.” Hyuga looked over to the huge pyramidal building in the distance as he spoke. Misato wondered if he was intentionally being evasive. “From what I gather, the UN advisors are going crazy over there. Absolutely nuts. Some are even threatening sanctions unless inspections of certain facilities are allowed.”

“Sounds serious.”

“It does. And whatever is going on, the Chinese central government will only officially admit to conducting a routine experiment. Nothing too important, they say, but it looks like even people on the inside who would normally be able to send messages out from Beijing are being prevented from doing so. It’s sealed tight.”

“How does someone in Shanghai know this?” Misato wondered, but she answered her own question with the most obvious explanation. ”Your contact has a contact, I assume?”

Hyuga nodded. “Yes. I might be reading too much into it, of course, but I don't have to tell you what might happen if China gets to make Unit-A operational.”

“The balance is disrupted,” Misato said quietly. She could already see where this was headed, what it would lead to. The same place arm races usually did. “And I suppose the fact that it’s completely illegal doesn’t bother them at all?”  

“Why would it? China was never supposed to keep an Evangelion in the first place, remember? They were to build one and turn it over to the UN, like Germany with Unit-02. And they did. Except that they also reverse-engineered a copy of their own and somehow have brought it close enough to activation. And there’s no way they did it alone. Of course, India and Pakistan are horrified at the prospect of China having an unlicensed Eva. Russia seems indifferent, but you know the Russians. They probably already have one sitting under the Moscow metro or something. Wouldn’t surprise me. But the really troubling part is the fact that China has been ignoring all proper channels of communication and the government still claims it's just for research purposes, even when other areas of that same government claim it doesn’t exist."

“Research what?” Misato replied, folding her arms across her chest. “Why? They have to know we know they’re lying. And the UN. No one is that stupid.”

Hyuga threw up his shoulders into another shrug. “God only knows. I’d imagine the UN fears that China is doing weapons testing with the Eva. That could create a nightmare scenario: India, Pakistan and Russia are all secret nuclear powers. If they think China is planning something against them, they'll hit the panic button.”

“And everyone goes boom, from weapons they’re not even supposed to have. Gotta love the modern age. Fucking brilliant. And there’s not a damn thing anyone can do.” Even Misato was surprised by the sudden bitterness in her voice. Hyuga noticed as well.

"Major, is there something wrong?" he asked, and for the first time appeared confused. “I mean, something else wrong.”

She shook her head slowly. “Nothing.”

Hyuga made a face. He didn’t believe her. “Major … you know, we don’t always have to talk about stuff like this. I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to, well, if you needed someone to vent. Maybe it’s not my place to say that, but still, you should know. I’m here for you.”

"It’s not that you haven’t earned my trust, Hyuga," Misato said, carefully treading waters she was not very comfortable in. She was aware that saying the wrong thing might give him the wrong impression. She didn't want to push him away, but also didn't want to draw him closer. “You have my trust. You are probably the only one I CAN trust. It's just difficult talking about personal feelings with anyone. Particularly feelings that are ... less than pleasant.”    

“Is it something to do with the children?”  

Yeah, I’m that predictable, Misato thought sourly. 

There were really only a few things that got to her the same way that her two teen wards did. Ritsuko had once accused her of wanting to play surrogate mother because it would help her life feel less empty. Misato had to agree there was an element of truth there, but she didn't see how caring for other people could possibly be a bad thing. She still didn't think it was, whatever her present feelings.

Shinji and Asuka represented part of a life she couldn't have otherwise, a life which she didn't even know she wanted until she'd taken them under her wing. But they weren't family, and her feelings were little more than stand-ins to fill in the void. To make her feel better. Unlike a real mother whose duty it was to keep her family together, all Misato could do to help was break it apart to keep them from hurting each other. 

“Did Ritsuko tell you?” Misato asked, still sounding slightly bitter despite being guiltily aware that Hyuga didn't deserve it. “Or did you come up with that assumption all on your own just now?”

Hyuga drew himself back, both hands raised towards her in apology. “Sorry," he said sheepishly, just like Misato imagined Shinji would. “I didn't mean to intrude. I thought … maybe it would help.”

He sounds just like Shinji, too, Misato thought. She remembered how she had seen the brown-haired Third Child earlier that morning, and what she had told him before about opening up to people. Maybe she should take her own advice for once. Shinji was never as alone as he thought—he had Rei Ayanami and his friends, and even herself. And so Misato had Hyuga.

She turned around, leaning tiredly forward and folding her arms on top of the car. She didn't take her eyes away from Hyuga. 

“Yeah, it's the children,” Misato said finally. “I guess it’s not surprising at this point, but they had a fight. A bad one.”

“But you've said they are always fighting, is that so?”     

“No, this is different,” Misato replied. “I had to send Asuka to stay with a friend. I had no other choice."

“I'm sure you did what was best,” Hyuga said, his voice going soft. It was a line Misato had already heard quite a few times before, and one she was all but growing immune to. “Dealing with children is always complicated.” 

“It shouldn’t be,” Misato murmured in return. There was something heavy in her chest. “They are children, for Heaven’s sake. You should be able to just … protect them. Care for them. But when it’s like this … it becomes so difficult.” She frowned at Hyuga. “I don't even know what they said to each other. I’m not sure I even want to know. When Shinji told me what happened he was reluctant to give many details. He said they fought but wouldn't tell me anything more. But I know it was bad. I can’t blame him, can I? He goes out of his way to avoid confrontation.”

“That he does.” Hyuga was sympathetic, and of course he would be. Misato knew he liked Shinji well enough. “He is rather easy to get along with.”

“But Asuka, she’s …” Misato trailed off. Finding words to describe the redhead without speaking ill of her was very hard all of a sudden. “When Asuka wants to hurt she knows exactly what to say. And she won't even look at me—that's nothing new, really—but I can tell how hurt she is sometimes just by being near her.” She heaved a deep, heavy sigh, and felt her emotional strength evaporate. “This morning before she left, I found her sitting in the kitchen. She was wiping tears out of her eyes.”

“Crying?” Hyuga was incredulous. “Our Asuka?”

“Our Asuka.” Misato couldn't believe it either. “She yelled when I asked what was wrong. You know her, she has to be strong. She can't possibly let anyone near her. And even though I knew she had hurt Shinji just as much, I wanted so badly to just ... tell her it's okay to cry, and just hold her. But I couldn't ...” 

As the words spilled out of her, so did the emotions. Seeing Asuka like that, remembering how dejected Shinji had been that morning, knowing how much they both meant to her—it was all suddenly more than Misato could bear. Before she knew it, the hardened facade she strove to present as NERV's Chief of Operations had fallen away and left only the woman who had never really grown up, the would-be mother who couldn't take care of herself let alone two young teenagers who hated each other.

She buried her face on her folded arms, fighting to keep the tears at bay. A fight she was losing. “I can't do anything for Asuka. I can't do anything for Shinji. I never could. I just ask things from them—ask them to risk their lives, ask them to suffer—but I can't do anything to repay their sacrifice. They deserve better. They deserve better than me.”  

Hyuga stood by silently until she finished, and she was convinced he would be disgusted to have his superior officer break down in such an unsightly fashion. His silence was proof that he didn't approve, surely.

But then he moved closer, placing an arm on top of the car next to her. “Says who, Major?” he told her kindly. “Who could want anything more than someone who cares for them?”

Misato opened her eyes, lifting her head. The world had become blurry as seen through the distortion of her tears. She wiped them away on a red sleeve. “It isn't that simple. Caring for them is easy. It comes naturally. But I should do more than that. I should be able to help them.”

Hyuga let the words hang in the air, perhaps hoping she would answer her own question. When it became clear that she couldn't, he moved even closer. So close, in fact, that the next time he spoke, she could feel his breath against her ear.

“Major, I wouldn't ever presume I know what to do in dealing with the children, or if I did, I would not presume to tell you how to feel about it. But don't you think that, maybe, you being there for them already is a lot of help? You can't force anyone to accept help if they don't want it, but they know it's there if they need it.”

Misato could tell he really meant it, too. It wasn't the sort of artificial kindness people were so used to giving one another without any genuine feeling behind it. Strangely, it made her feel at once comforted and saddened: the former because she was assured of his sincerity, the latter because whatever she might think of him, he would never replace Kaji in her heart. And she knew, and had known for a long time, that Hyuga wanted to.

This was yet another reason why she had spent the last few months focusing on work and, above all, in preserving Kaji's quest for truth. It was much easier dealing with long-buried secrets than personal ones.

Especially ones that will only lead to more pain if you even acknowledge them.

“I don't know.” Misato forced herself to regain her composure. "Could we not do this right now, Hyuga? Talking about the Children, I mean."

He looked like he wanted to argue—again, his concern for her was painfully obvious—and maybe he thought talking about this really was the best thing to do. But Misato was still his boss and perfectly capable of deciding what to share. He had to respect that. "Sure, Major," the operator finally said. “Anything you wish.”

Misato gave him a nod of gratitude.

“So, um, would you like me to find out more about what the Chinese Branch is up to?” Hyuga offered. “I can probably get into—”

“No,” Misato cut him off. She couldn't have cared less at that point. Why should she? For three months, she’d chased ghosts while ignoring those who really mattered; those she should have helped. That was time she would never get back. And now this? She needed to get her priorities straight. “Whatever they are up to doesn't concern us. They have obviously chosen to play around with something they don't understand. It's their funeral.” She pushed away from the car, then reached down for the door handle. “Let's go back before we are missed.” She swung open the door.

Hyuga was already walking around to the other side. “Or discovered,” he said as he opened the passenger door, and glanced across the roof at Misato. “Snitches get stitches, I haven’t forgotten.”    

Neither have I , Misato thought. She dropped into the driver’s seat and slammed the key into the ignition. I keep a reminder on my answering machine.

“R-Rei?” Shinji hesitated as he caught sight of Rei Ayanami sitting on a wheelchair in the middle of the hallway that led from the main atrium to the rows of hospital rooms, wearing only a white gown and a tired expression. She was not alone.

Doctor Ritsuko Akagi, hands in her pockets, was leaning over the blue-haired girl, seemingly talking down to her. Shinji liked neither the woman’s looming presence nor her demeanor. He wanted to see Rei in private and had not considered there might be someone else with her. 

Belatedly, he realized that was kind of stupid since this was still, last time he checked, a hospital. He had even brought flowers from the visitor’s center, a fact he now found himself feeling very embarrassed about. He didn’t even know why he’d done that—it just occurred to him they might somehow help Rei feel better.      

When Ritsuko saw him, she straightened up. “We are busy. Visits are not allowed at the moment." Her voice was cold, her expression clinical as she looked him over. “Shouldn’t you be in school?” 

Rei remained silent beside her like she hadn't noticed him at all. Her eyes were dull, slightly unfocused. Shinji hoped she wasn’t medicated.  

“Y-Yeah. No, I mean. Sorry,” he managed to say. “Misato gave me permission to miss school, and it’s too late anyway. School’s over.” 

“Then why are you here, and not home?” Ritsuko demanded. 

“Um, I ... I wanted to see how Rei was doing a-and ... ” Shinji stammered, his cheeks warming up to a deep crimson blush. “I … hope that’s not too much trouble. I didn’t think anyone would be here.”

“And you brought her flowers, how charming.” Ritsuko actually sounded slightly amused. A grin tugged on her lips. She then turned to Rei. Shinji noticed the much smaller girl had bowed her head and was now looking at the floor. “Don’t you think so, Rei?”

“Yes,” Rei answered obediently.

Being passive was part of Rei’s nature, but her manner seemed different somehow. Not merely passive as much as it was completely submissive. Blue hair disheveled, red eyes downcast, the First Child looked like someone who'd just been found in an orphan shelter. Someone without power, without desire, without anything to call her own—even the hospital gown fit her poorly as if the act of clothing her had been an afterthought.   

“That’s a good girl.” Ritsuko patted Rei on her head, a gesture that coming from anyone else might have been affectionate. But coming from Ritsuko Akagi it carried all the detached satisfaction of petting an obedient dog after performing a successful trick. Shinji didn’t like it. 

Why does she have to treat Rei like that? he thought. Does she think she won’t care or something?   

Rei, for her part, did not lift her head or look at the woman. Her face remained neutral, and, as with so much else, if she was bothered at being condescended upon like this she didn’t show it.  

Shinji swallowed a flint of anger. He wanted to say something, but the words eluded him. 

Then Ritsuko fixed his problem for him. “I suppose you want to see her alone, right?” She turned again to Shinji and began walking towards him, both hands back in her pockets. “I know you’ve been having a tough time, so I’ll allow it for the sake of morale. Just don’t take too long. Rei, don’t forget what I told you.”

She said this last part as she moved past the Third Child, without so much as looking back at Rei when she spoke to her. Shinji half expected her to whistle and for Rei to follow at her heels, wheelchair and all.

He waited for Ritsuko to disappear around the corner before cautiously approaching the blue-haired girl. Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about being able to look her in the eyes as hers were still firmly focused on the tiled floor. 

“Um … Rei. These are for you.” He offered her the flowers, red roses because it was apparently the only kind easily available in Tokyo-3. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Rei lifted her gaze, but a questioning expression came over her soft features—barely an expression, really. It was more like a sense. Shinji knew her well enough to understand, however.

“Flowers?” Rei’s voice was weak, slightly confused.      

“I-I just thought that … Well, the hospital can be very depressing so... " Shinji began hesitantly, again struggling to get the right words, “I thought these might cheer you up.”

“Cheer me up?” Rei repeated, now with a clear hint of puzzlement. “A plant would not have such an effect.”

No one had ever given her flowers before, Shinji was certain of that, and it said a lot about the spartan sort of life she’d led thus far. A short life, he reminded himself. This Rei was, at most, a few months old. Even if she looked exactly like the other girl Shinji had known and cared about, she wasn’t. That Rei was dead. 

Still seeming confused, Rei took the flowers, not saying a word as she did, then raised them to her face to examine them more closely. She sniffed them. Her eyes widened.

“They are red,” Shinji said. Then he felt stupid for pointing out something as obvious as the color of red roses. Anyone other than Rei Ayanami would have been annoyed. “I … they reminded me of you. They match your eyes.”

“I do not like red.”

If Shinji had felt stupid before, he was now sure he must have been the dumbest boy who ever walked the planet. How was he supposed to know that? Rei never talked about anything, much less what she liked and didn’t like. Girls liked flowers. He just assumed … 

Like you assumed things about Asuka , a guilty voice suddenly rang inside his head. Like you assumed things about Misato. Always assuming and always being wrong. 

"I … s-sorry, I ... didn't know.”

"But I think I like flowers." Rei was looking down at the flowers with a careworn expression. "Thank you. What do I do with them?"

"Well, you put them in water or they’ll die," he said. “Haven’t you ever put flowers in your apartment?”

“No.”

That’s a shame , Shinji thought.

Now came the hard part; the real reason he forced himself out of bed and down into Central Dogma. He wished he could have avoided it—or at least, he wished that he’d found another, better, less selfish reason for coming. But the memory of what he’d told Asuka was too painful, too overwhelming. Keeping it to himself was more than he could endure.

"Uh...Rei?"

"Yes?"

"Could I … talk to you about something? Something important. I didn’t even know if I should come, but you’ve always listened, and I’m comfortable talking with you.” He looked nervously down the hallway. “So please, will you talk to me?"

Rei didn't answer right away. It made Shinji wonder if she even wanted him there, although that wasn’t something Rei would ever say. She was staring intently at the roses, their fresh petals as crimson as her eyes, an inch from her nose. And she still said nothing. Shinji felt his throat go dry. The silence ate away at his resolve, and after a moment all he could think of doing was running away.  

“I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to impose on you like this. I'll leave you alone."

As he turned to leave, Rei grabbed him by the wrist. "Ikari … Shinji, you can come in if you want,” she said, looking up at him for the first time. “My room is the second door on the left."

Shinji had spent enough time in NERV’s medical ward that he already knew much of the layout. It was, like most hospitals, a somewhat depressing place despite its inherently benign function. The nurses knew him on sight, which said a lot in itself, while the bright lights and polished tile floors belied the pain that these very walls were built to treat.

He wheeled Rei down the hallway, following her directions until they reached a room with the name Ayanami R. written on a chart hanging by the door. The room looked sparse even to Shinji, almost entirely bare except for the bed and a few small pieces of furniture. Compared with the much larger room Asuka had been kept in during her coma, Rei’s was a box, smaller and closer to what might have been deemed ordinary, holding none of the complex life support equipment.

Of course, he made a point of recalling, Asuka had required far more constant attention in her condition than Rei now did. She had been completely dependent on those around her. Helpless.

Shinji felt a new pang of guilt. He hadn’t thought about that for the longest time—about what he had nearly done when the unconscious redhead had laid sprawled, half naked in front of him. He hoped the nurse on duty that day, who certainly must have found Asuka on the bed after he left, had never told her. But it wasn’t because he feared her anger. Asuka simply didn’t deserve the humiliation such an episode would cause her.

Rei Ayanami, ironically, probably wouldn’t have cared.

Closing the door behind them, Shinji pushed the wheelchair-bound girl to the foot of her bed. He carefully placed her left arm around his shoulders to help her up and onto the bed. She was surprisingly light, her skin cold against his through her gown.

"Would you like me to put those in water?" Shinji asked her, gesturing towards the flowers she still cradled on her lap. He then moved an arm under Rei’s legs and helped her swing them onto the bed.

"I do not have anything to put water in," Rei replied. “I can just hold them.”

“They will die like that.” Shinji looked around and spotted a serving tray by her bedside along with the remnants of Rei’s dinner. Atop the tray was a used set of cheap-looking plastic cutlery and a drinking cup. “That will do, I think.” He pointed to the cup. 

“As you wish.” 

Shinji picked up the plastic cup, walked over to the small bathroom and gave it a rinse under the sink faucet. When it was clean, he filled it with water and returned to Rei’s side, holding out the cup for her to put the flowers in it. She did, and he placed them down on her nightstand. Then he found a chair nearby and pulled it close.

"So, uh, Rei … I need to talk to you," Shinji said as he sat there, uncertain about what to do with himself. “If you don’t mind.”   

"Yes. You already asked. Please go ahead," Rei said, but she didn’t turn to face him. She was staring at the roses in a strangely disconnected manner.

Shinji knew she was listening. He struggled to find the words that would properly and coherently explain all the things he was feeling; the pain and hurt of what had happened. Just tell her the truth. Tell her what happened. She’ll understand.  

“I … I had a fight ... with Asuka,” he began, focusing on Rei's calm form. He felt exposed, almost like being naked. His insides were raw, his chest growing tight with remorse as the memories returned. It hurt. It had never stopped hurting. “And I said things that I shouldn't have … and she … cried.”

Rei said nothing, but her red eyes shifted slightly. 

"I … I feel horrible. It's not like when we fought before. It’s not like when she calls me stupid. Now it's … painful. She shouldn’t have said the things she said about you—there’s no excuse for saying that even if it’s someone you don’t like. I … said them right back at her. I told her I hated her. I told her …” a whimper escaped his lips. “I told her I wanted her to die. And she cried. I made her cry.”

Rei still said nothing, and even though Shinji knew it wasn’t real he thought he saw in her otherwise neutral eyes a reflection of his own guilt. And for a fleeting second, the red became sapphire blue in his mind’s eye and he saw Asuka staring back at him, tears streaming down her pretty face. 

I hate you too! If anyone should die, it’s YOU!

That image—that memory —made something very cold and very sharp stir in Shinji’s chest. At that very moment, when the words left his mouth, Shinji knew he had wounded Asuka more severely than any Angel ever had. 

He already knew his redheaded roommate had suffered a lot in her life, having fallen from grace as a child prodigy with the world at her feet to a devastated and bitter teenager. But despite her anger, her haughtiness, and everything else that might have influenced her to become the girl she was, Shinji had never seen that look before. 

And he never wanted to see it again. Because that look, that one single moment of frozen sorrow, encapsulated all that was wrong in their relationship. All the hurt they had caused one another. The hatred. Even though he’d never wanted to hurt or hate her. He just wanted to get along. He wanted to help her and see her smile. How could that be so much to ask? 

“I hate you!” Asuka had screamed at him after he slapped her, and when he said it back, she tried to strangle him. He could still feel her hands around his throat. He gasped. The sudden flow of emotions overwhelmed him.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

“I shouldn't have … ” Shinji barely managed, before the tears began rolling down his cheeks, “But she ... she can be so mean. She had no right to say those things … but I had no right to say them to her either.” He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands, weeping. “I had no right … please, forgive me.”   

“I will not,” Rei said. “I can not.”

Whatever Shinji had expected in return, that certainly wasn’t it. He looked up, eyes red and stinging. “Uh?”

Rei was staring at him now, her gaze easy and non-judgmental. “You can ask me for forgiveness, but I have no reason to forgive you. You have done nothing to me that would require it. If you feel it is the Second who should forgive you, then you should go to her and ask her to do so instead.”

