Here we go! I'm sure there are a couple of typos mixed in, but I'll get those before it goes to ff.net. Minimal italics as well because 6k words. Enjoy!
* * *
He wasn't tired- not in anyway that really mattered. Dashing wildly through Central Dogma, Shinji listened to the voices trickling into one ear. Sounds from the command center filtered through the distant, urgent requests for action or information. Misato's voice had dropped, hitting familiar and reassuring notes of command.
Running along the walls to conserve speed at the corners, Shinji forced his jaw to relax. "Rei. How many?"
"Three, Specialist." Rei's response was immediate and terse, managing to make her whisper drown out the din and blood pounding in his ears. "Communications are unsecured, so keep transmissions brief."
Which explained her using his code name. Shinji resisted the urge to nod, only tapping his throat microphone twice like the manual said. The double-burst of static cut off the command center sounds for a split second, but Shinji still heard snatches. Reports on securing the Geofront, status of search teams, and still more things he could barely think to name. Not one mention of him as a pilot or Specialist though.
Ritsuko clicked in, terse and to the point. "Specialist. The core material weapons will damage AT-fields, including yours. Be advised."
"Roger that." It wasn't a necessary reminder, but a good one.
With only a few hallways left to go, Shinji scowled. He was no military genius, but he'd been in one hostage situation, and could recognize another one in the making. Ahead, he saw smears and pools of red, and the dead security teams. Racing past them, he saw their clothes and belts were torn apart. Their radios and weapon holsters were missing.
Slowing, but still moving faster than most elite soldiers, Shinji clenched and unclenched his fists. Hostages, weapons... cyborg opponents with superhuman capability. He couldn't afford to pull his punches. Reaching inward, Shinji dropped into the first motion, moving forward even as he shaped his soul into the form needed. A mantle, a declaration of inevitable victory settled in across his arms and shoulders along with a faintly glowing shine of sunbeams piercing the clouds. Shinji hefted the weight of power in his hands and felt that it was good.
But it wasn't enough. He needed more. An absoluteness. Against superhuman opposition, he needed a greater edge. Attaining the necessary understanding was surprisingly simple, and Shinji felt the thunderous revelation echo throughout his soul. Switching his stance one more time, he called forth an enduring quality of excellence.
With hands covered in dirt and dried blood, Shinji declared them weapons, nodding. Ahead, the door to the labs waited like it was calling to him, demanding he throw it open and declare his arrival. Doing that would also be a great way to get shot. Cocking his head to one side, Shinji stared at the wall next to the door.
Quietly, Shinji held a hand to his throat microphone and clicked it once. Rei clicked back twice, and he whispered. "Rei, are there any cameras in the labs?"
"Yes. One moment."
* * *
The laboratory itself was large, maybe the size of a school gymnasium, but divided up by rows of fabricating machinery, tables, and research materials. The doors were locked tight, and the three invaders had commanding fields of fire over the thirty or so hostages. The largest cyborg towered over everyone by more than half a meter. Four arms made quick work of arranging the scientists and engineers into rows and fashioning rope from salvaged wire and conduit. At the same time, he interrogated them in clipped tones, learning the topic of their research.
The other two spindly, naked cyborgs were damaged, but it did not seem to impact them overmuch. One was missing most of his head, but the sword and sub-machine gun he held were both rock steady. The other had its arm cut off at the bicep, leaving it off balance but compensating easily for the pistol in its remaining hand. The two of them watched the doorways and walls, attuned with vibration sensors set to detect breaching charges on the opposite side.
They had no warning for someone simply kicking down the wall.
* * *
Glaring through the powder and debris, Shinji charged out of the ruined wall and into the lab. He hopped onto and skated with the fallen wall panels, slicing across. The ninjas were already moving. Shinji's plan worked better than he expected though- the two smaller cyborgs had stumbled under the flying wave of wreckage, wasting precious seconds as they scrambled upright. Most of the scientists and engineers were lashed together or bound, screaming first in surprise then fury. Not at Shinji though, not yet at least.