“I can’t.” He shook his head, sniffling and wiping away tears with his hands. “I can’t go to her. She hates me. She—”

"She is who she is," Rei replied. For the first time, her voice was firm. “And she does not have to forgive you. It is not an obligation. She may if she wishes, and you may forgive her, too.”

“But … what’s the point in apologizing to someone if they will just hate you for it?”

“Will it make you feel better?”  

After that Shinji fell silent, uncertain about the answer and its implication. It would make him feel better, but that was just his selfishness. It wouldn’t help Asuka, and it wouldn’t make her feel better. And so he would only fuel her hatred of him, gaining nothing else.  

“People make themselves what they want to be, not what others wish them to be,” Rei said. “I can only be me, and no one else. You accepted me for being me. Isn’t that right? Even though I was not the person you remembered or wanted. So you should accept her for being her.”

Shinji didn’t understand how that could help. He’d tried to accept Asuka, before finally resigning himself to letting her be alone because he was sure that was what she wanted from him. And even though he disliked her attitude and her angry, abrasive personality as a whole, he knew those were qualities that made the Second Child the girl she was. He’d tried to accept them as well. All she had to do was be a little nicer to him, a little more thoughtful, and he would have gladly repaid her kindness several times over.

But Asuka would do none of those things. Because she hated him. And after what he’d said, maybe she did indeed have a right to. He couldn’t imagine she’d feel any other way. Her forgiveness seemed like an impossible dream. 

The silence lasted several minutes. Shinji used them to try to compose himself, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt. His eyes still stung, but the tears had stopped. 

“Is that all?” Rei finally said.

“I … y-yes, I guess it is.”

“Then I think you should go.” Rei lay back on her pillow, folded her hands in her lap, and stared at the ceiling, not caring to cover herself with the thin bed sheets. 

Shinji swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “Rei? Are you … angry with me?” he couldn’t help the question. In his present state, he didn’t think he could take someone else rejecting him. It was too much. It was all too much. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. Why should I be angry?” Rei answered. She turned her head and frowned at him. “I feel our discussion has reached its only possible outcome. While I enjoy your company, Doctor Akagi ordered me to rest for the next activation test tomorrow. Therefore, I must rest. I cannot do that with you here.”

“Another activation?” Shinji stared at her in disbelief. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes. I was informed that it has become a top priority for me to pilot Unit-00. All other projects have been suspended. I must make it work.”

“Isn’t that too soon? Rei, you can’t!” 

Rei actually sighed. “Please understand. I do not wish to argue.” She looked at him with eyes that seemed to beg. “Let me rest. I will be okay. Thank you for your concern.” 

Shinji wasn't stupid, no matter what Asuka liked to say. He'd never believed the tests would be stopped for something as seemingly unimportant as Rei getting hurt. Too much time and money had already been spent. But what purpose could they achieve by putting Rei back inside Unit-00 when she was still bedridden?

NERV—and his father—couldn't possibly believe Rei was disposable any longer, could they? They knew the truth. She was the last one. Shinji had been there with Ritsuko and Misato when the other copies, or whatever they were, had been destroyed. And even if they considered THIS Rei as another copy, she was still also a teenager, a child, someone like him, someone like Asuka. Her life had value. At least, it had value to him. 

Apparently, that wasn’t the case for anyone else. Certainly not for Ritsuko Akagi, who treated Rei like a pet, or to Asuka, who verbally abused her, or even Misato, who mostly ignored her. And his father … he was the worst of all. But as those thoughts entered his mind and filled his heart with outrage, Shinji realized any protest he made would be futile, like his protests over Rei’s first activation. 

No one cares anymore. To NERV, she’s not a person. She’s just a tool. Something to be used until broken.

Feeling utterly helpless, the Third Child sank into the chair, shoulders slumped, head down. “Rei, what should I—”

“You already know,” Rei said before he could finish the question, rolling her head on her pillow. She glanced at the flowers again, sprouting from their plastic cup. Shinji couldn’t help noticing how very bright, lively, and red they appeared. A spot of life in the room’s grey dullness. “The more I look at them, the more beautiful they seem. But even they have thorns. You can cut yourself if you are not careful. That does not change what it is.”

Somehow, Shinji had the strange impression she wasn’t really talking about the flowers, but he was too tired and didn’t dare ask.   

Still wearing her pink cotton pajamas—the ones with the small printed cartoon bears—Hikari Horaki found herself sitting in the living room, staring at the TV screen, with the quiet house feeling strangely empty around her. Adding to the strangeness was the fact that today was a school day. Hikari could not remember the last time she had missed school when it wasn’t related to a medical reason or an Angel attack.  

The day had started normally enough. Hikari woke up early as usual, before sunrise, and made breakfast for her little sister like she always did but between seeing Nozomi off to school and waiting for Asuka to get out of bed before leaving, she had finished the morning parked in front of the TV. Asuka had never appeared, and she just couldn’t leave without at least seeing that her friend had something to eat. 

So Hikari waited. And waited. And waited. 

Picking up the remote control, she clicked the menu button and read the time. Ten minutes before noon. Forget about making breakfast for Asuka, she’d need to prepare lunch soon. If only her friend would come down. 

I shouldn’t blame her for oversleeping, Hikari thought. She probably still feels really bad about what happened. But she shouldn’t stay in bed all day either. It’s bad enough that she’s missing school again.   

A few minutes later, Hikari checked the time again on the TV. She sighed. It was officially noon now. Half the day was wasted. And still no Asuka. 

Hikari laid down the remote control on the couch next to her and got up. She slipped her feet into her pink slippers then headed up the stairs. With her big sister Kodama off in Kyoto, she’d been more than happy to let Asuka use her large bedroom. She was sure her sister wouldn’t mind since it was for a good cause. Asuka had turned in sometime around 8:00 PM last night after Hikari made her some supper, closed the door behind her, and did not come out again. 

Kodama’s old room, presently Asuka’s, was the last one to the left, occupying a whole corner of the second floor. Hikari knocked on the door. There was no response. 

“Asuka, time to get up. It’s late.”

Like most of the other bedroom doors in the house, this one had no lock. Knocking to let Asuka know she was coming in was just courtesy.

“I’m coming in.” With that, Hikari slid the door open, stepped inside, then softly closed the door. “Asuka, you up?” 

The room was mostly as her sister left it. She couldn’t take many of her belongings with her to Kyoto, city apartments being the miniatures they were. The thing that had always struck Hikari about her sister’s room was the cleanliness, even by her own standards; every little thing had its place, and everything seemed to match every other thing. Asuka, however, was clearly working on changing that. She’d thrown her half-opened backpack hastily at the foot of a dresser and left her two untouched suitcases propped up against the wall. A white and blue school uniform was draped over the back of a chair, together with socks, shoes, and her red hair clips.

Kodama would be outraged , Hikari thought with some amusement. She took a knee and picked up the backpack, setting it carefully in the chair. It contained mostly underwear, some clothing and toiletries. Then she retrieved the uniform and hung it in the closet. Asuka’s Section 2 bodyguards had brought over the suitcases, but the redhead hadn’t gone near them yet. 

Finally, Hikari turned her attention to the bed.  

Asuka lay curled up under a quilted blanket, her slender form covered but unmistakable, her pale feet and a sheet of flaring locks from her golden-red mane visible at either end. She made a kind of bulge, although not a very large one. Pen-Pen was lying on the floor next to the bed, his small beady eyes closed. The lazy penguin might have been sleeping. The girl he was keeping company was most certainly not. 

Even as she stood over her, Hikari could hear the animated rhythm of the music she was listening to blaring through her earbuds, the volume turned up as high as it would go. 

Hikari sighed again and sat on the bed beside Asuka, careful not to step on the dozing penguin.  She reached underneath the blanket, found the little digital music player and switched it off with a thumb. Asuka did not stir. Hikari turned her head away, keeping her eyes focused on Pen-Pen rather than on the covered girl. With the curtains drawn, very little light filtered into the room.

“I know you can hear me, Asuka. Time to get up. It’s really late.”

“I don’t care.” The response which came back was a throaty croak, and did nothing to ease Hikari’s growing worry.

“The sun’s out. It’s really nice.”

“I don’t care.” 

“Well, I do, Asuka, and you can’t stay in bed all day,” Hikari said a little more firmly. “We’re already missing school today so why don’t we go outside? The shops are all open. I’m sure you’d love to go.”

“You go. I don’t care.”

“After what I said, how could I go anywhere? I wanted to make you breakfast, but you didn’t come down. Now we might as well call the school and report we aren’t going. They won’t be happy.” 

“If you want to be mad at me, go ahead. Yell at me. Tell me you hate me. I don’t care. I don’t care about school. I don’t care about anything,’ 

Hikari wished she wouldn’t say such things. She wished she wouldn’t even think them. For all her haughtiness, the redhead absolutely had a self-destructive streak, and if given a chance, she’d withdraw and wither away in her own lonely despair. Hikari had already learned that from her own experience with her. Last time, she had missed the signs until it was too late. Asuka ran away, and  … hurt herself. 

Keep her talking, Hikari thought. Asuka likes to talk so let her know you are here for her. Ask her some questions, maybe.

A subject quickly came to mind, one the Class Rep. had always been curious about. 

“You know, since we aren’t going anywhere, we can just talk, right? How about I ask you something and you ask me something in return?”

“Go away,” Asuka said. Hikari ignored her.

“I always wanted to know, what was it like when you came here? When you came to Japan, I mean. Is it what you thought it’d be like? Is it very different from Germany? Did you have many friends there?”

“Friends?” Asuka made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob. “I didn’t have any friends. I was the youngest girl in every class I ever took. The boys would look at me, but not one of them ever approached me. I was taboo for them.” 

“Um, that was in college, right?” 

“It was a joke! Just a big stupid joke!” 

Bragging about finishing college early was among the first things Asuka had ever done when they met, but she had never elaborated on it much. Now, after hearing that answer, Hikari realized why.

“It can’t have been that bad. How can it be bad? It’s college.” Hikari said. Looking down, she noticed Pen-Pen had jerked his eyes open, woken by all the noise his humans were making, no doubt. Hikari removed one of her slippers and stroked him gently with a foot, his rubbery feathers cool to the touch. Meanwhile, Asuka— 

“I hated it,” Asuka said bluntly, shifting herself into a tighter ball under the blanket. This time, however, she kept talking. It didn’t help. If anything it made things worse. “I hated every day I was there. My teachers … I know they despised me. I was smarter than they were. I had all the answers. I made them look bad. I could see it in their eyes when they looked at me. I told my father, but he didn’t care. When I was little, my stepmother only ever tolerated me so she could be close to my father. College was their chance to get rid of me.”

Hikari had not expected that. She was horrified. Has her whole life been like this? She wondered sadly. Doesn’t she have ANY happy memories? 

“Come on, Asuka.” Hikari found herself fighting the urge to reach out and embrace her. And she would have, but she wasn’t really sure how Asuka might take it. With the redhead being like she was, such an open display of sympathy could make her even more upset. “I’m sure your parents were proud. I mean, look at what you’ve done. You graduated college. You are an Eva pilot who protects millions of people. You are a hero. You shouldn’t really go around feeling everyone hates you just because you think a few don’t like you.”

“What’s the difference? Everyone can hate me if they want, the people I meet most of all. I’m used to it. I deserve it.”

Hikari shook her head. “No, Asuka, don’t—”

“You weren’t there. You never saw. How can you understand? That day … that day I got in the Eva and the Angel showed me what I was like. It made me realize … that I deserved it. But I can’t stop being me.”

“Nobody deserves to be hurt like that, Asuka. No one deserves to be hated.” 

Oddly enough, Hikari thought of Toji, and all the pain and hurt that had brought along. But despite that, the times she went to see him during weekends were the happiest she could remember. So even that kind of pain did not exist in a vacuum, and it could eventually lead to happiness.

Hikari had managed that strictly on her own, through no fault of Asuka's or her sisters. And she was sure that with some help the haughty redhead could do the same. She refused to believe anyone’s life could be truly broken beyond repair.

“It’s stupid, really.” Despite the blanket, Asuka’s body seemed to shiver. “The Angel showed me … I should’ve known when I kissed him. I knew what I wanted, and that he wouldn’t give it to me. But I didn’t know why. I pretended like I didn’t care—it was such a stupid thing to cry over.” Her voice was breaking. “I can’t pretend anymore, Hikari. I don’t want to.”

“So don’t,” Hikari said, watching as Pen-Pen pushed himself up, his barrel-shaped body wobbling. “The first step in being honest with others is being honest with yourself. Sounds to me like you’ve already managed that.”

“No.” Asuka shook her head on her pillow. “It’s too late. Unit-02 doesn’t work. I can’t even get myself ki—”

Hikari snapped before she could utter the last awful word. “You are wrong! You were wrong before, and are STILL wrong! No one deserves to be hurt like this, not even if you think you do. So don’t tell me you don’t care, because that’s not an excuse. I care. I care a lot. That’s enough for me, and I am NOT going to sit by and let you do this to yourself again. Now come on, you can’t stay like this all day. I’ll make you lunch.” 

Reaching down, she took the edge of Asuka’s blanket and pulled it back just enough to show her face. What she saw made her heart feel hollow: blue eyes swollen and bloodshot and utterly hopeless as they looked up and met her brown ones, cheeks covered in wet streaks and long strands of her hair. It was as if someone had taken Asuka’s pretty features and washed them in grief. 

“Asuka, how long have you been—” Hikari tried to keep her composure. She tried and failed, and then looked away. Hours, she realized. She’s been crying for hours. No. Longer than that. It’s like she’s been crying a whole lifetime.

“Go away!” Asuka snatched the blanket from her hand and tossed it over her head again. “Leave me alone! Just leave me alone!” And then she began to sob.

But Hikari wasn’t going anywhere. Even if Asuka yelled at her and begged her, even when the sound of weeping nearly brought her to tears. She sat there and waited, and stopped caring about school. It was simply not important anymore.

Time meant very little for Rei Ayanami. Other people lived their entire lives by it, and so Rei was forced to accept it existed because it proved convenient in her personal relations to have a point of reference for when a certain task should be done. But time itself had no value to her. 

Schedules, on the other hand, were far more important. Her life was measured by schedules—when she should eat, sleep, go to school, pilot Unit-00, everything. And always, without exception, imposed on her by someone else. It was a simple arrangement. All she had to do was follow her schedule. All she had to do was obey.

She had been doing that as long as she could remember, and, more tellingly, had been doing it without thinking. Only recently had she begun to understand what it meant. She obeyed his will because she was his doll. He created her. He was her master. She would die if he asked her to.

The Second had said so, and despite the girl’s harsh manner, Rei had enough self-awareness to realize that she was right. Rei knew what not being liked was like from her experiences with Doctor Akagi, and there was no doubt the Second Child disliked her. But that did not reduce the truth of her words. And although the truth bothered her, she also realized there was very little she could do to change it. If anything, Rei envied the Second in this regard. She had determination, agency, and the very human desire to make herself into more.

Rei had none of those things.

As she pressed the button on her plugsuit's wrist, she could not get that last thought out of her mind. She would die—she did die. But not for him. Slowly, the images of her death drifted from the corners of her memory. She saw them as if it had been herself who died, even though she had not even been born. Ayanami had died, not Rei. Not her.

She was free of him in the end, Rei thought. She made her own fate even if she thought of him when she died.

The plugsuit's mechanism hissed as it vented the air out and tightened around her body with an iron grip. Rei winced, the touch feeling like a hundred hands clamping down on her, a reminder that while she may have been scheduled for a second activation test, she still wasn’t physically recovered from the first. But that didn’t matter. Only the schedule did. 

Rei couldn’t know how many hours had passed. Most of her time was spent sleeping or medicated to help ease the aching tenderness in her whole body. She hurt—her muscles, her chest, her joints, her head. Despite the additional rest, however, she was still weak and slightly disoriented, and felt a hint of the squirming emotion that she’d come to define as apprehension. Normally, she’d be able to simply put it out of her mind. She wasn’t supposed to feel frightened. She wasn’t supposed to feel anything. But the doubts lingered.  

It hurt the first time, Rei told herself. It’s going to hurt again. Why not just refuse?

Because you are his doll , a sharp, shrill voice answered. You would die if he told you to. 

Yes, she would. Rei saw no point denying what she knew to be the truth. Anything else would imply an ability to make a choice she didn’t possess. It would require free will. It would require disobedience.    

"Rei?" The voice startled her for a second, before she recognized the man it belonged to.

Him.

Rei turned her head to look at him, lowering her eyes instinctively. "Yes, Commander Ikari?"

He was standing by the locker room bench, arms in his pockets, his stony gaze looking her over. Something heavy pressed down on Rei’s sore chest, taking away most of her breath, and making her incredibly aware that the world was suddenly spinning. She did not close her eyes to wait for the sickness to pass. She stood her ground and willed herself to remain still.  

"Are you ready?" Gendo Ikari asked, his words dull and so emotionless it made her wonder if they were inscribed in stone.

"Yes." Rei remembered how she—how Rei Ayanami—felt when around Commander Ikari. She liked him and thought of him as a father. She knew he would protect her, never hurt her. But that had been someone who had actually grown up with him, and in whom he had an interest. The girl she was now did not share that bond.

She was a realist, a term she’d heard used by their teacher at school and then looked up to learn its meaning. She understood the difference between who she had been and who she was. Understood that she could not take the place of the girl who had been lost. She wasn’t Rei Ayanami, just a replacement with the name and soul of someone else.  

The human mind was a blank page at birth, an empty construct to be filled with the hubris of growth and experience in a changing world. Sin and virtue—love and hate—were things to be learned and defined by interaction. But Rei had merely inherited them. Her mind was a book that had already been written. The world was not hers to experience.     

"Dr. Akagi has modified Unit-00’s test parameters. She is confident it will work this time," Ikari told her.

"Yes. I am sure it will." Rei felt her words were empty, merely an echo of the meaninglessness she felt within. It was what he wanted her to say, so why bother with something else? 

Ikari nodded. Hands still in his pockets, he moved closer, until he was standing in front of her, but she could only bow her head and stare at his shoes. He reached out a gloved hand, tucking it underneath her delicate chin in a strangely fatherly gesture, and lifted her head.  

Rei gazed into his eyes; red meeting black.

"I know this is hard on you, but you must understand what's at stake," Ikari said. Because he was so much taller than her, he had to look down to make eye contact, and yet there was no condescension in the way he addressed her. That surprised her. “This is not the way it was supposed to be. It is not the way we had meant it. It is simply the way it is.”

“I do not understand,” Rei admitted. “But I do not need to understand, is that not so? I only need to do what I must.”

Ikari nodded. “And what is it that you must do?”

“Pilot Unit-00.” 

"Why?" He almost seemed surprised, even though there was really no such thing as a surprise in a man like him.

"That is what you gave me life for. That is what you require of me."

“Yes, indeed it is,” Ikari said. “But I will also require one more thing. If the time should come when I find myself in the position of having to risk your life, you should know that there is something more important you must do. You must survive. No matter how painful. Before, when the Dummy System was fully operational, you would have been considered disposable. But that time has passed. You are my best hope we have for the future. And if you are to fulfill your purpose, you must survive.”

You are MY best hope for the future.  

Rei saw the words appear vividly in her mind. As she did, she knew they were true. With guileless red eyes, she looked at the man, no, the monster which stood before her, and fought the urge to wrap her fingers around his throat. She could kill him if she really wanted. She could activate Unit-00 and destroy him, his world, his hopes. But then her purpose would be gone. By killing Gendo Ikari, she would also be killing herself.

"Rei," Ikari demanded. "Do you promise?"

Rei was taken aback but gave the expected answer regardless. "Yes."

“Good.” He moved his hand, taking with it Rei’s last human contact. He did not bid her farewell or good luck or anything else; he just walked off, moving silently and slowly with the strong, reassured stride of someone in total control.

Rei took a step to follow him. That was as far as she got.

It was as though a button had been pressed and her balance disappeared. She stumbled, trying to brace against the nearby wall of metal lockers, her head spinning. She fell ungracefully, collapsing in a heap of white and blue. She lay there for a moment, gasping for air through clenched teeth, fighting the urge to vomit.

And then she began pulling herself up, whimpering from the effort. She forced her body to stand, leaning heavily against the front of the nearest locker and finding handholds where she could, the grip pads on the palms of her gloves providing some traction. Her body protested. The fall had now added a distinct throbbing quality to an already flaring headache.    

When she was reasonably certain that she would not be hitting the floor again, Rei took a step. Her balance was unsteady but workable. She was careful to walk slowly, and not to stumble—she could not afford to. There would be no getting up again.

"Second and third set connections have been cleared,” Aoba called out from his station, drawing the attention of the two women standing at the observation window. “Approaching borderline."

“What’s Rei’s status?” Maya asked, turning her head towards Aoba, her face lined with worry. For the last twenty minutes, she’d been carefully studying Unit-00 through the thick armored window panel, more because it would make her feel better than out of any practical need. Visual inspections were good, but, obviously, at this stage no inspections would or could spot problems better than the MAGI computers. 

Beside her, Doctor Ritsuko Akagi stood with her hands deep in her lab coat pockets and her eyes glinting in the harsh light. She didn’t look worried in the slightest. Maya absolutely envied her composure.

“Pilot condition is green,” Haruna confirmed. “Heart rate and breathing have quickened; beta waves are elevated. But everything is still within parameters. No anomalies on the A-10 pattern.”

“Good. Keep an eye on her,” Ritsuko said. She looked at Maya. The young Lieutenant bit down on her lip. “Relax, Maya. We purged the systems and reloaded a new interface shell. Any problems we encounter this time around should be minor.”

We still don’t know what the problem with the old shell was, Maya thought. But she nodded anyway. “Thanks for being here to oversee the test. I know you’ve been busy.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ve put a lot of work into this as well. It’s only prudent I see it to the finish. But I have to admit, I wouldn’t have bothered with the paint. Rei was ready yesterday.”

"One-point-four to borderline clearance," someone announced. Maya didn’t recognize the voice. She returned her attention back outside the window.   

Beyond the glass Unit-00 remained still. The metallic blue finish of its round head and new armor, scrapped from half a dozen sources, and even from Unit-02’s spare parts pool, did an incredibly good job concealing the hurried and desperate nature of its assembly. There had been some consideration about whether they should bother painting it at all, but Maya figured it would buy Rei some additional time to recover while the paint dried. As before, the single red eye stared unblinkingly into space, giving the Unit the appearance of a gigantic, unmoving cyclops.

None of the Evangelions had been designed or built with their intended pilots in mind. They were tweaked in order to maximize their performance with a particular child in the same way other war machines could be altered to achieve greater destructive power. But since it was impossible to determine who could become an Eva pilot at birth, the individual units could not be built to suit any one person. Cores could be swapped out based on certain criteria Maya herself did not fully understand, but she assumed these were based on a pilot's particular needs or requirements. Software could also be written and changed to gain performance advantages, which was what they had attempted with both Unit-00 and Unit-02—so far without much success.

Yet for all their modular variability, the Evas somehow always seemed to reflect a part of their pilot's personality. It was as if a particular pilot was meant to be matched up with a specific Evangelion unit. Previous cross-synchronization experiments had shown the links formed between the pilot and the Eva were not unlike those between children and their mothers, although completely artificial, and just as hard to break or replace. That was the basis for why each Child could only pilot his or her Eva. And in time, at some primordial psychological level, the characteristics of the living were passed onto non-living technology. 

Unit-00 was no different; it shared Rei's aura of quiet mystery and, as it turned out, a level of quiet unpredictability. Maya had learned a lot about it in the last few months, through long sleepless nights and plenty of hard work. But she still didn’t like that someone had decided to mess around with the software at the last minute.        

"Borderline cleared!" Haruna announced, standing from her console, obviously excited. "Final connections enabled. Pilot's brain waves are normal, pulse normal. Evangelion Unit-00 has been activated!"

There was a general sigh of relief as those words echoed through the control room. Someone cheered—Aoba, Maya guessed. She looked over at Ritsuko. The older woman in turn looked at her with something akin to pride on her face. 

"You really don't give yourself enough credit, Maya. You can't succeed if you are always ready to fail. This is your success. Congratulations."

Maya blushed and nodded. But before she could offer her gratitude at being complimented by someone she admired in the way she did Ritsuko, the blonde doctor had already turned to the bank of technicians behind the two of them. 

“Open a channel to the pilot.”

Hyuga nodded and did as he was told. "Channel's open, Ma'am."

Ritsuko stepped from the window and moved towards one of the terminals, making the young technician sitting there tense noticeably. "Rei, can you hear me?"

“Yes.” Rei’s voice was weak, little more than a whisper carried over the speakers as if she were standing right there with them.

“We are done with the activation now.” Ritsuko said. She cast a look in Maya’s direction. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm fine.”

“That's good to hear,” Ritsuko said. “Alright. Do you think you can handle the mobility test? We will start at the most basic.”

That was really an unnecessary question, and everyone present—certainly everyone who’d ever spent time around Rei Ayanami—knew it. Maya would never accuse Rei of being a liar in that self-interest was required in order for something to be a lie and Rei possessed no such thing. She was as selfless as they came to the detriment of her own health. The expected answer was not long in coming. The only answer Rei would ever have given.   

“Yes,” Rei said.

Maya had her doubts, and she really didn’t want to push it, but Ritsuko wasted no time giving the next order. “Let’s proceed then. Mobility test, phase Alpha.”

“Ma’am … “ Maya was ready to protest but held back at the last second. After her last screw-up with the Lazarus project, that might not be a good idea. She was already on thin ice as it was.

Her reluctance must have shown in her tone or her face, because Ritsuko was quick to give her a disapproving, narrow-eyed glance. The short-haired lieutenant suddenly felt as though she was back in class, being reprimanded by a teacher for a sub-par term paper she had obviously thought was good enough to make the grade and wasn’t.

Obviously, Maya was not an idiot. She realized her relationship with Ritsuko was exactly like that. She was the younger student who sometimes failed to make her instructor notice her, and Ritsuko was just like those professors. Cold, detached, uncaring. And nothing would stop Maya from trying to impress her. 

"Any objections, Lieutenant?” Ritsuko asked.

Maya shook her head no.

“Good.” Ritsuko nodded. “Let’s get this over with. Leave the communication channel open. Rei, do you hear me? You are to report any anomalies.”

“I understand.”

A series of acknowledgments followed as a flurry of activity took over the crowded control room. But even as the technicians busily typed commands at their stations, Maya felt one or two sets of eyes land questioningly on her.

She turned back towards the armored window and looked at the cage beyond, imagining that inside the blue Evangelion the First Child could very well be looking at her. Maya shook her head slowly and mouthed a silent apology. Just in case. 

Russian Foreign Minister Boris Alexandrovich Vassiliesky was used to being respected by anyone he came in contact with—as it should be, he considered, for a representative from the second most powerful nation on Earth. Naturally, he had been extremely annoyed when Gendo Ikari refused to meet him on the schedule set by his office and instead arranged his own meeting. 

To top it off, Ikari appeared totally indisposed to conceal his growing pleasure at the Russian government’s willingness to align themselves on his good side. He knew very well that when people want something they are likely to be unusually accommodating. Vassiliesky knew as well, so he could hardly blame the man, but he could resent him.

"Despite what the UN says, the Russian Federation, as you know, is very interested in what NERV has to offer," the Foreign Minister said, setting down his teacup on the little plate that had been provided.  

"Yes, of course. I am merely skeptical of your motives," Gendo Ikari said, with a sly, calculated smile. “The Evangelion technology is not just for showing off. I must have strict assurances that you will use this gift judiciously. Some others have already disappointed me in this regard.”

They were sitting across from each other in one of NERV's most private conference lounges, with several of Ikari's Section 2 people and Vassiliesky's own SPETSNAZ-trained security guards acting as sentries. The only ones that were allowed to move back and forth were the waiters that brought dinner, and the Minister's personal aide.

"Your point is well taken, but I assure you, your fears are unjustified," Vassiliesky said. “My government handled thousands of nuclear weapons for fifty years. Never in that time did we adopt the cavalier attitude of our enemies. We are cautious to the extreme. The same could be said for whatever technology we borrow from you.”

Ikari nodded. "Yes, you sound a lot like America when it asked us to grant them this same technology," he said, lacing his fingers in front of his face. "We foolishly did, thinking that the Americans could be trusted. But now you see what's happened. The Americans are trying to push us out of their country. They don’t believe they need us anymore."

"Russia is not America," Vassiliesky said slowly, making emphasis on every word. “We remember those who help us, and never forget an affront. Go ask the Germans or the Poles.”

"I am well aware of that," Ikari replied. "Russia is even more dangerous than America. Still, danger is a matter of perspective. And you are committed if nothing else. On that account alone, I am willing to offer you a deal."

Vassiliesky leaned forward on his chair, decidedly interested. "I knew you’d see sense. Very well. Let’s hear this offer."

"I will allow your country access to what you want but I will require something of the utmost importance to NERV," Ikari began. "If you refuse then I will have no other option but to ask you to leave immediately."

"You don't leave me many options, Ikari," Vassiliesky said. “We are not the sort to make decisions on the spot.”

"Who needs options?" Ikari said matter-of-factly. "This is my offer. Will you take it?"

"And what is it that you want in return?"

"A spare."

Vassiliesky thought about that, judging how much information to reveal. Then he laughed. "So, you know about that?”

"Unfortunately," Ikari said. “I don’t know whether I should be offended that you have begun to move ahead with the next stage of your plan before being granted what you need to complete phase one. It presents me with more arrogance than I feel comfortable dealing with.”

“A weapon is useless if it cannot be deployed on the battlefield,” Vassiliesky said. “Even one as powerful as the Evangelion. And an Evangelion is not much use without a pilot. I’m sure a man like you understands perfectly. I would not be asking for technical data and making deals unless I knew it was workable, and we are sure that it is. But I find it strange that you would require this from us.”

“My organization has been infiltrated, so I must outsource.” Ikari looked at him evenly, his gaze robotic. His face did not betray the slightest hint of emotion. “You are doubtful, which is permissible given the nature of my request. What do your instincts tell you?”  

That it would be easier to hire you rather than trying to fight you. Perhaps we should.  

"My instincts tell me that you are a snake in the grass," Vassiliesky began and then he broke into a smile. "That you are dangerous in the extreme. And that the devil would be foolish to make a deal with you.” He paused, grinned. “Are you sure you do not have Russian blood?"

"I am afraid not," Ikari said.

“A pity, really,” Vassiliesky said. He grabbed one of the glasses in front of him, poured himself some vodka and drank. It was not the best. Japanese vodka was always lacking. “Anyway, we can do what you ask. Just as an Eva unit cannot work without a pilot, a pilot cannot work without an Eva unit. But please, put your offer in writing. I'll pass it along to my government as the best option available. Then it'll be up to the boss. He will most likely approve it if I recommend it. Of course, this is all assuming NERV keeps its end of the bargain."

“Nothing in writing,” Ikari countered. “I would not be so careless as to sign my name to a piece of paper with such terms. I know you understand the reasons. Thus, I insist you pass along my message, personally if you must.”

Vassiliesky paused, considering. A trip to Moscow didn’t trouble him—he’d be there tonight should he require it. What bothered him was the Comrade President wanting to know why he’d made the trip at Ikari’s behest. Russian ministers were nobody’s couriers. On the other hand, the potential behind this proposition was simply staggering. “Very well,” he concluded. “I shall do as you request, as a personal favor.”

"We must see results before you are allowed access to the requested information. NERV will keep its word so long as you keep yours," Ikari said. “Otherwise, I appreciate your sincerity.”

Vassiliesky nodded his agreement. He was not entirely convinced of the other's motives, and the reverse was probably true. However, trust and respect were not mutually exclusive in these sorts of dealings. At least as long as one had something the other wanted. "You drive a hard bargain, Ikari."

“A necessity. I wouldn't have lasted very long in this position if I didn't.”

“Nor I in mine,” Vassiliesky raised his glass again. “But I must insist, allow me to bring the vodka next time. This stuff is lethal.” 

The two of them sat together at the dinner table for what felt like the first time in ages. Shinji had cooked, much to Misato’s gratitude and surprise. She was getting pretty bored with the watery soups, synthetic meats and other tasteless concoctions provided by the large majority of Central Dogma's cafeterias, all hit hard by the ongoing cost-cutting measures. 

The fact that Shinji had taken it upon himself to cook on his own initiative—as opposed to being asked—also showed he was coping, going back to some sense of normalcy, even if he still wasn’t going to school. The silence, however, … that was not such a good sign. 

Misato had always loved Shinji's cooking, but no matter how hard she tried to enjoy it, the awkward stillness in the room made her feel decidedly uncomfortable. They hadn’t spoken about Asuka in days. Shinji seemed as keen to avoid the subject as Misato was to make sure he was doing alright. She tried not to look at him, fearing she might increase the remorse she knew he obviously felt. Then he would leave and end up locked in his room again, and that was the last thing she thought he needed.

“I'm finished,” Shinji said. He set his chopsticks down on the table, next to his plate.

Misato lifted her gaze from her own plate, only half-empty, and looked at the boy across the table. He was a picture of sullen dejection. His shoulders sagged as if some invisible weight were pushing down on them. His whole posture slumped forward. His head hung low, and even the pale blue orbs of his eyes seemed bleaker than she remembered.

Shinji had always had sad eyes. It was just one of those things where somehow the physical attributes of a person reproduced and often amplified some inner quality or emotion, like Asuka with how her red hair matched her fiery personality. Misato knew Shinji was a gloomy, quiet kid, perhaps more so than anyone that age should be, but sad was a different level entirely. Gloomy was usually a disposition towards the future. Sadness stemmed from something which had already happened and could not be changed.

Sadness could not be fixed, no matter how much Misato wished she could.  

"Dinner was very good, Shinji. Thank you," she said in a tone as cheerful as it was forced. But it was still an honest compliment, and better than letting another stretch of awkward silence linger between them. "You really outdid yourself."

"I … I’m glad," Shinji replied in a whisper, his head down. He didn’t look glad in the slightest. “I didn’t know what else to do. There’s no one else to cook for, so when you said you’d be home early …”   

"I guess I should be home early more often,” Misato said. “Maybe if things had been different, you could have become a chef.” As soon as the words left her lips, she realized she hated them. They made it sound like such a possibility was gone forever when that really was not the case. Shinji was young. He had his whole life ahead of him. He became an Evangelion pilot through fate and desperate necessity, but that wasn’t all he could ever be.

"Maybe." Shinji pushed his plate away and rose slowly to his feet. He still wouldn’t look at her. "Uh ... Misato, can I ask you a question?"

Misato had a good idea of what was coming. She braced herself. “Sure, you can ask me anything. What is it?”

Shinji swallowed awkwardly, hands clenching repeatedly at his side “I … I just wanted to know … Ayanami—Rei, she … I can pilot Eva. That’s what you need me to do, right? I can pilot it. I can do anything. But Rei …”

“You want to pilot so she doesn’t have to?” Misato finished for him. God, if only it were so simple. But it never is.

“Yes,” Shinji said, his voice acquiring an uncharacteristic assertiveness. He raised his head and met her eyes. “I’ll do anything. I won’t complain. I won’t disobey orders. Please. Just don’t make her …” he stopped suddenly. Misato realized he was only now registering the look of regret on her face. His head dropped again. “Sorry.” 

Say something, she thought. You owe him that much.

“I don’t understand why Rei chooses to do what she does, Shinji,” Misato said softly. “But she does. Nobody makes her do it. I think maybe she’s aware that we’ve been living on borrowed time—that sooner or later we’ll need the Evangelions. You are one thing. You can fight, but Asuka’s out of the question.”

The redhead’s name caught Shinji by surprise. He swallowed whatever protest he wanted to make. A shadow settled over his young face. Remorse. Grief. Hurt. All at once. It was impossible to really tell. 

Much too late, Misato realized she’d made a mistake, although not on purpose. “Nevermind. Forget I said anything. You still can’t go on stand down, the Comman—”

“I … I didn't mean to hurt her,” Shinji suddenly blurted out.

"I know, Shinji."

"I didn't mean for this to happen."

"Shinji … "

"I didn't mean for her to go away! I didn’t mean to make her cry! I didn’t—”

"That’s enough!” Misato raised her voice, hating herself for it. But she had to—she needed to stop him before he started down a road there would be no coming back from. “We never mean for bad things to happen, Shinji. But they happen anyway. It's a part of life. All we can do is make sure that when bad things do happen, we always try to find a way to overcome them. I don’t think I’m the one you should be saying these things to, either. There’s only one person who should know you didn’t want to hurt them. And it isn’t me." 

He looked down miserably. "I just … I don't know how to deal with this."

"With what?" Misato asked. “Only you and Asuka know what really happened between you. Only you and Asuka can fix it together. No one else. At the very least, you should be able to talk. Even mortal enemies can manage that. Why can’t you?” 

"Because it hurts!" Shinji cried out. The admission seemed to hit him like a physical blow. His face wrinkled, his young features twisting with anguish. “I can’t just talk to her. I want to, but I can’t. And it hurts.” 

“It hurts because it’s important to you. So is she. But you can’t fix this if you don’t talk. That’s not how this kind of thing works. Trust me, I know. If it really bothers you, if it really hurts, then TALK to Asuka. Even if you think she will hate you for it. Because it can’t get any worse than this. Can it?”

Shinji shook his head as dejection pulled at his expression. He looked so miserable Misato really had no idea what else she could do.

Neither of them said anything else for a while. The silence hung in the warm kitchen air like a heavy blanket, pushing aside the smell of freshly cooked food and filling their senses with something far less pleasant.

There was hardly any need for him to tell her that he was sorry in the first place. She had known him long enough to realize he wouldn’t hurt a fly without provocation. It wasn’t in his nature in the same way that confrontation was in Asuka’s. Again, she regretted the decision to bring them together, to even dare to imagine that their personalities could peacefully coexist. This was as much her fault as anyone else’s.  

Finally, Shinji turned around. 

"I'm going to bed.” He picked up his plate and put it in the sink, then he started walking towards the living room before stopping again and turning back. "Misato?"

"Huh?"

"Would you mind taking out the trash tonight? I know it's my turn, but I'm … just too tired."

He could have asked her to quack like a duck and she would have done it. He could have asked for a lot more. There was almost nothing she wouldn’t do for him; to make him be happy and smile and just enjoy life again. She’d move Heaven and Earth. She’d kill people. She’d even do … what she once offered.

No, Misato instantly told herself. That was wrong then and is wrong now. But thinking about that particular incident merely reinforced the sense that she was completely unprepared for the role she was attempting to play. She wasn’t a mother, to either Shinji or Asuka; she was just a stand-in, an unwed matron who was little more than filler.   

“That’s fine, Shinji.” Misato waved him off with her hand. “I got it. Some fresh air will do me good.” 

"Thank you," Shinji said. He began to leave.

“Ah, wait. Before you go, there’s one more thing,” Misato added quickly, remembering the last report from Section 2. This was something she needed to bring up while she still could. “I know I gave you permission to see Rei, but you’re not on vacation, you know. You have to go to school tomorrow. Promise me that you will.”

“I … “

“Asuka won’t be there, so don’t worry about dealing with her. But you have to go. The war against the Angels won’t last forever, and when it’s done you need a future. So, promise me.” 

“I … I will,” Shinji said. “I just didn’t—”

“I know.” Misato understood. She forced a smile. “Good night, then. Sleep tight.” 

Shinji lowered his head as he shuffled out of the kitchen, saying nothing. Misato watched him go, then grabbed her iced coffee drink, now quite warm, and took a long gulp. God, she missed alcohol. 

Did I cross a line making him go to school? She wondered. He can’t sit around like this forever. And he shouldn’t be alone even if he wants to. That just makes everything worse.  

Shinji might not agree—in fact, she was almost certain he didn’t—but Misato knew this was important. School, like cooking, represented a future apart from the Evangelion; things that could open many doors later on in life. 

They also represented distractions which could take his mind off his present troubles. He still had friends in school, and that always helped. It certainly would do more than letting him lock himself up and spend entire days dwelling on his pain. Misery loved company, sure, but it loved loneliness more. And that was probably the absolute last thing Shinji Ikari needed. 

Sighing, Misato pushed her chair back and went to gather the trash. She threw it all into a single black plastic bag, slipped on her shoes and headed outside. The night was hot and humid, the sky clear. Above, peering through the opening in the building’s courtyard, she saw the stars as tiny pinpricks on a black canvas. One of those, she hoped, was Kaji. 

I’m doing the best I can , Misato thought. I don’t know if that’s enough. But if it’s not, please let me know. Please tell me I’m being stupid. This time I’ll be sure to listen. 

The stars offered no reply, only their cold and distant indifference. 

The main control room inside Central Dogma was built in tiers that reflected the command of the organization itself inside a cavernous space. 

The main deck was essentially the ground floor, although it was built roughly halfway up on the superstructure that took up the room's near wall. The Commander's deck was perched highest on the structure that made up the top tier. The floor plan was geometric, resembling a triangle with a MAGI computer located at each point and stations laid out around the perimeter. It was a modern castle, humanity's last bastion against the Angels.

At the front, the room contained a huge multi-layered tactical display, the world's biggest holographic device. The hum of machinery was constant but little more than pleasant white noise. Due to the need to control light intensity for the holograms, most of the room was plunged in darkness, making the tiny lights in the further parts twinkle like stars in the night.

Sub-Commander Fuyutsuki watched the nearest computer screen as the information was transferred from the Test Facility to the separate consoles and then to the MAGI's main database for analysis. Although it wasn't his custom, he was presently standing on the main deck watching the technicians in front perform their assigned duties.

They were all young men and women. Being among them made Fuyutsuki feel as though he was back in Kyoto, teaching the future generations. Each of these youngsters was an Einstein in potential, a Heisenberg.

A Yui Ikari.   

Fuyutsuki smiled to himself at the memory. But it was also a sad one—in the end her success meant an end for the potential of youth. Yet another sacrifice for a chance at a new beginning. It would not be long now. Evangelion Unit-00 was working, even if only with the old programming, and Doctor Akagi had made good progress on the Dummy System. Gendo Ikari was close to attaining his goal, and if NERV could survive the next few days, it would achieve a level of influence comparable only to that of SEELE itself.

Fuyutsuki was more concerned with his immediate superior than with the old men, though. He knew that Ikari was not pleased with the overall delay of his Complementation Project, and that he was even angered by having to divert his original plan to make room for all the issues that had surfaced since the last Angel, particularly Rei.

The universe worked like that; entropy and uncertainty were variables that could not be eliminated, only compensated for.

Had the UN tried to destroy them, all the restrictions to Complementation would have been removed and Commander Ikari would have been able to do as he wished without any fear of repercussions. But because of Rei, and the element of entropy her last act created, they could no longer guarantee their success. Her loss was the crippling blow that compelled them to be political. Gendo Ikari could only welcome the extra time. He'd had to postpone his plans and alter them in such a way that he could secure SEELE's non-intervention. But Rei was the key.

Yui would have liked for him to wait anyway. Perhaps until her son could know the truth. It was difficult to say.

"Commander, I think you should see this," Lieutenant Makoto Hyuga called up to him from his station on the far left side of the central computer bank. The Sub-Commander made his way to the computer console and peered intently at the screen.

“What is it?” said Fuyutsuki.

"The MAGI have detected an anomaly in the Earth's electromagnetic field," Hyuga said, pointing to a spike on his computer readout. “Strong enough to trigger our sensors.”

"What does it mean?" asked Fuyutsuki.

"Well it's … "

Before Hyuga could finish that sentence all of the alarms went off at once. The control room was plunged into a chaos of sirens and claxons. Fuyutsuki ordered them disabled immediately. The red emergency lights flashed everything with a deep crimson, the color of blood. Operators scrambled to their consoles and began typing commands furiously.

"Lieutenant, I need information," the Sub-Commander demanded.

"The MAGI doesn't know, sir,” Hyuga replied, fingers racing on his keyboard with extraordinary speed. “The magnetic anomaly has changed. It looks like an EMP shock wave spreading outwards from a central point."

"EMP? Location?" Fuyutsuki asked and waited for the answer he already knew was coming. Surely, this was it. They had finally done it. 

"Eastern Asia. China. Beijing."

"The Sixth Branch," Fuyutsuki said. He had a sudden empty feeling in his stomach. "Get the feed from the UN satellites. Invoke the highest query priority and encrypt everything you can."

"Satellite signal is up," Lieutenant Haruna Hiei announced, rising from her station in the middle of the computer bank, a desperately worried expression on her face as she turned towards the Sub-Commander. “Ah, sir...”

“Relay to the main display.”

The immense holographic screen at the front of the room came to life with a satellite image of Eastern China, with borders and cities superimposed on a separate layer by the computer. The small letters on the bottom left corner identified it as UNS CommSat 46. The screen changed from the graphics to a very fuzzy image, the usual for long distance transmissions. MAGI engaged its filter automatically. 

As the image began to clear, the picture of China zoomed in on the Beijing coordinates. The image was held for a few seconds, and the camera, or whatever it was up there on the satellite, started to rotate. In the time it took for the picture to clear again the sense of alarm that had gripped all those in the control room turned to horror. Even Fuyutsuki, who thought he knew what to expect, felt his chest tighten with dread.

All reports stopped. No words were sufficient. No description which anyone could make would compare to the image. Instead, they stared silently as a dome of light expanded rapidly across the vast landscape in front of it, consuming everything in its path. 

Shigeru Aoba, standing by his console, was the first to react. He said something, but Fuyutsuki didn’t catch it. He guessed it was either a curse or a prayer. He decided on the latter and wondered if he too should be willing to start asking for God's forgiveness.

No , he decided. We still have weapons. And we have the will to fight. 

More and more of the Earth below became incinerated by the tidal wave of energy and fire. The image was filled with the grotesque light, so vast that it disappeared into the horizon and set the sky ablaze.

Fuyutsuki shook his head. "Well ... " he said softly. "It has finally happened. They seem to have activated Unit-A after all. Give me a zoom into the middle of that blast. Maximum resolution, please. Filter the noise out."

He didn’t know who executed the order, but someone did. 

"Oh, God..." Haruna's shocked whisper came as the image zoomed in and displayed a gigantic, familiar shape stirring in the fire—an image which every single person in the room knew. The shadow of everything keeping them safe. With a key difference. “Is that … Unit-A? It has wings?”  

“Yes, it has wings,” Fuyutsuki said. “That is not so unusual. The mass production series has wings as well. And I’m willing to bet it knows how to use them.” 

“But how can it …” Haruna asked, then gasped when the obvious and—Fuyutsuki knew—incorrect answer struck her. “It’s an Angel!”

The Sub-Commander nodded. He was actually relieved he didn’t have to speak the lie. Miss Haruna had unknowingly done it for him, and from there, that seed would sprout. For the moment, he was certain no one would question it.

"I think we’d better start praying for a miracle, sir," Aoba said.

Fuyutsuki cocked his head. He turned and locked eyes with the long-haired operator. “Prayers are for men without hope, Lieutenant. We are not at that stage yet,” he said. His voice returned to its usual tone. The shock had waned. Now he had to do his work. “Inform the Commander. Establish Alert Condition Yellow. Let’s begin, shall we?”  

To his surprise, everyone nodded. Everyone resumed their stations and set about their business while the inferno raged on the screen before them. Fuyutsuki filled with pride. They are the best class he’d ever had. His best students, with the exception of one incredible woman. 

Yui, we will be in your hands soon. Again. I’m sorry it came to this. But we had to. 

We had to.

Far below the watchful eye of UNS CommSat 46 the city of Beijing, China, was no longer a city. It was a hellish cauldron of noise and fire, of light and death. The wave of light expanded and blasted everything in its path. The earth shook, the sky darkened and then became alive with fire, and for that instant it seemed the world had come to an end.

In the center of this hell, hovering over the ruins of NERV's Sixth Branch HQ, a ghostly shape straightened itself out of the ashes of the devastated city, a creature so powerful that the whole world lay incinerated at its feet. The creature roared among the flames, its eyes alight with the fire of its own power. Its wings stretched out towards the heavens; its arms spread apart as if offering itself in sacrifice to an obscure creator.

The monster, trapped in an Evangelion's body, bellowed angrily to proclaim its birth, and the entire world trembled.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Neon Genesis Evangelion: GENOCIDE

BY ROMMEL

“Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?”

--William Blake.

Genocide 0:05 / Advent

The Queen herself was already out in front, but only when she moved the Queen’s side Rook into K1 did Ritsuko Akagi feel her position was finally developed. She looked up across the board of small black and white pieces and waited. Opposite her, playing Black, Gendo Ikari’s face remained as unreadable as ever. 

I suppose I’m lucky he didn’t agree to poker, Ritsuko thought. She could have suggested it, despite not being in the mood for bluffing; that was also more of Ikari’s territory. But Ritsuko wanted action, a rare commodity lately, and to put an end to the wait. If she was honest, she had not expected to play anything at all. When Ikari asked her to his office, she’d imagined, for a brief moment of happiness, that he wanted more. 

She should have known better. After the man had rebuked her and locked her up for destroying the old Dummy System, he had not so much as bothered going to see her until the day he came to release her. Not for her sake, but because he needed something from her. And yet Ritsuko had still obeyed. She had been, despite all the efforts, unable to find a real reason to refuse. NERV was her life’s work. Outside of these walls, it could truly be said she had nothing. Well, nothing besides hope. 

Hope that he still felt something. That he didn’t just think of her as a discardable asset. That she meant something to him.    

I should have known better. 

Ikari responded to her move by castling on the King’s side, unpinning his Bishop but leaving his Queen undeveloped. That was just fine with Ritsuko; it was only postponing the inevitable violence. She licked her lips, relishing the moment before her plan went into action. 

With a slow, measured movement, she moved her Queen’s Rook up and captured the Bishop on K7, not even glancing at the board as she did so. There was no need. Ikari accepted her sacrifice wordlessly, taking her Rook with his Queen. 

He’s good with Queens , Ritsuko thought, feeling a pang of bitterness. Using them. Touching them. Discarding them. All except one. That one he just copied and then tried to pretend she was the same.     

She tried not to think of Rei Ayanami when she didn’t need to, but it was always difficult. Those strange red eyes set on that face—a face which did not belong to her—never failed to make her blood boil. It was a borrowed face. A dead face. And it should have stayed that way. Not for lack of trying, obviously. Even now, when Ritsuko saw her, she wished she could wrap her hands around that slender neck and squeeze. 

But she couldn’t. Rei’s death would mean her own, something that was already made clear to her the moment she agreed to be released. It was one of the conditions. This Rei was the last. Her end would be the end of everything they’d worked for, and while Ritsuko didn’t especially care, she was not suicidal either. In death she couldn’t achieve what she really desired. 

She moved her Queen to Bishop 3, applying pressure on the pinner King’s Knight. It couldn’t be moved now or else Ikari’s Queen would die to her own Bishop. A fitting position. 

Ikari leaned forward, his eyes flickering behind his glasses, thinking but not worried. He was reaching for his King—he only had two moves, either King to Knight 2 or King to Rook 1—when the phone’s electronic beeping broke the silence. 

Without even looking, Ikari reached a hand under his desk, retrieved the phone, and held it to his ear. “Yes?”   

As Ritsuko considered her next move, Knight to King 4 in all likelihood, she heard the hurried whispers from the voice on the other side of the phone, too low and garbled for her to understand. Ikari nodded, suddenly becoming visibly more interested in what he was being told than the pieces in front of them, and her. 

“I see,” he said. “It’s confirmed?” 

More garbled whispering. Ritsuko leaned back and crossed her legs. Yes, Knight to King 4 would do nicely. She had to kill that Queen no matter what. Another bitch she would need to eliminate. But not yet; not until the time was just right. 

“Very well. Thank you.” Ikari put the phone down and returned it under his desk. 

For half a second, Ritsuko was sorely tempted to ask what that was about. Then she caught a new grimness in his eyes. And she knew.

“So, it finally happened?” she ventured. “They activated it.”

“It would appear so,” Ikari responded. 

“How bad?” Ritsuko asked, feeling a sudden heaviness in her chest. She didn’t really care about the Chinese Branch. They brought this on themselves with their carelessness and ignorance, both cardinal sins in her view. The problem was what came next.  

“I think you can guess.” As those words left Ikari’s lips, the phone rang again. He answered just as before.

Ritsuko listened in with newfound interest. The world must have descended into chaos by now, lighting up telecommunication systems with frantic calls and overloading servers in search of information. If the media had already gotten involved, the fallout was certain to be almost indescribable.

“Yes, I see,” Ikari said, looking down at the board. “In that case you may tell the Deputy Minister I will be glad to meet with him … sometime during the week. I will be quite busy, as I’m sure you can imagine.” 

There was a pause, and Ritsuko heard more garbled voices. From the noise, she could infer that whoever was on the other side of the line was not very patient or pleased. 

“Very well,” Ikari said after a moment. “Assuming things develop favorably, I will agree on a temporary basis. In the meantime, I would request that our budget be reviewed. I feel neither the government nor the UN will currently offer any objections.” 

No, indeed, Ritsuko thought. They need us. The old men were wrong, and now comes the panic. Myopic fools. They have no idea what game they were playing or who they were playing it with.  

She could not tell what the actual answer had been, but it was entirely too obvious. Too predictable. Nothing drove men to be predictable like fear. The small grin which curled up the corners of Ikari's mouth shortly confirmed her conclusion. Ikari placed the phone down, pressed a button using a gloved finger, then spoke into the headset again. 

“Do not direct any more calls to my office from any outside numbers for the next twelve hours,” he told the operator. “Record any messages. Additionally, inform the Sub-Commander I will require a preliminary briefing in fifteen minutes.”

Without waiting for a reply, he hung up and turned to Ritsuko. She tried to look pleased, brushing back a lock of dyed blond hair from her eyes. “I assume this means they will agree with anything we ask?”  

“As expected,” Ikari said. He must have been enormously pleased, even if he didn’t show it. The months of backstabbing and frustration, not to mention the crippling interference, were over. “Make the designation of this new Angel official. Delete all traces of any communications between us and the Chinese Branch.”

“There are no traces,” Ritsuko assured him. “I saw to that.”    

“I have always had a preference for thorough women, as you know.” Ikari nodded, and for a moment Ritsuko had the distinct impression he smiled at her. Something squirmed in her chest. An old emotion she both cherished and craved to be rid of. A weakness she’d come to despise in herself. 

“Then you are lucky I’m still here.” Ritsuko glanced at the board, her perfect positioning, and realized it was pointless. Much like all her efforts, her so-called achievements, and even her work with the Eva project. All for the sake of someone else. But she was determined to change that. “It seems we are already victorious.”

“Yes,” Ikari said. “Now we merely need to survive the day. Afterwards we will have all the time and money we will ever need.” 

“And all it cost was an entire city,” Ritsuko replied. “Let’s hope we never have to answer for that.” 

“The cost of salvation.”

Your salvation, perhaps, Ritsuko thought, and your wife’s. But there is no such thing without atonement. And you haven’t done any of that. 

Ikari reached down and tipped over his King. 

One game was over. Another was just starting. One with a different set of pawns, yet pawns nonetheless. That had not changed, and it never would so long as Gendo Ikari remained in charge. But no king can reign forever. It would be interesting to see what would happen then. When there was time and room to move.

Ritsuko rose to her feet and slipped her hands into her coat pockets. “I’ll see to my affairs. There’s a few loose ends with Unit-00 I need to tie up.” She took out her pager, holding it in front of her for Ikari to see. “My leash. In case we have more developments.”

Ikari nodded. He didn’t even bother speaking her dismissal.   

Junichi Nakajima waited for the black four-door vehicle to stop completely before approaching it. His eyes were looking for movement through the tinted windows.

He had been unable to gauge Kluge’s present state of mind over the phone, but he could imagine the man was not very happy. The news of what happened in China had been all over the TV and radio, and in the age of information certain details had already leaked out that would have otherwise been best left hidden from the public. Ironically, the questions that were beginning to emerge in the wake of the catastrophe did not seem to relate to NERV as Nakajima would have expected.

There had always been an understanding in the international community that the Chinese were rogues, looking out only for their own interests. NERV’s Chinese Branch was generally regarded as little more than a government controlled front. They were not a true branch of that particular tree. So, rather than blame NERV and Gendo Ikari for creating this crisis, the UN had now turned to them to resolve it. Only NERV possessed the Evangelion, and only NERV could stop what appeared to be another contaminated Evangelion unit, albeit one which wasn’t supposed to exist. 

Of course, the fact that those very same agencies had been trying to chop up NERV for months no longer seemed to matter. The UN and the Japanese government were as much at fault as anyone. But it was a foregone conclusion that neither would take responsibility. They would, however, make Ikari their savior.  

Never underestimate the ability of politicians to reverse course in the face of adversity, Nakajima thought. 

The passenger side door opened, and Musashi Kluge stepped from the car, followed by a bodyguard. As always, he was dressed in a black suit and a black trench coat. Despite his age and his gray hair, the Department Chief carried with him an overwhelming sense of purpose, so much so that even his bodyguard, a much younger and bigger man, seemed less threatening.

In the glare of the headlights, it was difficult to tell any details, but the lines in Kluge's face seemed to have grown deeper. His eyes were narrow, sharp, and black as coal.

Nakajima slipped his hands in his pockets. The night was cool, so he wore a gray jacket over his Ministry uniform. It was a relic of his military days, faded with the unit patches torn off. He almost slept in his uniform these days, and the jacket had been the first thing he could find when the call came. Before the horror of his failure had dawned on him.

Kluge came to a stop in front of him, his face etched with barely controlled anger.

"Chief Kluge, this is—"

That was as far as Nakajima got before Musashi Kluge smashed a fist against his face. As he stumbled back, the old man grabbed him by his jacket and drove him to the ground with a knee to the midsection.

It happened very quickly. There was no time to think, much less to react. When Nakajima realized what had happened, and where he suddenly found himself, Kluge had already grabbed his collar and was pushing his head against the cold, hard pavement. He reached up with hand and tried to get the man off of him, but Kluge held him with a strength that seemed supernatural.

His head was spinning, a persistent throb driving spikes of pain directly into his brain as if with a hammer. He tasted blood. This was not at all how he imagined this would go, and yet … somehow, he did know. He knew who he worked for. He’d heard the stories. Something tightened in his chest.

"If there is something I hate," Kluge began, his voice a low hiss as he reached into the fallen agent’s uniform and retrieved the 9mm. handgun from its holster below his armpit. He clicked the safety off with a thumb and pressed the cold steel barrel against Nakajima’s head, "it's people who don't know when to open their mouths."

“What-what are you talking about?” Nakajima grunted, writhing in pain. He knew then that no matter what he said he was probably about to die. “It isn’t my fault.” He spat blood onto the sidewalk. “There’s nothing to indicate Ikari was responsible.”

Kluge pulled back the gun's hammer with a solid, ominous click. His face was angry, but his narrowed eyes shone a calm fury. “Of course, he’s responsible. Do you think he’s been sitting around all this time? That technology had to come from somewhere. All official sources are monitored. That leaves only one option.”  

“NERV is bugged. We know everyone Ikari has met with for the last three or four months,” Nakajima said. “There’s no way—”

"You fool,” Kluge roared. “It must have been a proxy or a drop off somewhere. Embassy staff. Maybe even someone in Kyoto. It was your job to find out. That’s why we agreed to this. We needed information.” 

“There is no proof!”

“Proof only exists when you find it. Agent Nakajima, do you know what else I hate?" the Chief asked. He tightened his grip on Nakajima’s collar. "People who think I have a desk job because I'm an old man. How stupid do you think I am? I have played this game longer than you’ve been alive. We needed actionable intelligence. And you were supposed to provide it. Then we could have moved in and taken down everyone in that damn place. But now your incompetence has made him untouchable."

Nakajima said nothing. Pushing past the pain of a nose that was probably broken, he stared up at the Department Chief with barely controlled anger. Even if he somehow shoved the older man away from him and tried to take the gun, the bodyguards would shoot him dead before he could take a step.

I’m dead anyway so why does it matter? Fight and die or lay down like a dog.

That thought had barely processed when the Chief surprised him again.

"You know, I really wish I could put a bullet through your head, I really do," Kluge said, frowning in annoyance. "It isn’t often that a man in my position is told that he can’t do something, but you seem to have friends in important places."

"I don’t … have friends," Nakajima groaned.

“Oh, but you do. You might not realize it, but you do.” Kluge turned the gun slightly, making the end of the barrel twist in place against Nakajima’s aching temple, its touch sending shivers down his spine. “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have bothered with this charade. Talking face to face? That only happens in the movies. No, if I had my way, you’d be dead already. But that wouldn’t work for certain people who seem to place some stock in your life. I can’t say I understand. You are just a grunt, and a bad one at that.”

“I told you that … when you hired me.” Nakajima couldn’t recall that he really had. The pain inside his skull made it hard to remember anything. He was sure he must have, though. Kluge had full access to his service record, so there was no point in lying. “I’ve never been a spy.”

The admission seemed to amuse Kluge. He grimaced, pale lips pulling back and showing nothing but teeth. 

He’s a wolf, Nakajima thought, and he wants blood.

“It’s not about being a spy. You grab any bum off the street, you give him some gear, tell him what you need done, threaten them enough and they will do what you need them to do. A damn cat with a microphone up its ass can be a spy. Your problem is neither expertise nor training. Do you want me to tell you what it is?” Kluge said, his grinning face inching closer. “You think there’s nothing more to people than what you see on the surface. You do not have the benefit of being naïve. It’s simple idiocy. But people … people are much too complicated.”

“You gave me my orders,” Nakajima pointed out. “I followed them.” 

“You followed, yes, but blindly. And you didn’t understand those orders or the outcome they were meant to produce. I bet all this time you thought that we were after Ikari as if he were some corrupt bureaucrat. I bet you thought he was harmless—as harmless as anyone with no oversight and a stockpile of weapons of mass destruction can be. And while you sat around for three months, Ikari was in motion. That was your mistake.” Kluge’s eyes flickered down for a second. “I bet you didn't even think I knew how to use a gun."

Nakajima tried to keep calm. It wasn’t easy. He’d had guns pointed at him before, but only in combat, where the distance was much greater. A soldier hardly ever saw his enemy, and he hardly ever felt his enemy’s barrel trained directly on him, or saw his face, or stared into his eyes. Chance and skill were involved in combat. At point blank range neither of those things existed. A pull of the trigger was all it would take. 

He knew then Kluge was right. Despite everything he’d heard, he had underestimated the man. As he’d done with Gendo Ikari. “I thought you were the sort of man who had others do your dirty work,” he admitted.

“Another mistake,” Kluge sounded almost gleeful.  

“You said yourself you won’t kill me.”

"Kill? No.” The old man moved the gun away from the agent's head and pressed it against his shoulder. “But nothing was said about how badly I’m allowed to hurt you.”

With my own gun , Nakajima thought. Somehow that made him feel utterly stupid .

"I'm disappointed, Nakajima," Kluge said. "And I don't like that. You won’t like it either. They are going to make me prepare a statement, you know. Everyone who is someone within the Japanese Government will be there—Hell, if there were still an Emperor, he'd be there. The press will probably be there as well. If not, the details will soon leak out to them anyway. But they are going to make me stand like an idiot and explain. And what do you think they will say when I tell them we did not know?"

"I did what I could," Nakajima replied, his voice rising. "It isn’t my fault. You should have sent someone better!"

"What makes you think it was my choice?" Kluge said and pulled the trigger.

Despite her experience, Misato Katsuragi still felt like she was on display in a zoo somewhere as she stood at attention before Commander Ikari and Sub-Commander Fuyutsuki to deliver her initial report.

The preparations furiously being made for NERV’s first combat alert in months ensured that only a small part of the staff had gathered in the briefing room. Not many people were needed, even now, and most of those present belonged to the technical teams and upper command structure. From these select few, the necessary orders would trickle down the ranks with practiced efficiency. As a result, the room was largely empty, illuminated by the tactical screens and buzzing with the hum of computers and quiet voices.

Taking a deep breath, Misato looked down at her digital tablet containing all the pertinent details so far assembled, analyzed and summarized by the different departments—the result of some ninety minutes of frantic activity. 

“As of 03:49 hours the target, which the UN has unofficially classified as the 18th Angel despite MAGI’s inability to obtain a lock on the energy pattern, began moving from its original position over the remains of the Chinese Branch outside Beijing,” Misato read, keeping her voice steady. “Our current tracking data predicts that the target will reach Tokyo-3 in approximately fourteen hours. The UN has already and formally asked us to fulfill our defense agreement, namely the A-11 directive, and engage the target directly.”

“As expected,” Commander Gendo Ikari said from behind his hands, laced together as usual in front of his face. He sat at his illuminated console, raised slightly higher than the rest of the room, the light reflecting off his glasses giving a strangely inhuman look. “How swiftly the sheep come running back to the shepherds, don’t you think, Fuyutsuki?

“Indeed,” the Sub-Commander said. He stood stiffly at attention behind his superior officer like a marble column, his face calm. He turned his head to Misato. “Has the UN authorized NERV’s freedom of action as per the A-11 directive?”

“Yes,” Misato said without needing to consult her information. “NERV has been guaranteed the use of any and all measures to stop the target. This includes the UN Army, the JSSDF and all other equipment that might be required.”

The significance of that statement was not lost on any of the people present, and especially not Misato. A murmur started in the half-shadows surrounding them. The UN had spent most of the last few months hampering NERV’s activities, occasionally, in openly blatant and only marginally legal ways. 

Without Angels to fight, NERV was a money pit in the eyes of the bureaucrats and bean-counters, and therefore, predictably, anathema to anyone who had to worry about budgets or the expenditure of public funds. Equipment had been cut as well as personnel as a result, and NERV had ended up scraping by as best it could on what it had. But the cost on its people was more than Misato cared to consider. 

Now, in a single instant of utter destruction and death, this latest threat had reversed that trend. Misato felt awful that NERV’s relevance—its very survival—was directly tied to people’s deaths, but it was the truth and denying it would do nothing to prevent more lives from being lost.

“Very well,” Ikari said in his usual deliberate tone. “Major Katsuragi, what is NERV’s current defense capability?”

Misato knew that he most likely already had the answer, but it was still up to her to both arrange their operations logically and explain them. And although this was the sort of thing she had been trained for, she realized that she hadn’t missed it now that she was forced to do it again.

People are going to die no matter what I do , she told herself, maybe even people I love . The thought left a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Not very good, sir,” she said. “Unit-00’s self-destruction detonation and the third Lake Ashino have eliminated many of our deployment routes and power supply relays. This has greatly hampered our ability to deploy the Eva effectively over an extensive area. We can, however, place the Evas at strategic locations in advance to intercept the target at our discretion.”

“Some things never change. It has been to our advantage that the Angel has decided to come looking for us,” Ikari said. “The timing is of its choosing, the place is ours. That is perhaps the only advantage we truly have.”

Strange how no one ever seemed to find that odd , Misato wondered. Well, no one but Kaji. That ended badly for him.

“It is an advantage I intend to fully use, sir,” Misato said, for the first time letting her growing resolve enter her voice. She placed the tablet on a nearby console and glanced at the two men with stern eyes. “And any other one I can find.”

“Do you have a plan, Major Katsuragi?” Fuyutsuki asked with mock surprise. It was her job, after all, even if she hadn’t performed it in months. 

“That is what I get paid for, sir.” A pang of guilt twisted Misato’s guts as she said the words, and a part of her found it hard to believe she was playing the faithful lackey again. It was as if she was watching herself from another reality, standing here, once more acting like a willing tool for others to use. But what other options did she really have? It was better to be inside NERV’s tent pissing out than outside pissing in. She needed access, and this was the price.

She also knew she was the best there was for this sort of thing. If her life had to depend on someone’s decisions, she’d rather they be her own. The rest she could trust to the pilots. Her loved ones. Her sad, broken family.   

“Then out with it, Major Katsuragi, we do not have all morning,” Commander Ikari said.

Misato nodded, then turned towards Ritsuko, who’d been sitting behind her on one of the chairs, reading the information on her own tablet. “Sorry that I haven’t been able to get you in on this,” Misato said. She tilted her head to Hyuga and gestured with a hand. “Show me Sierra Two, please.” 

The operator pressed a few buttons on his console. A holographic display flashed to life in the middle of the room, showing a 3-dimensional layout of the Hakone region. Weapon emplacements were shown as tiny yellow triangles on the map. Eva deployment routes were highlighted in both red and blue to illustrate their readiness status, forming a jagged spider web of tangled lines. The red unavailable routes far outnumbered the blue available ones. The display then zoomed in on the lower-left quarter of the grid, indicating the south-western approach to the city, codenamed Sierra Two on the map.

Here the positions of the UN and JSSDF units were marked by green rectangles, each with small text below used to designate the unit identifications. Armored units had an oblong shape drawn inside the rectangle, while infantry units had an X.   

“I plan to have the UN Army stretched out across the northwest to intercept the target as soon as it reaches Japanese air space,” Misato explained. “That will give us a chance to analyze the strength of its AT Field, probe for weaknesses and keep the UN busy and out of our way. This will be only token resistance, of course. I don’t think that we should expect any serious damage to the target, much less destroy it. But it’ll be good for the UN’s morale to be actively involved.” 

The hologram moved back along the Sierra Two axis until it reached an intersection with a railway and one of the blue deployment routes. It was closer to the city than Misato would have liked, but it would have to do.

She continued. “As for the actual interception, Unit-00, in my view the most reliable Evangelion we currently have, will take position five miles southwest, behind the UN lines, and engage the target with long-range weaponry. For this, I have decided to borrow one of the new high-density plasma rifles the SSDF has been developing for us, which I will requisition myself if necessary.”

“So, you plan to use an experimental weapon in this critical situation?” Fuyutsuki asked. His tone was not exactly critical, but it carried his point perfectly. Experimental weapons belonged in a lab, not the battlefield. 

Misato had considered that. She felt she had no choice. 

“The SSDF has assured me that their rifle can penetrate even the strongest of AT Fields; at least, the strongest we've encountered so far. I have seen the technical specifications and it should be able to handle enemies as powerful as the 14th Angel,” she said. “In my opinion, this is the only alternative to using the positron rifle again.”

“Why are you only proposing to use long-range weapons, Major Katsuragi?” Commander Ikari inquired. “Have you forgotten that the Evangelion is a weapon built for close-combat?”

“No, sir, I haven't. But I believe that we must avoid close-quarters combat if possible. Unit-00 has not gone through a proper testing phase yet. We don’t know how it will handle—”

“I will permit you to requisition any type of weaponry that you believe will assure us the success of this operation, but it would be irresponsible to depend solely on equipment you haven’t tested in the field.”

“I understand, sir,” Misato said. “But we would be doubly irresponsible if we were to overestimate Unit-00’s combat status. There hasn’t been time for a full evaluation, and Rei isn’t exactly at peak fitness either. Even though her file says she’s fit enough to pilot, seeking out CQC as our first option is not a winning strategy. A standoff situation with long-range weapons is preferable.”

Of course, there was more to it than that, but bringing up her concerns over Rei’s safety and the potential for disaster if it came to hand-to-hand combat wouldn’t change the fact that they needed her out there. And Rei was probably a better choice than Shinji, going by Ritsuko’s medical reports. Asuka was out of the question as far as Misato was concerned.

No, it had to be Rei.

Her superiors mulled over her words carefully, as she had expected. These weren't stupid men, nor were they deaf to counsel. They understood their lives and those of the entire world were at stake.  

“What contingency measures have you planned?” Sub-Commander Fuyutsuki asked, clasping his hands behind his back. “There are still N2 weapons in stock, are there not?”

“Yes. However, given prior experience, I have no reason to believe they would be very effective,” Misato answered. She’d already considered that strategy and discarded it. “Sure, they make a nice explosion. That’s about it. At most, we could launch a preliminary barrage and analyze the target’s reactions.”

“I see. Please continue your briefing.”

Misato nodded. She leaned forward over the rail in front of her console and gestured to Hyuga with a hand again. Behind her, the wall-sized display flickered. It now showed the schematics of all three Evangelion units.  

“We simply don't have much in the way of effective reserves. Unit-01 will be placed on standby as our second line of defense inside the Geo-Front, just in case Unit-00 is knocked out of combat. Unit-02 will also be on standby, but in its current condition it won’t be of much help. If it comes down to using Unit-02 ... we’ll be as good as dead.” 

Ritsuko placed her tablet on the console and rose to her feet. “Unit-01 is more than capable of holding its own,” she said with her usual matter-of-factness. “And in terms of hand-to-hand combat, it would likely be more effective than Unit-00.”

“If that is so, why not send it together with Unit-00?” Fuyutsuki asked. 

Misato was ready for that. “For several reasons. First, the destruction of our deployment infrastructure means the units and the necessary equipment will have to be deployed piecemeal. By the time the second unit is armed and activated, the Angel will be right on top. Second, there is not enough power in that part of the grid to support both units so far out. Additionally, Unit-01’s S2 engine remains totally untested. If it runs out of power … Well, to be honest, I think we’d all rather avoid opening Pandora's Box unless we absolutely have to. We’re in enough trouble as it is. The closer we keep Unit-01 to HQ, the easier it will be to manage its external power needs. And third,” she glanced reproachfully at Ritsuko, “Unit-01 might be combat-capable, but I fear the same can’t be said of its pilot, especially after the last week.”

The mere thought of putting Shinji in harm’s way made Misato feel sick. She hated even considering it at all. But what else could she do? The Evangelions were meant as weapons and the Children as warfighters. Ultimately that was their reason for being here. Holding Shinji back gave Rei a chance to destroy the Angel without needlessly committing him to danger.

Of course, that meant having to risk Rei’s life in exchange for Shinji’s. Misato couldn’t reconcile such a choice with her sense of morality except by telling herself that it wasn’t really a choice in the end. Someone had to be out there, and Rei was better than Shinji. Cruel as it seemed, there was no alternative. 

To her relief, both Commander Ikari and Sub-Commander Fuyutsuki nodded instead of presenting any further objections. 

“What about the civilians?” Again, the question came from Fuyutsuki, and Misato was glad for the change of subject. 

“The local authorities already know what to do,” she said. “We’ve notified the council, but Nakajima is nowhere to be found. We will move up to Level 1 alert once the target enters Japanese airspace, and I expect the government to follow suit. The usual measures will be implemented once that happens.”

“Strange. I would not think that the Ministry of the Interior would want to be left out of the action,” Fuyutsuki said, though he did not seem surprised. “They always seemed so … interested.”

“Nakajima is probably halfway to Kyoto by now, with his tail between his legs. Such a brave man,” Misato replied sarcastically. She felt good saying that. After all of the trouble the government had caused NERV, she was more than entitled to have a little fun at their expense. And the criticism was not necessarily unwarranted.

If they did not wholeheartedly agree with the joke, her superiors at least did not object to it. They were no fans of the Ministry of the Interior either.

“This is all very well, Major Katsuragi,” Ikari said after a moment. “I see no reason to object to your planning, but I strongly caution you against failure.” His voice remained unemotional, as always, but it carried a hidden implication that Misato caught at once.

Failure equals death. Do not fail.

He did not have to say it. The seriousness of the situation was etched on his face—as it was on all of the faces Misato could see gathered around her.

When Commander Ikari stood up from his chair, Misato understood that the meeting was over. She saluted stiffly, then turned on her heels, signaled for Hyuga to follow her, collected Ritsuko and was almost out the door of the darkened briefing room before she heard Sub-Commander Fuyutsuki call out.

“Doctor Akagi, if you would please remain behind.”

Misato stopped abruptly and spun to face him. She ignored the odd look on Ritsuko’s face. “Sir, with all due respect, if I am to assume that I have your confidence, I can’t be left out of the loop.”

It was an impulse reaction and wholly insubordinate, but she hoped he understood her meaning. No secrets, not now. 

Ikari looked at her with unflinching, hard eyes from behind thick glasses. “We have every confidence in you, Major. Rest assured. I merely need to discuss some extra-operational details with the doctor. With all due respect.”

“Your work is most appreciated,” Fuyutsuki added more pleasantly. “I’m sure there are many more important things which require your attention at this moment.”

Misato chewed on that and did not like the taste it left in her mouth. Theirs was a perfectly acceptable answer as far as operational necessity was concerned. And the reality was that plenty of things in this organization didn’t require her input. They didn’t necessarily have to be of interest to her or to what she did. But after being kept in the dark for so long, by people she was supposed to trust, she couldn’t help being paranoid.

They would never tell her everything, she knew. Not even if she knew the right questions to ask. But she wanted to believe that with thousands of lives snuffed out in an instant and an Angel on the way, her superiors would refrain from messing around with the cloak and dagger stuff for the moment at least. Surely, Gendo Ikari wouldn't jeopardize their defense just so he could keep his secrets. His life was at stake, too. 

And his son’s—if he even cared about that. Misato wasn’t certain he did. 

“Excuse me, sir. I’ll take my leave.” 

Ikari only nodded and said nothing. 

Turning back towards the exit, Misato shot Ritsuko a warning glare, just to make things clear. The blonde’s face remained unreadable, half her features covered into shadows by the harsh electronic lighting from the monitors. 

The rest of the Operation’s staff had already left by the time Misato stepped out. She closed with Hyuga in the corridor and ordered him to assemble the rest of the bridge crew and the respective Eva support crews and technical teams—for all three units—in the lower briefing room. She finished by issuing a general readiness order for everyone else.

As she walked into the elevator and the doors closed behind her, Misato looked at her watch. Dawn would not come for another hour at the earliest. Suddenly, she wished she could go topside to look at the sky one last time. She dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. Everyone would be waiting for her below, and nerves were frayed enough without her taking a detour.

I hope you are proud, Kaji, Misato told herself. This is me being responsible.

In a few more hours she might get a chance to ask him in person. But not if she could help it.    

"It's fine if she wants to use Rei,” Ritsuko Akagi said, turning towards the Commander and away from the colored display that had shown their tactical data. "I’ve already taken certain precautions. Even if the worst should happen, it will not be a total loss."

"I am concerned for the security of Lilith's soul, not Rei," Ikari replied, his eyes fixed on hers. Besides him, Fuyutsuki continued looking intently at his own screen, probably studying Misato's plan outline. By now he should have memorized most of it.

"What did you think I meant?" Ritsuko said, shoving her hands in her lab coat. “Her body?”

“Explain,” Ikari demanded in his usual commanding tone.

"In case anything unfortunate should befall the pilot, Unit-00's entry-plug has been fitted with a system which will ensure that the soul will not be lost,” Ritsuko said. “At the most basic level, it works in the same fashion as an electrical breaker interrupting a circuit. The life support system in the entry-plug will close the circuit upon failure, and if Rei’s life signs stop then the breaker will trip."

"And then?" Ikari asked flatly. “I assume you have some sort of capture system.”

“In a way, yes. She will not go anywhere as long as the core remains intact. Unit-00's core only has a partial imprint of a soul, but of course that is still too much. No matter how fragmented, two souls can’t occupy the same physical receptacle after all. As such, I have arranged for a system-wide backup mechanism to upload the most current version of the soul and terminate the old one. If something happens to Rei and she dies, the soul should be captured by this system and preserved inside the core. Without the Dummy, however, we will not have a replacement for her body. The soul needs a shell. That can be solved later.”

To her surprise, Ritsuko found that she didn’t really feel any pleasure in talking about Rei like this. She had no love for the little abomination but losing her meant losing everything she’d worked for and thus a certain degree of emotional commitment was required. Her soul was important. More important than the Evas themselves. But as far as she cared, the body it inhabited was a genetic anomaly, a thing made by science and no more worthy of love than the result of any other useful experiment. Ikari thought differently, for reasons she didn’t agree with.

Rei’s DNA did not imply that she was at all like her donor, even if she did look like her. Ikari had never quite managed to separate himself from the second one, almost certainly due to the fact that, one way or another, he had raised her. Her loss was a hard one to stomach for him.

Not so much for Ritsuko. And the third wouldn’t be either. It was part of the reason she’d lied in her medical reports. Obviously, she hadn’t predicted it would prove so useful. 

"But this soul will not be the pure incarnation of Lilith,” Ikari said, interrupting Ritsuko’s reverie. “That might become very troublesome in the future.”

"With the amount of human contact Rei's had, there is no such thing as a pure soul anymore," Ritsuko pointed out. "You should know that better than anyone. And since we can only transfer a soul, not re-create or copy it, we have no other recourse."

Ikari nodded. He had no real choice, and he must have hated that. This wasn’t something he could do anything about.

Ritsuko studied him for a moment, trying to see beyond the unbreakable facade. She might as well have been trying to read tea leaves. Normally she wouldn’t bother, but she had to be tactful in making the next move.

“If you doubt my work, then perhaps we should send Unit-01 to take point instead. It’s not too late,” Ritsuko said, and awaited the explosion she knew was coming.

Ikari, always the enigma, surprised her once again. There was no rebuke, not even a hint of emotion.

“Yui is as important a part of the plan as Rei is,” NERV's Supreme Commander calmly replied.

Somehow this made Ritsuko feel uneasy; she always was when he called Unit-01 by name. She pressed on.

“We don’t need Yui for Complementation.” The words came out blunter than she meant them, but they were no less true. “We need Rei. Unit-01 could be restored later in case it should be badly damaged—Lieutenant Ibuki proved just how far our regenerative technology has come. But if we lose Rei’s body there is no replacement at hand.”

“Because you destroyed the Dummy System,” Ikari reminded her sternly. “You tried to kill Rei. You have made her life extraordinarily difficult. And now you expect me to believe you are concerned for her?”

Ritsuko shook her head. “I am not any more concerned than I would be over losing a critical piece of equipment. When I said ‘we’ I meant ‘you’. Besides, nothing I’ve said is factually wrong, because you do need her, and she would be much harder to replace than Unit-01. I have tried to make this contingency as bulletproof as I possibly can with the limited time I have. The problem with that is that it depends on your definition of bulletproof.”

Ikari said nothing to that.

Sensing doubt, Ritsuko pressed on. "My point is, why gamble with Rei when there’s an alternative?"

“A bad alternative is as useless, and probably just as dangerous, as no alternative,” Fuyutsuki said. He raised his eyes from the data on the screen in front of him and turned his attention towards Ritsuko. “And we are already sailing in dangerous waters here.”

“I am inclined to agree,” Ikari said, sounding even more serious than normal. “But I would rather you took a more pragmatic approach to this situation, Doctor Akagi.”

Ritsuko found such a statement ironic coming from him. She had to try hard to stop herself smiling. Whatever he thought of her, however, the simple reality was that he was trapped, by Katsuragi’s naivete and her own desire for retribution.

No matter the choice he made now, Ikari would be risking something important to him, for different reasons. If Rei went out and died, then that would be the end of all his hopes. But if Unit-01 went out and was destroyed, that would be the end of HER. His Queen. The one he was willing to throw away the world for.    

“What about Unit-02?” Ikari asked.

“What about it?” Ritsuko raised her shoulders in a dismissive shrug. “The Tablet’s start-up program is already in place, along with the associated safety shell. But the Second Child can’t use it. She’s much too damaged, psychologically speaking. When this is over, it might be more convenient to remove her pilot designation and find a replacement.”   

“I have already begun to take steps,” Ikari said, to Ritsuko's utter lack of surprise. Of course, he had, that was just like him. Using people and throwing them away. “The Russians have agreed to supply what we need on this occasion. We will ignore the Marduk Institute.”

“The Second won’t like that, but I suppose that’s a problem for tomorrow,” Ritsuko said. “We have our hands full today.”

She returned her attention to the hologram and touched the upper right corner with a finger so that a square button appeared. She tapped this. The image of the map flickered into static and was replaced by the video feed from one of the surveillance aircraft now trailing the Angel.

The Angel, or rather the possessed Evangelion Unit-A, looked like something out of a surrealist nightmare. It was lit up by at least a dozen spotlights so that its white armor gleamed, surrounded by an utterly black sky. The head resembled that of the mass production models it was based on, oval shaped with a long snout, but unlike the mass-produced Evas this unit had dark red eyes set on each side of the head, slanted like those of a malignant predator. Long arms dangled down below it, ending in white claws.  

For something so big, its flight was incredibly graceful. Its wings were massive, and it reminded Ritsuko of an overgrown bird. Around it she could see a small fleet of aircraft—fighters, mostly—all distinguishable by their navigation lights.

“How long do you think it will take,” Ritsuko said absently, “for the UN to realize there is not supposed to be such an Angel.”

“I do not believe it matters,” Ikari replied. He didn’t show much interest in the image. His attention, and his stern face remained on Ritsuko, his glasses flickering with reflected light. “Even they would be foolish to take mysticism over actual fact seriously enough to disregard what happened in China. Their own eyes count for a lot more than ancient ink on parchment.”

“At the very least we should have a cover,” Ritsuko suggested. “We should give them a name. To make it official.”

Ikari had never been the sort to engage in subterfuge without need, but Ritsuko did not want to leave any loose ends and he would recognize that. UN analysts would hardly need to bother reading the Dead Sea Scrolls to figure out that what was currently happening ought not to be possible. SEELE would try desperately to clue them in, obviously, but their credibility—and thus their power—was somewhat diminished as of the last couple of hours. Ikari was certainly right in this. Regardless of anything else, the creature on their monitors represented a threat everyone could see with their own eyes.

Finally, Ikari turned his head towards the hologram and looked at it the way a disapproving father might look at a child. “Samael,” he said.

Ritsuko knew the name. It wasn’t one she had expected.

“The Angel of Death?” she said, slightly surprised. “Don’t you think that’s a little ominous, not to mention overly dramatic?”

“Death is just another obstacle to be overcome. They should think about that.”

No, Ritsuko realized. This is not about death. This is about—

“You want them to be afraid,” Ritsuko said. She almost had to fight the urge to smile. “Once you die, there is nothing else. It is final. The fear of death, however … that is a powerful tool.”

The Commander stepped to the right, reaching the edge of his desk. “Make sure your preparations are ready,” he told her. Then he pressed a button on his console and his personal elevator began lowering him from sight. He was gone in seconds. The Sub-Commander, a far more sensible and less dramatic man, used the door. Ritsuko was left alone. Like always. 

She sighed, looking back at the screen with the so-called Angel on it, all stark white amidst an ocean of black. It flapped its massive wings, but without sound she could not hear them. And yet, impossibly, she could feel the noise, power, and malice behind it.

Samael … 

“And behold a pale horse, and he that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.” Ritsuko laughed bitterly and shook her head. “They will believe it,” she concluded, knowing she was right. Some men were simply too predictable. “They will believe anything if the lie is big enough. And this lie has already killed millions.”

It was her lie, too. She was just as guilty as Ikari in that regard. Whatever her reasons, no matter how she chose to justify it, she had willingly followed along behind him and executed his bidding without fail, and, at some point, even believed the lie herself. She was just as responsible. 

By action or inaction, they all were. 

His cell phone rang.

Shinji Ikari thought he dreamed it at first, before he realized that his eyes were open and he was actually staring at his bedroom ceiling, still in bed, with the sheets tangled around his legs. Oddly, he couldn't remember when had woken up or when he fell asleep the night before. He could tell from the faint gray light in the room that it was early in the morning—too early even for a boy used to getting up every day for school. And he could hear the phone ringing.

With Asuka gone, his morning routine had changed quite a bit. There was no more yelling for him to get out of bed, no coaxing for him to make breakfast under threats of violence, no excitement or energy whatsoever. He had no reason to do anything. A part of him wished he could just lay there and ignore the outside world. With no motivation and no one depending on him, why should he care? Why did it matter?   

The same sort of thing had happened to him before, when Asuka had been away in the hospital, and he’d been left mourning Kaworu’s death in desperate loneliness. At least in the early days, before he found a reason to get up or someone important to get up for. But Asuka … she would make sure he did even if that required knocking down his door and dragging him out. Shinji had learned he shouldn’t mind. His redheaded roommate’s presence might be overwhelming, but when she was gone it never took him long to miss it.

And if she had been there, he knew she would have been yelling at him to answer the phone.

Shinji rolled out of his sheets and stood up, yawning as he removed the earbuds of his S-DAT from his ears. The music helped him sleep and forget that he was alone. Ignoring the achiness in his muscles, he fetched his book bag where he usually kept his cellphone and searched among its contents.

It only took him a couple of seconds to locate the small device. He flipped it open and held it to his ear, absently rubbing sleep from his eyes with his free hand. “Yes, good morning?” he said in a drowsy tone and sat back down on the bed.

“Shinji …”

Shinji immediately recognized Maya Ibuki’s voice, even though it was nothing more than a hurried whisper. There was simply no mistaking it—Maya’s voice had always struck him as distinctly melodic, dainty and pleasant. The sort of voice which usually helped put him at ease, and one he had become very familiar with through long hours of listening to her over Unit-01’s communication system.

“Miss Ibuki?” Shinji said, yawning loudly again. He quickly covered his mouth out of politeness despite the fact that he was alone in the room and Maya couldn’t see him. “Sorry, it’s early,” he added. “How can I help you?”

“Where are you?” Maya asked even before he’d finished speaking.

“Home,” he answered. “Miss Ibuki—”

“Good. We’ve sent a car over to pick you up. I know it’s still so early, but we have a situation on our hands. Major Katsuragi said to call you before they got there. Maybe she was concerned that you’d been watching it, I don’t know. Please be ready for the pick-up.”

“Misato?” Shinji hesitated, his drowsy mind failing to grasp everything. But as the cobwebs cleared and sleep receded, he realized the normally affable young woman sounded worried. Naturally, that made him worried as well. “Watching what? What’s going on?”

“Trouble,” Maya said. “I can’t say any more right now, but we’ll fill you in when you get here, okay? Oh, and please do me a favor … don’t turn on your television. Major Katsuragi said it would be better if you didn’t see.”

“What?” Shinji murmured, not sure he understood. “Why?”

“Just don’t. Pretty please.”

He still didn’t understand, but he nodded. “Uh, okay, I guess.”

“Thank you. Now get dressed. Section 2 will be there in a few minutes. Ah, sorry. I have to go,” Maya said abruptly, her hurried manner doing little to put him at ease. She hung up without waiting for the reply.

In the sudden silence which followed, Shinji sat holding the cellphone against his ear for a few more seconds, as if expecting another voice to materialize from the inactive speaker. Then he flipped it closed and tossed it back into his book bag, lying open at his feet.

Home , he thought. That’s where I told her I was. But why doesn’t it feel like it?

Lifting his head, Shinji looked around his room—a room which wasn’t really supposed to be one. It was actually a storage closet. When Asuka had arrived all those months ago, she’d dumped his belongings in here while she took over what had previously been his room. Even now, he didn’t begrudge her for it, although perhaps he should. He just found it hard to really care. Some of his things were still in boxes so he’d never even settled in. Never made the space home. 

Back then, despite Asuka being loud and rude, he genuinely hoped that they could get along. And she was an Evangelion pilot just like him. Surely, they had a lot to bond over, like he’d done with Ayanami. Now Ayanami was dead, and Asuka hated him.    

He felt his stomach tighten with the anguish of those memories. Of his failures and the losses, they produced. He had failed everyone, and yet here he was, being called upon by others to help. To pilot. To just get up. He could do nothing else if he ever wanted to make things better. And he did want to, with Asuka, Rei, and everyone else who relied on him. 

Shinji sighed and rose to his feet. He dressed quickly in the first clothes he found, which just so happened to be his school uniform, left draped over the back of his desk chair the night before in preparation for the school day. When that was done, he slipped open his door and walked out to the empty living room. By now, the early morning gray had begun to tinge with a light yellow as the eastern sun filtered through the balcony windows. There was no sound at all, nothing to distract from the gloominess of a morning spent completely alone. But when he passed in front of the television, he was suddenly tempted.

Why would Misato not want him to turn it on? And why would she make a point of telling Maya? Was it something they didn’t want him to see? He’d heard no alarms, and Maya had not mentioned an Angel attack. Nothing else would bother him at this point. Or so he thought. 

Shinji pressed his lips together. He could almost hear Asuka’s whiny voice in the back of his head saying, “Are you stupid? If they didn’t want you to see something it wouldn’t be on television, would it?”

And she was right. Like she usually was.  

He picked up the remote and switched the TV on, briefly trying to recall which channel carried the news. Within seconds, however, he realized that was an utterly unnecessary exercise. It simply didn’t matter what channel he picked because all of the broadcast networks were showing the same thing—the same video feed even—superimposed with the frantic narration of fearful commentators.

Whatever he had thought he might see, this wasn’t it. Even for someone who had seen as much death and destruction as he had, the sight was shocking in its devastation; a vision of swirling fire like a burning nightmare. And in the center, a monster at once alien and painfully familiar. His heart dropped, his mouth hanging open, wide blue eyes staring. The remote dropped to the floor, bouncing between his feet. 

Again , he thought. It’s happened again.  

There was horror on his face when the Section 2 agents rang the doorbell. Shinji almost considered not opening the door. But they expected him to, and he had no real choice in the matter. 

"Hikari Horaki?" the man in the black suit and tie asked as soon as Hikari opened the door.

"Y-yes, that’s me," Hikari replied hesitantly, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. She had become accustomed enough to the mysterious black-suited men lurking in the shadows whenever the three Eva pilots were nearby that it didn’t really scare her having one come knocking at the door so early in the morning, but she still found it very unsettling. She had not even changed out of her pink pajamas, which only added to her discomfort. “Can I help you?”

When Asuka had moved in, Major Katsuragi had promised that her Section 2 bodyguards would keep their distance. So far, they had made good on the promise, and Hikari was glad. But it seemed that was now over.

The Section 2 agent reached into his dark suit and produced an ID badge. "NERV Section 2," he said, flashing the ID unnecessarily. He was wearing sunglasses, and his face was young but so bland and remarkable it could have been a mask. "We are here to take the Second Child into custody."

"Custody?" Hikari blinked, now uncertain of what to even think. A million things went through her mind, most of them troubling. You took custody of prisoners, not of an Evangelion pilot. “What for? If there’s a problem, call Major Katsuragi. The Second—Asuka is fine where she is.”

I don't like this, she thought. Major Katsuragi would have called ahead.

"There has been an incident and Miss Soryu's presence is requested," the agent said. “I’m sorry for the disruption, but we’re short on time.” 

“Did Major Katsuragi send you?” Hikari asked.

“Ma'am, I need to find the Second Child.”

Hikari realized she wasn't going to get an explanation, and that there wasn't a whole lot she could do about it. 

"I-I guess it's all right then," Hikari muttered, holding her hands together in front of her, trying to hold back a cold surge of fear in her chest. Like Major Katsuragi, these men worked for NERV, and so she had to do as they said. That was the only way. In theory, Section 2 agents didn’t even need a warrant to come inside the house, nor to tap the phones and follow anyone associated with the pilots. They might as well be a police force of their own. But she also didn’t think Asuka was in any condition to go anywhere. "I'll … um, I’ll get her for you."

"No," the agent said, shuffling closer and placing one hand against the doorframe. "I will get her myself. I’m under orders. Just show me the way."

Hikari nodded hesitantly. “Oh, sure.”

She stepped aside and let the agent into the house. As she did, she cast a wary glance outside, where the agent's partner waited, leaning patiently against the black sedan they normally used for transport. She failed to see a gun, but it was a fair assumption that both men were currently armed.

“Ah, would you mind taking off your shoes?” Hikari said.

The agent frowned. “Ma’am, we really—”

“Please. It’s bad enough you have to come in here like this, you don’t have to make everything dirty on top of it. Okay?”

To her surprise, the man bent down and quickly removed his shoes as she had requested, leaving him only in black socks, one of which had a hole on the right side. He set the shoes aside, then straightened and turned back towards Hikari, waiting. She nodded in return, trying to show her appreciation. He might be intimidating, but at least he wasn’t rude. Points for NERV’s training program. It was certainly better than the school’s. 

Closing the door behind them, Hikari led the agent upstairs to Asuka’s temporary bedroom, the room that had once belonged to her big sister's when she still lived at home. She knocked.

“Asuka, are you up? I know it’s early, but there’s a Section 2 agent here,” Hikari called. Her voice was soft yet loud enough that she knew Asuka could hear it through the door. She made a huge effort to keep her concern from showing in her tone. It wouldn’t do to seem afraid, especially in front of Asuka. “They’re looking for you.”

No answer, nor did Hikari think they were likely to get one.

“Excuse me,” the agent said, gently placing a hand on Hikari’s shoulder and moving her out of the way. He knocked once, then without waiting for an answer slid the door open just wide enough to squeeze inside. 

Hikari peered through the opening as the man in black slowly approached the bed. A bulge in the sheets betrayed Asuka's form. She had pulled them over her head so Hikari couldn't tell if she was asleep. 

At least she sleeps now , Hikari thought with some relief. She had lost count of how many times she had heard her friend crying whenever she checked on her through the night, when she thought nobody could see or hear her.

The agent stood over the bed and said something in a very gentle tone. Hikari couldn’t catch the words spoken. Asuka stirred under the sheets, then sleepily pushed herself into a sitting position. Her eyes were groggy with sleep when she looked up, her long golden-red mane tousled into a wiry mop. The agent could not have been more than ten years older than her, and he wasn’t big, but Asuka looked so small by comparison, and exhausted. She didn't wear any pajamas, only a loose top and a pair of panties. Some days she couldn't even muster the strength to climb out of bed, let alone change out of her bedclothes.   

She's hurt, Hikari thought with a hint of anger as she watched her friend and the man towering above her. Can't he see that? She really shouldn’t be going anywhere.

For the second time since opening the door, the agent did something she did not expect. Rather than talk down to Asuka as authority figures often did, he dropped to one knee so that she was the one looking down at him instead and removed his sunglasses. Hikari was a romantic at heart, and this simple gesture struck her powerfully. She knew then that these men weren’t here to kidnap Asuka or force her into helping them. They’d come to ask for her help. Ask politely.

Somehow Hikari decided that Major Katsuragi might have something to do with that. It seemed like just the thing she would do. 

After a brief conversation—again, Hikari couldn’t hear what was being said, but she noticed Asuka nodding slowly as something was explained to her—the agent got up and slipped back through the door, closing it and replacing his sunglasses. 

“I’ll give her a minute to get dressed,” he said. “Does she have an overnight bag? Any medication she needs to bring?”

Hikari shook her head. “No. And … thank you.” 

The man nodded. “Don’t mention it, Miss.”

Asuka emerged almost exactly a whole minute later, an ordinary redheaded girl dressed in a pair of short denim shorts and a loose T-shirt. She looked like anything but one of the valiant defenders of humanity the media had made the Evangelion pilots out to be—without ever bothering to meet any of them. Her eyes were dull, and she moved slowly, almost as if sleepwalking. Her shoulders were slumped. To Hikari, she looked so exhausted. How were they expecting her to do anything like this?

“If you don’t mind, Miss Soryu, we should get going,” the agent said, firmly but not unpleasantly. “We have a timeline. Major Katsuragi is already expecting us.”

Hearing the Major’s name eased Hikari’s concern. The Major deeply cared about the pilots, of that she had no doubt, so it was unlikely she’d risk their lives needlessly. Nodding to the agent, Hikari turned herself around and led the way downstairs.

“Take care of yourself,” she told Asuka as the redhead put on her shoes by the front door. Beside her, the Section 2 agent did the same. 

“I’ll be fine,” Asuka said bluntly when she was done, but Hikari wasn’t convinced. She knew her friend would never willingly admit weakness, no more than she would admit to being scared or needing anyone. That just wasn’t Asuka. But Hikari also knew better.

And because she had the awful, uncomfortable feeling that Section 2 wouldn’t have been sent to bring Asuka in without a very good cause, because she could feel a heavy weight in the pit of her stomach, and simply because she didn’t want to let the moment pass her by without showing she cared, Hikari lunged forward and hugged her.

Asuka said nothing and did not return the gesture. Neither did she try to pull away. Hikari took that for acceptance and hugged her a little tighter. Even if she was unwilling to admit it, in Hikari’s mind no one deserved this more than her. No one needed it more. 

“We should go,” the agent said after a moment. He was looking at them while they embraced, and Hikari thought she could see the curve of a smile on his face.

He understood.

Hikari nodded again and opened the door. 

“Miss Horaki, you should listen to the alert advisory and take the necessary precautions,” the agent said. His smile had already vanished, replaced with a grave expression. “Follow all instructions. Things will not be safe in a few hours. Are you here by yourself?”

“My little sister is upstairs too,” Hikari said. She frowned, a sudden empty sensation in her stomach. “Alert advisory? Is there an Angel coming? There weren’t supposed to be any more. At least … that’s what I heard.” 

“I take it you haven’t seen the news.” The agent sounded almost sad. “Do yourself a favor and don’t. Take your sister to the closest shelter. I assume you’ve done this before.”  

“Yeah, I know how this works,” Hikari replied, sighing. Emergencies in Tokyo-3 were nothing new to its citizens. If anything, they’d once been part of everyday life. The sun rose. It rained almost every day in the summer. And alien monsters tried to blow you up. Normal. “Well, if it is an Angel, give them Hell for me, Asuka.” 

Asuka looked away, her eyes somewhere on the floor, loose hair spilling over one shoulder. Hikari prayed she didn’t have to fight and feared what might happen if she did. Surely, NERV was not that crazy or desperate.

The agent stepped outside and made a gesture for Asuka to follow him, which the girl did silently with her head bowed. He walked the sullen redhead down the steps towards the driveway as Hikari looked on from the doorway. His partner held the car's back door open for Asuka, and she climbed into the car without having ever even looked up. Hikari thought Asuka normally would have hated being treated like this, because she always took pride in being on her own and doing things for herself, but now it didn't seem to matter. The fight was gone from her.

Please don’t let anything happen to her, Hikari thought. I’ll go to the shrine and bring an offering. I’ll volunteer for clean-up duty every week. She’s my friend. Please don’t let her die.

As Asuka’s escort closed the back door, the second agent climbed behind the wheel and started the engine. Hikari watched them as she struggled with an ominous feeling in her stomach. Soon, the car reversed, then executed a quick U-turn in the middle of the street and headed off towards the north, picking up speed as it went. 

Hikari lingered by the door, gazing worriedly after the car even after it had disappeared from her sight. A moment later, she heard the sirens splitting the air like a chilling scream. It was not a new sound, but ominous regardless, and one she never thought she’d hear again. 

She should get dressed, Hikari decided. Once the alert went on and all the emergency broadcasts started, it wouldn’t be long before the shelters opened. People would need help. And she needed to get her sister to safety as well.

If only it were that easy for someone to help Asuka and the others. If only she could do something to stop them from being hurt. She wished she could. She always did. But wishing would not make it a reality. The world was much too cruel and didn’t always agree with the desires of teen girls, even one as proper, respectful and dutiful as Hikari Horaki.

The siren kept up its wail, then it was joined by a robotic female voice. 

“Attention, attention. All citizens are advised to head for their respective shelters. Designated emergency routes have been enabled. This is a mandatory evacuation under the authority of the Tokyo-3 City Council. This is not a drill. Attention, attention. All citizens …”

Hikari sighed. She stepped back and closed the door, hoping against hope that she hadn’t just seen her best friend for the last time, and hurried upstairs to find her sister. Behind her, the wailing continued. 

“The current situation in China has created a vortex of unwanted activity around NERV, to say nothing of the JSSDF,” SEELE 01 said from behind the anonymity afforded to him by the monolith marked ‘Sound Only’. "Needless to say, we have every reason to believe the actions of Gendo Ikari are to blame for this setback."

“We should not have allowed him such leeway. The fact is that a wild beast is the most dangerous when trapped,” SEELE 02 said. "And Gendo Ikari is no less of a beast than most maniacs in history."

“The only problem with such thinking is that half the time those beasts end up victorious,” SEELE 03 said. “Some of us know a few of them.”

Musashi Kluge had to laugh. He stood in the middle of the circle created by all 12 monoliths. The only light in the otherwise dark room was that generated by the bleak holographic stand-ins for people who could have been mere yards or thousands of miles away. It was like standing in a Twenty-First Century Stonehenge where men had supplanted gods as objects of worship.

And while he didn't find the overcomplicated protocol of their meetings particularly bothersome, it was somewhat frustrating that they did not trust him enough to deliver their directives face-to-face. He wondered what they would say if he told them that even the electronic voice boxes they used to disguise their accents could only do so much. A skilled listener would be able to pick up their cadence and accents. Given that there were only a few people truly in a position to be part of such a secret organization, it would only be a matter of careful research to narrow some of them down.

But Kluge had no need to do that. He knew the head of this organization from the days of firebrand politics following the Second Impact and the ensuing cover-up. When lies held the world together in the wake of total catastrophe and men with iron for blood ensured the security and stability of those who could never know the truth. Lorenz Keel, at least, felt he could trust him. That was enough. How could it not be? He had faithfully kept the man’s secrets and in return, it had been Keel who brought him out of the east and into Japan.

Through the years their relationship had only deepened, allowing Kluge to get away with things that were far beyond the scope of even a Department Chief. Scandalous things, but necessary. Even the politicians understood that, occasionally. It hardly mattered. Keel was always there, and oversight was a meaningless word when the people watching the watchmen knew and already consented to the methods of those being watched. 

"We understand this is a troubling situation, but it is not a reason for panic," SEELE 10 said. "The UN must certainly be aware of that. They know very well what kind of man Ikari is. Chief Kluge, I believe you have information on that front?"

“Oh, they're in a panic,” Kluge said. “I don't believe there is much room for reasoning at the moment. NERV has three Evangelions and the Angel is headed for Tokyo-3. The UN has already granted Ikari emergency powers and is ready to surrender more. The Prime Minister almost also flew into a rage. For all intents and purposes, Tokyo-3 will become an autonomous zone.”

"Ikari must have known that this would happen," SEELE 12 said. "He did order the Chinese experiments, and they seized upon the opportunity despite the UN's objections."

“We have no proof.” Kluge shrugged. “You can thank your man Nakajima for that.” He gave the SEELE 02 monolith a pointed glance. “If you don’t mind me saying.”

“A single man’s failure cannot excuse your entire organization,” SEELE 02 replied. “Surely, if the Chinese received their directives from Ikari there must be evidence.” 

“What if he didn’t?” SEELE 06 ventured. “The Evangelion is a piece of technology, and like any technology it can be copied. The Chinese have always been good at reverse engineering. Even if Ikari provided some assistance, it is entirely possible he did not light this fuse. I find it highly unlikely the Chinese Branch would allow him to destroy their capital with an experiment.”

“Ikari did not have to light the fuse, as you put it,” SEELE 07 said. “All he had to do was dangle a lure before the Chinese Branch that they could not refuse. Recklessness breeds carelessness. And this is the result. They wanted power, and someone handed them a loaded gun without them knowing how to use or control it. This is the result. An accident.”  

It was not entirely impossible, Kluge was willing to admit. The Chinese government could hardly be blamed for looking after its own interests. In a world without any superpowers, whatever advantage a nation could gain over its rivals could be the difference between ruling and being ruled. Even the ban on nuclear weapons had done little to hamper their trafficking—governments had simply stopped doing so overtly and started working through proxies. And in some cases, like the Americans, made a total mockery of the treaties by finding creative loopholes.

Politicians seemed to think that just because they said something was illegal everyone else was bound to agree. They misunderstood the lack of opposition for acquiescence. That simply wasn’t the case; battling in the field of global politics was too expensive and time consuming when there were other methods available to people with the will and power to exert their influence. The Evangelion was no different. 

In such a world, Gendo Ikari did not have to order anything. All he really had to do was nudge the Chinese in the right direction and let their greed for power do the rest. The Americans themselves had already lost an entire facility to the Evas with thousands of casualties, and their Unit-03 had turned out to be Angel itself. And if America couldn’t make it work, what hope did China have? 

Of course, even if that was the truth, it didn’t really matter. They were not here looking for the truth. Let the philosophers worry about that. They were here looking for the future, and the road to that future was built with whatever materials were required. Even monstrous lies. 

Like the Second Impact.

"The Chinese have gotten their due for helping Ikari," SEELE 01 pointed out. "We can only hope that this will deter other rogue governments from doing the same thing in the future. Now we can move in and fill the void."

“The recovery effort is not the committee's concern,” SEELE 08 said briskly.

“No, what is of our concern is the fact that the UN was told that there were no more Angels in an effort to destroy NERV's bargaining power,” SEELE 03 said. "This incident will harm our credibility in certain circles."

“Surely, it is what Ikari must have intended,” SEELE 07 said. “To force his influence over ours.”

“Indeed," SEELE 02 began. "We are aware of his intentions, and he knows that we will not allow him to continue his plan in open defiance of our interests. However, although we know the final destination, we do not know the path he will take. This latest situation is irrefutable proof that he cannot be entirely predicted and is willing to do anything."

“Mind you,” Kluge said, repeating himself on this issue. “We still have no actual evidence. Which doesn't mean he isn't responsible, only that we cannot pin this on him in the court of international opinion. If we can’t do that, it will be very difficult to change foreign policy in regards to NERV.”

No amount of reasoning was going to stop SEELE from blaming Ikari, he knew that, and he was almost certain himself that Ikari was directly responsible. But other people didn’t know him as well as they did. Other people would need proof. And that was exactly what they lacked.

They should have let me blow Nakajima’s brains out. The man is incompetent at best. A possible traitor at worst.

"Ikari has sought to unsettle us in the past, by losing the Spear of Longinus and refusing access to the First Child, but we devised a second scenario," SEELE 09 said. "He must also know this, so he concocted a new scenario of his own."

"That is what this is all about,” SEELE 05 said. "He is challenging us."

Kluge nodded. “Be that as it may, it doesn't change the fact that he played this one brilliantly. Had we had a more competent agent in place, perhaps—”

“We have already gone over this, Chief Kluge,” SEELE 07 cut him off, which surprised him. “It is permissible for you to disagree with the decisions of this council, but the matter has been settled before. Nakajima was the best tool available for the job precisely because he wasn't obvious.”

“But it didn't do us any good in the end,” Kluge retorted.

“I trust nothing untoward has happened to the agent,” SEELE 02 said. “He is already in place inside NERV, and we may have further need of him before this is done.”

“No,” Kluge couldn't help the grin that came over his wrinkled face. “Of course not. He’s alive.”

He couldn't really know that for certain, obviously, but as far as he was concerned Nakajima had indeed still been alive when he left him by the side of the road. He didn't believe himself responsible should the younger man bleed out on the street as a result of his wound. 

“I seem to recall you said something similar about Kaji Ryoji,” SEELE 04 said.

Kluge shrugged, struggling to contain a sharp smirk. For once he envied the anonymity of the monoliths. “Your memory is better than mine in that regard.”

“He was a valuable asset, but what is done is done. To every action there is a reaction. Ikari has acted, and now we must react,” SEELE 09 said, steering the conversation back to its original purpose. "We must deal with this so-called 'Angel'. This Samael. What an insult!"

“Man is not meant to create Angels, just as he's not meant to create gods," SEELE 01 added. "To do so is to defy God's power."

“We still don't know the nature of this threat.” Kluge pushed Nakajima's fate to the back of his mind and followed along. “As has been suggested, it is entirely possible this situation is simply the result of unforeseen consequences. All we can do for the time being is guess. Some of my people already suspect the Emerald Tablet was involved, but there is no evidence.” 

“You suspect? This Angel was almost certainly created by the foolishness of man,” SEELE 05 said. "But it is a beast of destruction and does not follow the rules of man, and not even those of the Most High."

“We know what it is," SEELE 03 said. "It's a spawn, the first of those which will be brought forth by the Tablet's power. But it seeks not just destruction. We now know there was a reason Naoko Akagi abandoned that project so long ago."

Or so they said, but Kluge wondered if it was the real truth. Had they known what the Emerald Table could do—assuming that it really was the Tablet that created this Angel—and still allowed Ikari access to it in a bid to call his bluff, then they were responsible for it too. It was also possible NERV had seen this coming and planned accordingly around it. Kluge was not a gambling man, but if he had been, he would bet on the latter.

Neither option troubled him much. He had long since come to understand that sacrificing pawns was often part of a winning strategy, which meant that a lack of scruples was almost mandatory.

Cruel as it might be, that was the nature of his business. And if Ikari had made this Angel, he would now have to fight it with everything he had, even risking his own son, while SEELE could only watch and wait to pounce. 

“Understanding is the key,” SEELE 02 said. "That is what fuels this fearful symmetry. And when it understands mankind, it will seek the total annihilation of its humanity, much like the previous Angels. And it will seek the being responsible for the wretchedness of the human race: Lilith, not Adam. Once Lilith is brought to divine justice …”

"The world will end," SEELE 01 said.

Unless NERV is victorious, Kluge thought. And if it was then Ikari would be a hero in the eyes of a lot of very powerful people. On the other hand, if it failed everyone would be far too dead to care. Ikari had to win, and they had to hope that he did or face extinction themselves. Should SEELE interfere at this stage, they would essentially be committing suicide. 

It was a brilliant move. Musashi Kluge could admit as much. Worthy of a man like Gendo Ikari. Of a true monster, willing to sacrifice everything for a goal. In another world, he might have found great pleasure in working with someone like that.  

The sad look of apology in Misato’s dark eyes was, for Shinji, a validation of how deeply in trouble they were. She regarded the two pilots standing next to each other in front of her with the sort of motherly concern Shinji had all but come to expect, but he could tell it was very hard for her. As she sometimes did, and especially during dire situations, his guardian had actively sought them out, meeting them in the lockers instead of waiting for them to come to her, and began to fill them in.

It was worse than Shinji had imagined. He was still shaking his head, struggling to convince himself that this was a bad dream. The news broadcasts on the TV had been confusing and even misleading, a garbled stream of information coming out just as soon as it was obtained. They simply didn’t know much of what had happened and offered little beside horrifying images. But Misato did know.

So many people …  

Next to him, Rei appeared calm as usual. Her surreal red eyes did not betray a single hint of emotion even now. He envied her coolness. Asuka was also present, sitting by herself on the opposite end of the bench that ran down the length of the room. She had her knees drawn up to her chest and her head buried behind them, close enough to be within earshot but still keeping her distance. All three pilots had changed into their form-fitting plugsuits. 

“… so that’s the way things are,” Misato finished grimly. “The UN hasn’t confirmed the full scope of the loss, but estimates have exceeded three quarters of a million deaths. They are most likely going to continue rising.”

“A whole city?” Shinji said with disbelief and fear in his voice. “How are we supposed to stop something like that?”

“By stepping in its way and trying to kill it before it kills us. That’s really all we can do,” Misato said. 

“But it’s still an Eva!” Shinji protested. An old nightmare drifted into his mind, mixing with this new one.

Misato raised a hand. “Ritsuko says they were conducting some type of automation experiment, like a Dummy System, so apparently no pilot was involved. You’re right to worry, but this isn’t like last time. There isn’t any more information of what the Chinese Branch was doing at the moment. I’m afraid you’ll need to wait if you want to know more.”

Shinji nodded. If there was no pilot at least they wouldn’t need to hurt someone else by fighting. That was the last thing he’d want. Satisfied with his reaction, Misato turned to Rei, who’d remained silent since entering the room. 

“Rei?”

“Yes?” Unlike Shinji’s voice, Rei’s tone was soft and steady. But while she might sound like that, anyone looking at her would have been able to tell that she was not entirely recovered from her recent injuries. Her posture was slouched, and Shinji had noticed a slight limp in her gait when she walked. Nothing pronounced or even very noticeable, but he had been looking for that sort of thing.

She’s in pain , Shinji thought, looking at the blue-haired girl with open concern. As far as he knew, she had never even been released from the hospital.

Rei would not complain, though. That was how these things always went with her. Shinji kept hoping she’d change at least a little in this regard and start looking after her own health, especially with what had happened to … her previous self. But even now she didn’t show any sign that she would. In a rather disturbing way, she didn’t appear to be worried about dying. Perhaps that was what bothered Shinji the most. 

Because he knew, no matter how unconcerned Rei Ayanami seemed, how healthy she might appear outwardly, or how desperate the situation was, she was still unfit for combat. If he had any authority, she would not be here at all. She should be in bed, recovering.

Misato seemed to know that as well, and Shinji was glad to see that she was certainly not like his father. She hesitated for a short moment, looking at Rei with eyes edged with remorse, then gathered the courage to say what she needed to say.

“You will take Unit-00 and intercept the target at an area southwest of the city. You will be the vanguard of the defense.” 

NO! Shinji’s jaw dropped. His eyes went wide. 

Misato carried on. “We have arranged the requisition of a new kind of weapon that should make it possible to penetrate the Angel’s AT Field from a safe distance. The SSDF is transporting it as we speak. I know you haven’t done the weapons test yet, but that’s why we’ll be using long-range engagement rules. Using this plasma rifle should be no different than firing the positron rifle or most of the other heavy weapons. Lieutenant Ibuki will give you more information on the site.” She paused, taking a breath. “That’s the gist of it. Try to destroy the target as fast as you can, and as far away from you as possible.”

Shinji felt a heavy pressure clamp down on his chest as she spoke. Was he the only one who could see that Rei wasn’t all right? Was he the only one that actually cared? His father and Ritsuko would never think of Rei as anything other than a tool to be used as they wished. But Misato was different. She should know better.

“I understand,” Rei said, not voicing any of the concerns Shinji desperately wished she would. “Am I to board the Unit-00 inside Central Dogma and take it to its position?”

“That’s a negative.” Misato shook her head. “Unit-00 is already on its way to the engagement zone. You will follow by VTOL.”

“When do I go?” Rei asked

Misato checked her watch. “In about an hour. Hopefully, everything will be set up by that time. I’m trying to get all the pieces together on the site as soon as possible so you can take the rifle for a test-drive.”

“Test-drive?” Rei said, plainly confused at Misato’s choice of words.

“Practice,” Misato clarified. “I want you to get some practice with the rifle. You’ve never … well, you know.”

Rei nodded. “I understand.”

“M-Misato?” Shinji’s voice quivered as he moved forward. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to his question but felt obligated to ask simply because Misato hadn’t mentioned it and it wasn’t fair that Rei would be placing herself in danger when there might be some way for him to help. No matter what, he couldn’t just sit back. “What about Unit-01?”

“I don’t intend to use it for combat if possible. It may have worked out against … the previous Angels, but that was inside Central Dogma and inside the city where we could manage power. The countryside is a different matter. Portable electrical generators won’t survive battle for long, and we have no idea what will happen with the S2 engine if it becomes active. But I will need you to remain on standby in case …” Misato trailed off, but Shinji knew what she was about to say.

“In case Rei gets killed, right?” Shinji finished for her, regret, anger and fear fixing up into a new indescribable emotion in his words. “Just like … just like …”

Ayanami . 

He could not even talk about her. How did you speak of someone who was gone and yet still there? But even though he missed his Ayanami, the girl he had really grown close with, this one … this Rei … It wasn’t fair that she should be out there while he did nothing. Ayanami had already died once for his sake, protecting him. He did not want to let that happen again. Unit-01 could fight. He could fight.

Misato gave him a sorry look. “I don’t want anything to happen to any of you,” she said. “I never do. Every time one of you is out there, I hold my breath. But we must prepare for the worst. Unit-01 will back up Unit-00, and Unit-02 will back up Unit-01.”

“No.” Shinji stepped forward again, gloved hands clenched into fists. “You can’t do this. You can’t send her out there just like that. She’ll get hurt.”

He looked towards Rei as if for support, but the girl just stared back at him, silent and unmoved. He knew that for her it was as simple as following orders. She would do what she was told. After all, it was what his father had made her for.

“I have to go,” Rei said after a while, her voice barely a whisper. 

Shinji was suddenly lost. While he could resign himself to everyone treating Rei like she was disposable, actually hearing her doing the same to herself was too much. He didn’t think she had a death wish, but she seemingly had no instinct of self-preservation either. She would die if it was required of her. Again.

Rei did not know how to stand up for herself, nor that it was okay to refuse certain orders. Probably because nobody had ever explained that it was even a possibility. She stepped forward silently. Working on automatic, Shinji threw out an arm to bar her way, holding her back.

“Ikari?” Rei whispered.

“Don’t call me that. Don’t use my father’s name.”

For the first time, Rei seemed taken aback. “I … then what should I call you?” 

“Whatever you want, but not that.” He turned to Misato, pale blue eyes pleading. “You can’t let her do this. Not with an Angel. It’s too dangerous. Please, you can’t. Send me instead. I’ll fight. Isn’t that what you wanted before? The whole point of me piloting again?”

Rei waited. She did not try to move past him or tell him that it wasn’t for him to decide. Like she always did, she stood there meekly and silently with a blank expression on her soft-featured face. Until Misato gently shook her head, her own face becoming expressionless. A face Shinji had seen many times before.

Misato was unlikely to willingly place any of them in danger without need, Shinji reminded himself. Not him, not Rei, not Asuka. She must have had her reasons, and they were probably good ones. But they just weren’t good enough for Shinji to risk losing someone else he cared about. 

“Misato, please. Don’t let her fight. She’ll get hurt. I’ll do it.”

“I’m sorry, Shinji,” Misato said. She wasn’t looking at either of them anymore, as if she were ashamed that she had to put them in this situation. “There is no other way. I wish there was.”

“There is another option!” Shinji shouted. He was barely keeping his emotions in check now. Even so, his voice quivered like he was about to burst into tears from fear and frustration. “I will fight!”

There was a pause, and for a fleeting moment Shinji dared to hope Misato would listen, but then … 

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is,” his guardian said, lifting her head. “It isn’t about who fights. It’s about who has the better chance of being successful.” She locked her eyes with him and in the second their gazes met, Shinji thought he understood the reason—the real reason—why she was so reluctant to let him ride Unit-01 into combat. His heart sank.

“You're protecting me, aren’t you?” he said bitterly. “You just don’t want ME to get hurt.”

Misato said nothing, but her silence was all the proof he needed to convince himself that he was right. That this was really about him, not Rei. 

“So what?” came a shrill voice from behind them. 

Both Shinji and Misato turned. Rei didn’t seem to notice.

Asuka dragged herself to feet with a long sigh of exasperation. Shinji had almost forgotten she was in the room. He just wasn’t used to her being so quiet. Her sapphire blue gaze pierced him like a needle through his heart when she looked at him. A hot needle that burned.

He still didn’t know how to react to her presence. His mouth suddenly went dry. He felt almost compelled to say something, but what could that be? What could he possibly do to make up for the horrible way in which he had hurt her? 

For making her cry.

Asuka was not the sort to shrink from a fight. As young and slender as she was, she had always been far fiercer than her size or age would indicate. But he could tell she really didn’t want to be here with them, and especially not with him. Since her arrival she hadn’t said anything to either Shinji or Rei, with whom she shared a side of the locker room, and mostly ignored Misato while she briefed them. She hadn’t even looked at Shinji. 

But as Asuka pinned him with her eyes for the first time, he could see the anger that had become such a part of her personality return. And something else, too. 

“So what?” the redheaded girl repeated. “You say that like you don’t know you're her favorite.”

“A-Asuka …” No matter how much Shinji wanted to talk to her, the words became stuck in his throat, which by now felt like dry sandpaper. His heart was suddenly heavier, yet beating faster. He was back in the kitchen for a moment, telling her he hated her and that she should die.

I’m the one who should die, Shinji thought. Maybe then everything will stop hurting.

Asuka stepped closer, the swaying motion of her hips accented by the way her red plugsuit clung to her like a second skin. She pushed past them without saying anything, squeezing her slender frame between Misato and Rei, and left the locker room in a swish of red.

She couldn’t stand to be around him now, Shinji knew. And why should she after what he’d said to her? The sad fact was that the only thing that shocked him more than her sudden reticence was that she wasn’t screaming her head off. The screaming would have been preferable, because at least then he would have known there was a chance that she’d be okay.

But somehow, the sullen, brooding silence she’d fallen into seemed as far from okay as a haughty and outgoing girl like Asuka could be. He felt awful for her, and he should. It was very much his fault.

He looked toward Misato with a lost look, hoping to find some comfort. There were so many things pulling at his heart—the Angel, Rei’s mission, Asuka—and he didn’t know what to do or what to say. He just wanted everything to be fixed. 

Misato regarded him with tender brown eyes filled with regret. He knew then that she cared, even if she couldn't bring herself to show it at the moment.

“Shinji,” she said, “I can’t promise that nobody will get hurt. And if I did, then you shouldn’t believe me. Because it would be a lie. What I can promise is that I will do my best to keep everyone safe.” 

He nodded glumly, although only because there was nothing else to do.

Misato cast a quick glance to where Asuka had disappeared beyond the doorway. “I’m worried about Asuka. I know I shouldn’t ask you this, but can you look after her?”

Shinji gave her a stunned look that basically questioned her sanity.

“I know, I know.” Misato raised her hands in self-defense. Then her voice softened again. “Listen, Shinji, there’s a lot more to people than harsh words. But sometimes those words are like wounds, and they fester like wounds. And the more you let them fester, the more painful they become. You know, some married couples don’t like going to bed while being mad at each other. It makes sense—what if something happens during the night and the last thing you say to someone you love is that you hate them? I can’t even imagine how hard that would be.”

I did tell Asuka that I hated her , Shinji thought miserably.

Misato couldn’t have known that, but her words hit him hard. Maybe she did know. Maybe he was so pathetic that she’d figured it out on her own. 

“If there’s one thing I learned from Kaji, it’s that you shouldn’t always think you’ll get a chance to make certain things right. Those chances may never come,” Misato said. And she gave him the warmest, kindest smile anyone had ever given him. “You shouldn’t let fear keep you from doing right by those you care about. Don’t repeat my mistakes.”

He nodded, feeling he ought to do at least that much to acknowledge her. Then he couldn’t look at her anymore and turned to Rei.

“I will be fine,” the blue-haired girl said before he could say anything, throwing him off momentarily. He was so predictable.

“I … I know,” Shinji stuttered a reply, wondering whether he'd ever get a chance to see her again. Like Asuka, there were so many more things he wanted to share with Rei, although in a different way. “Just … just be careful anyway.”

That he couldn’t keep her from doing what she felt she had to do filled him with helpless guilt. Perhaps if she had a real choice, if she could have said no, maybe he wouldn’t be opposed to this so badly. Someone like Ritsuko would likely point out that his acceptance or even agreement was not required. Misato was far more understanding so she wouldn’t say something like that. Rei was indifferent so she wouldn’t say anything at all. She would accept her fate in silence.

It was that silence, and the boundless heap of negative emotions it produced, which made Shinji feel like he should go.

He walked towards the door, but just as he was about to exit the locker room Misato stepped in front of him and put a hand on his right shoulder. “Shinji, don’t think for a second I will not look after her like you do.” She hugged him quickly. “Look after yourself, too. You deserve it.” 

She patted him on the back as she let him go. Shinji dipped his head in a nod, grateful for her kindness. He gave Rei one last look over his shoulder.

“I’ll see you when you get back, Rei.”

Rei Ayanami remembered not to say goodbye. “I will see you then, Shinji.”   

As he left the locker room, Shinji stopped to rub a forearm across his eyes just in case there were any tears and took a deep breath. Once he was sure he had some emotional control again, he hurriedly turned down the hall towards the elevator that would take him to the main cage and Unit-01. He found Asuka already waiting there with a sour look on her pretty face. 

Seeing her brought a familiar, awful heaviness into his chest. His first impulse was to go back the way he’d come, but his body wouldn’t obey him, and he ended up standing behind her. Asuka ignored him.

The elevator arrived. The heavy mesh grid that served as the door slid open with a rackety noise. Asuka walked inside, her footsteps oddly loud on the metal, hollow even. Shinji hesitated again, but something inside of him forced him to move forward, recalling the words Misato had just spoken and her warning about not waiting for second chances.

Of course, he didn’t want to leave things with Asuka like this. But what was he supposed to do? She hated him and he told her he hated her as well. She didn’t know it wasn’t true. He’d just been angry and hurt. He didn’t hate her at all.

The small elevator began moving, rising up on its tracks with a loud metallic noise. Shinji did his best to stop himself from looking towards Asuka, fearing how she might react. The last time they’d been alone together was … that night. 

A hundred times over Shinji had wished that he could take it all back. That somehow, he could erase those words from his mind before his mouth could utter them. Before he could make her cry. Despite all the hardships, Shinji had never seen that side of her. Asuka had been totally broken, spending months in the hospital after the Fifteenth Angel ravaged her mind and becoming unable to pilot her Eva, but even then, tears seemed as alien to her as humility. Through the pain and hurt and fear, she’d held them back. She never cried.

Until he made her.

The elevator stopped and the mesh grid opened again, allowing them into the main cage, a massive steel and concrete holding cell for their Eva units. Unit-02, its red armor gleaming in the light, loomed over them like a blood-soaked giant on the near wall, attached to metal rails which secured it to the steel plates reinforcing the cage behind it. Unit-01 waited on the far side, bolted down to its own rails. 

After hours of frantic activity Unit-00 had been moved out, but the gantries and platforms remained bustling with technicians and support crews. 

Asuka trundled out silently, walking by him as if he weren’t there. Even in his current state of mind, Shinji could not help noticing how tight the red material of her plugsuit fit her slender frame, how alluring and visible it was. The garment was supposed to aid in their synchronisation and provide protection, but in her case, it also served to showcase every curve, every bump and crease of her body.

Guilt filled his chest. He knew he was disgusting for thinking of her that way. Asuka was more than just a body, and she deserved better. She certainly deserved better than him.

And she deserved more than just silence.

"Asuka …" Shinji hesitated as he spoke, his voice barely audible. It took all his courage merely to say her name.

The redhead stopped suddenly. Shinji moved out behind her, careful not to get too close. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel uncomfortable.

"Asuka?" he repeated, fumbling for words. “I … I …”

"What?" Asuka’s tone was bitter. She turned her head to look at him, but their gazes met only for a second before Shinji looked away. He couldn't bear to see the hurt in Asuka's deep blue eyes, and he didn’t want to see the anger.

He took a deep breath. 

"Misato said … maybe we should … you know, before going into battle." His voice began to tremble. He struggled to keep it as even as possible. He sounded so childish, like a bumbling first-year student attempting to approach their senior. "We should—”

"Should what?" Asuka interrupted, clearly growing annoyed. Her hands had clenched into fists, and when she turned her shoulders, Shinji thought she might hit him. "Are you done wasting time or do you actually plan to say something important?"

"We might die, Asuka."

“And?” Asuka snapped, her voice rising to its usual shrill tone. Her eyes glared at him. “That means you’ll get your stupid wish if it ends up coming after me.”

Pouring salt on an open wound would have been less painful than hearing her say that.

Shinji fumbled for a reply, even though he knew he couldn't comfort her any more than he could stop her from hating him. That was a sad and well-established fact of their relationship, one he could no longer deny. Whatever she thought of him, that was the truth. But still he wanted to tell her how sorry he was that he had hurt her so badly, and that he would never do it again. He didn’t want her to die; far from it, he wanted to see her smile and be happy. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He was just angry. She had to know. 

He didn’t mean to make her cry.

But the words stuck in his throat, and it was agony. Asuka would shout at him, throwing back whatever he said. Shinji knew that as certainly as he knew she couldn’t stand him being next to her in that elevator. The void between them had grown too great, and he did not have the courage to cross it and simply say he was sorry.

“I guess I shouldn’t worry about that, though,” Asuka went on. “I won't be fighting. I'm not even a backup. I'm just a piece of trash they put in the Eva because there is nothing else to put in it. I’m nothing compared to—” 

“That’s not true!” Shinji quickly said. 

Her eyes narrowed, and she looked at him like he was something she might have scraped off her shoe.

“You don’t understand. You never have. Don’t talk to me anymore if all you can do is sound like an idiot. Go worry about your precious little doll. I know that’s what you really want.”

Asuka turned around and stormed towards the massive armored bulk of her Evangelion, climbing the steps leading to the uppermost loading platform set up around Unit-02. Shinji sighed heavily as he watched her go, and hoped with all his heart that those would not prove to be the last words they ever spoke to each other. He hoped he got to see her again.

When she reached the upper platform, Asuka was greeted by a technician carrying a clipboard in his hand and a scar on his face. They exchanged a few words, but Shinji couldn’t hear them. Then, after a momentary discussion, Asuka brushed past him and went to sit on the edge of the platform facing her Eva, her legs dangling over the side. There were nearly a dozen other technicians on the platform with her, moving around equipment, dragging large power cables, and readying computer terminals. None of them approached her.

Take care of yourself, Asuka, Shinji thought. I’m sorry.

Turning away from Unit-02 and its pilot, Shinji made his way to his own Eva. The metal steps rang loudly under his feet as he climbed to the platform above and found Shigeru Aoba at the top. He was also holding a clipboard.

“Good, you are here,” the long-haired operator said, one of the few crew members Shinji recognized on sight. “We should have everything ready for you in twenty minutes.”

Shinji gave him a vague nod then looked up at Unit-01. The access plate at the base of its skull lay open, revealing the circular loading jack into which the entry-plug would be inserted, a massive black hole wide enough to accommodate a public bus and rimmed with a shining steel collar.  

His entry-plug hung from a crane overhead, waiting to be moved into position. It was a glossy white with ‘EVA 01’ stenciled in black block letters. Next to it was Unit-02’s entry-plug, decorated by a pattern of zigzagging red, black and orange lines wrapping around its circumference. Asuka’s crew had taken to painting pink kill marks on the side for each angel she defeated. It had been a while since they had that honor.  

Shinji glanced again at the platform across the cage and saw that Asuka had brought her legs up to her chest. She was staring at her Eva, her face frozen with a kind of zealous determination he knew he could never feel in himself. Everyone was doing their best to leave her alone. 

“Did you have breakfast?” Aoba’s voice asked behind him.

Shinji shook his head absently, his attention still on Asuka. He hadn't had anything to eat since the previous night. Section 2 had barely even given him a chance to put his shoes on that morning before bringing him in.

“I’ll make sure we get you some energy bars,” Aoba said. “Can’t fight on an empty stomach.” 

He would only fight if Rei was dead, Shinji grimly reminded himself. And Asuka would only fight if he was dead. The thought made him feel sick. 

“I’m not hungry,” he told Aoba. 

The operator looked at him doubtfully but nodded rather than arguing with him. “Alright. I got you. Just let me know if you need anything. That’s why I'm here.”

Shinji didn’t see a point. The things he wanted most nobody could give him—not Aoba with his clipboard, not Misato with her strategies and promises, not even himself. No matter how much he wished he could.

Dropping his gaze firmly onto the deck in case Asuka decided to look his way, the Third Child found a nice sturdy metal box in a corner, wedged between a computer terminal and a spool of electrical cable, and sat down to wait. 

“They were behind schedule, but now everything seems to be in order,” Maya Ibuki finished her report on the video screen. She looked frazzled, her short brown hair a tousled mop, and there was no hiding the shadows under her eyes. She had probably not slept the previous night, like almost everyone else.

“How long before it’s ready?” Misato asked. She had expected delays. It was one of the reasons she had sent her own team to oversee the deployment.  

“An hour,” Maya said. “Maybe two. But I’ve been assured it won’t be any longer than that.”

“I hope not. That’s already cutting it kinda close,” Misato said. Retrieving the coffee cup from her console, she brought it to her lips and took a sip. It tasted awful but at least it was hot, and she needed the caffeine. “Is Rei there yet?”

“Section 2 dropped her off a few minutes ago. I’ll give her a quick update on what the plans are, but I doubt there will be time for her to take some shots with the rifle. She’s going to have to learn as she goes.”

“Rei is good at that.” Misato wondered if she should just tell Maya to have Rei read the manual—if there was a manual. “Anything else?”

Maya shook her head on the screen. “Not at the moment. Everyone’s been very helpful so far. Even the government and military staff.”

Because they are scared out of their minds , Misato thought. However, given the way things were going, she couldn’t hope for much better. “Good luck then, Maya,” she said. “And tell Rei I wish her luck too.”

“Will do, Major.” Maya saluted and turned off the connection. The screen went blank.

Misato slumped down on the nearest chair and slowly rubbed her forearm against her eyes. She felt exhausted. After nearly twelve hours of continuous and increasingly mounting tension, she had to admit the pressure was getting to her. But while she could not remember sleeping or eating since the crisis began, the emotional stress was proving much worse than the physical. 

Briefing Shinji and seeing his reaction to her plan had left her drained. Just getting the words out and standing against the objection had been hard. Harder than even briefing the Commander. Misato had anticipated what he would say. How could she not when she knew what he was like? But actually hearing the quiver in his voice and seeing the look of grief on his face had destroyed whatever courage and certainty she had managed to muster. Somehow, she’d gotten through it. 

Misato looked around her and studied the tense faces of everyone in the control room. Everyone was doing their duty, and she was proud of them for it. They knew what was at stake. They were the last and most capable defenders of humanity. Failure was not an option. 

Shinji and Asuka must have been waiting in their Evas by now, Misato realized. She hoped that it would not come down to putting them in the line of battle. If they could be safe, then maybe that would validate her decision to send out Rei. To risk her life in exchange for those of her children. Otherwise … 

“Major Katsuragi?”

Misato turned her head toward the familiar voice. “What is it, Hyuga?”

“The UN Army has reported that they have taken their positions as requested. They would like for us to submit a set of orders for them to follow,” the young operator said. “UN Command has instructed its military officers that they should accept all orders from NERV. I have a full set of operational orders for them that have already been approved by the Commander, but you are the tactical officer. I need your—”

“I approve,” Misato said.

“But I haven’t told you what they are.” Hyuga looked surprised. “Will you read the briefing?”

“I don’t care. I’m done with briefings for the moment. Besides, it’s not as if the UN will have a vital role in this. We just need to keep them busy and out of the way. They’re likely to be more of a bother to us than the Angel.”

Hyuga nodded. “I understand.”

Misato stood, suddenly unable to stay put, and walked over to the center of the huge deck, looking over the large holographic display which filled the front of the cavernous room with an extremely detained three-dimensional topographical outline of the terrain. Half a dozen screens were laid out in front, each showing separate images. On the deck below the MAGI supercomputers hummed quietly, processing the terabytes of data required for the displays, their information transfer capabilities, and basically everything else.  

Folding her arms across her chest, Misato took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. Then, after almost a full minute, she opened them again and turned to face the crew, her extended family. Men and women who would live and die by her decisions. 

“All right, people,” she said, her voice loud enough to be heard throughout the huge cavern. “It’s about that time, isn’t it? Let’s batten down the hatches and get ready for action.” She glanced towards the female operator on her right. “Haruna, has the MAGI been able to get a lock on the Angel’s energy pattern?”

“No, ma’am,” Haruna answered, sitting at Maya’s old terminal. “The pattern has been continually changing from orange to blue and back. MAGI has decided to label the target as unidentifiable.”

“That's just great,” Misato replied. “What’s the ETA on our defense airspace?”

“Two hours, sixteen minutes,” Aoba said. He had only just returned from the main cage ten minutes earlier, but Misato was glad someone she trusted had seen Shinji and Asuka into their Evas. “The target will be entering Japanese territorial airspace within the next twenty minutes. It’s slowed down considerably.”

“Thank you. Hyuga, do we have an image?”

“Yes.” Hyuga pressed a button on a nearby console and the huge screen in front of the room changed from the topographical map of Tokyo-3 to the Angel's image.

Misato recoiled in disgust as soon as her brain was able to process what her eyes were seeing. Unit-A was ugly, with a long snout and fat lips, and more bestial than any Eva she had ever seen. But the eyes … The eyes looked almost human. And red. Had they been softer and kinder, they might have resembled Rei’s. 

“Why are they still escorting it?” Misato asked, noticing the large crowd of aircraft in the picture. “The UN was supposed to pull back. Have they finally decided to switch sides?”

"No, luckily things are not that bad yet,” Hyuga said, and with a few key-presses pulled up a list of actions taken thus far against the Angel. “These are Russian fighters, mostly SU-27s, clearing a path for it over international waters. There isn’t much of a point in getting in front of something you can’t stop. At 9:23 the UN began a full-scale missile assault on the target. Here’s the video feed.”

A small square appeared on the lower left corner of the screen. On the bottom, the square read: USS H. M. JACKSON (SSBN 730). At first nothing could be seen, but then a mountain of white foam emerged from the sea like a white pillar materializing out of thin air.

The missile appeared suspended for a few seconds before the steel casing meant to protect it from the salt water was ejected and its solid fuel booster ignited in a thick jet of orange flame. The bright fiery column ascended into the blue morning sky and was soon followed by nearly a dozen others. They leveled off as the camera zoomed in. Misato saw their wings deploy.

"What are those?" she asked with a frown of curiosity. "Tomahawks?"

"Yes. Modified TLAMs by the looks of them. Satellite guided," Hyuga answered, then he shook his head. “Couldn’t tell you what it might have taken to convince the Americans to give up the position of one of their boomers. A small African country, maybe.” 

Sure enough, the submarine’s coordinates were now locked into the satellite as it was being tracked. Americans did not give up national secrets for free, and their missile submarines, especially the Ohio-class boats like this one, were at the top of that list. For them to actually agree to launch in support of a NERV operation likely meant they had been promised something worthwhile in return.

"Maybe they just don’t want to be left out of the party. It’s a shooting gallery out there, bring your own firepower,” Misato joked. Nobody laughed. “Any hits?”

The next image on the small square showed each and every one of the missiles smashing against the Angel's AT Field, creating a heaving cloud of orange and yellow. At a thousand pounds per warhead, it was quite a display.

"All direct hits," Hyuga said. He seemed impressed. "Amazing fire control, that’s for sure. But no visible damage to the target. After that, the Angel changed heading and entered Korean peninsular airspace. The Russians, fearing that the UN might try a nuclear assault, issued an ultimatum warning them not to fire anything over Korea and set up an escort with fighters out of Vladivostok. Technically, the Far East Umbrella does allow them to do that. The escorts have been instructed to pull out as soon as the Angel leaves the international airspace.” He checked the clock, “in about three minutes."

Misato pressed her lips together and frowned as another number caught her eye. “How did it figure out it should change course?”

“Well, the original Unit-A had a full communication array,” Hyuga said. “Assuming the Angel could figure out how to use it and understand the signals, it wouldn’t take much to eavesdrop on the radio traffic out there. A better question would be how this Angel managed to deduct that it’d be safer over Korea instead of over the open ocean.”

“It’s a smart little bastard, isn’t it?” Misato uncrossed her arms and leaned forward into the safety rail to get a better look at the screens. “Its parents would be proud.”

“I don’t know about it being little, but it’s definitely smart,” Hyuga said. “Too smart.”

Misato nodded. “Encrypt all our comms. We may have to shift our defensive stance if it keeps changing heading. I don’t want to run the risk of this thing actually understanding us.”

The image on the screen changed to the map of Japan, surrounded by the Pacific Ocean and the land masses of the Russian Far East, the Eastern Chinese seaboard and Korea. A small triangle marked the Angel's position on the map.

“The UN is already aware of that. So is Maya,” Hyuga said. “Unit-00 can be repositioned to the northwest if necessary, but military equipment doesn’t travel as easily as ours. We’d be looking at another lengthy delay.”

“I trust Maya. She won’t reposition unless it means losing our intercept window,” Misato said firmly. “What’s the situation in Beijing?”

The screen changed again, and this time it showed the smoking ruins of something that had once been a city. Almost half the urban areas and their surroundings were reduced to a charred, black wasteland. Black smoke rose in thick clouds into the sky, covering everything with a blackened gloom. A deep crater was all that remained of NERV’s Chinese Branch, surrounded by demolished buildings and twisted railway lines. The surveillance satellites and aircraft flew too high for the images to show any bodies. 

Misato was thankful for that. 

Hyuga looked away as he spoke. "The UN has diverted most of its land forces in the region to assist the Chinese government with recovery operations. The Russians have done so as well. However, the Red Army itself is reluctant to cross the border without explicit permission. They are simply taking care of some refugees and sending supplies for now. Because of the magnitude of the catastrophe, NERV can no longer rely on its China Branch, nor can we depend on the Chinese government. No word yet as to what the final number of casualties is, but the UN and the Chinese government are being conservative on the estimates. Every self-respecting country in the world is sending or promising aid, but no doubt they too expect something in return."

“Like always,” Misato said, her tone low and grim. “It’s too bad that there is nothing we can do for those people. We have enough things to worry about already.”

“Speaking of which,” Aoba spoke up from behind her, “the civilian authorities want to know what we plan to do about the innocent people in the city.”

Misato mused that one over for a few seconds, but in the end, there was not a whole lot she could do. She gave Aoba a determined look.

“Is the general alarm not enough?” Misato said. “Taking care of those people is their responsibility.” 

The people in the city should already know the drill. The local government had originally been planning to begin evacuating the whole area surrounding the city, but they had lost so much time on the arrangements that the only place the people would be able to go were the underground shelters. With all the budget cuts, nobody had bothered keeping those maintained and there was no telling what sort of conditions they might be in. Regardless, they certainly would be safer than being outside.

“Major Katsuragi?”

Misato immediately recognized the voice of Ritsuko Akagi. She turned as the blonde woman walked across the deck towards her. Like everyone else, Ritsuko looked tired. Her lab coat was wrinkled, with the sleeves rolled up to reveal nicotine patches on her forearms. The lines under her eyes spoke of sleeplessness. 

“What now, Ritsuko?” Misato said, narrowing her eyes suspiciously as she leaned back and slumped against the rail above the console. “More problems?”

“Not really,” the blonde doctor replied. “Shinji and Asuka are prepped and ready, and Unit-01 has been cleared for combat status. I thought you might want to know.”

“Thanks. Two less issues to worry about,” Misato said, trying not to sound as concerned as she felt. People expected her to be reliable, not emotional. “We’ll have a great show shortly. Would you care to stay? I could sure use your help up here.”

Ritsuko shrugged. “I suppose so. How’s the coffee?”

“Absolutely awful.”

“At least some things never change,” Ritsuko replied.

Misato forced a smile at her old college friend, but it was a meaningless gesture and Ritsuko ignored it. Tired as they already were, they both knew the worst was yet to come.