The one with the pistol squeezed off a quick burst of fire, and Shinji raised his arms. The hot lead pounded into his forearms, sending ripples through the muscle and leaving hot welts, but he was already dashing forward. He didn't fear guns, not right then at least.
Seeing the hostages cringe with each muzzle flash though, he knew they were afraid, and rightly so. While his fellows found their feet and pressed the assault, the big cyborg waded into the cluster of NERV personnel. Shinji glanced aside, grimly aware of the burnished red spikes on the four knuckles. The other two were the priority for now.
The swordsman raised his sub-machine gun and fired a burst, fighting the recoil with hydraulic actuator and sheer experience. Bullets flashed across the dozen or so meters and smashed into Shinji's stomach or sailed through the hole back out into the hallway, cratering the far wall. Bruised, Shinji scowled and charged ahead. He vaulted a table, ducking under another bullet and blocking two more with the palm of his hand.
Tossing his pistol aside, the one-armed cyborg reached for his side and pulled a handful of gleaming steel darts. Shinji could hear the faint squeak of rubber pads on the fingertips as they gripped the shafts, and inhuman articulation let the cyborg fling the spikes across the lab in the blink of an eye. Two bounced off his warding arm, but the third sank into Shinji's flesh, and he bit back the burning pain. Scrambling, Shinji vaulted for cover as more darts punched halfway through a plastic table, while more bullets ripped ragged holes in same.
Shinji pressed his back against the table, groaning despite himself. A sick feeling seemed to drip out of his injured limb. Cherry red material gleamed under the fluorescent lights, as did the rapidly citrine looking patch of flesh. Shinji bit back the scream, focusing more on getting the lance dart out of his arm. He yanked it free, feeling a surge of freezing cold reach down to the bone. A hunk of his body peeled away, leaving a wet, almost liquid crater behind. Huffing, Shinji felt his eyes spasm at the unpain before he clamped a hand around his wrist and willed himself to if not rightness, then not-wrong.
Peeking through a hole in the table, he exhaled. He wasn't going to let one of those hit him again, that was for damn sure.
More impacts peppered the table, throwing out brief plumes of splintered wood past Shinji's head. Throwing his arms around the table legs and his heels into the ground, he shoved hard against the table. Shinji and the growing wave of debris and equipment slammed into one of the cyborgs, sending it tumbling over the table and into his lap. The one-armed cyborg stared up at him with a blank black sensor strip for a split second, but then it blurred. A handful of those red core spikes sailed for his temple in an icepick grip. Leaning out of the way, Shinji let the strike whip past his head and slam into the table's struts hard enough to break one of the spikes apart.
Cobra-quick, the cyborg kept striking, gouging out more holes in the table as Shinji reached out and tugged the man fully over the edge and into his grip. His fingertips dug through alloy, crushing joints and actuators like they were paper. Ducking one last strike, Shinji caught the darting arm against his side, pulling and twisting until his body weight shattered under the strain. Rising to his knees, Shinji leaned on the cyborg's legs and crushed them too, keeping his head down.
Along the wall, the hostages- people he recognized for good reasons and bad- they continued to scream or cry. Bullets peppered the ruined wall, and Shinji risked a glance over the edge of the table. A heavy office chair sailed through the air and broke the weakened table in half, nearly knocking Shinji aside. He turned into the blow at the last second, driving a knife-hand into the cushion and through the aluminum bottom plate. Sneaking a quick glance past the improvised attack, he saw the bigger cyborg reach back for more furniture.
The ninja with the gun and sword squeezed off another burst, stitching a line across the tiled floor and up Shinji's foot. Cringing and whipping back, Shinji clenched his foot and soul, willing his flesh to turn the bullets aside. Stamping down hard with that same foot, Shinji dug his heel into the cracked tile and the concrete floor beneath it. He drove forward, digging out a rising furrow that threw up a wave of wreckage across the battleground into the ninja's knees. Desks and machinery were pushed aside at the impact, and the ninja staggered back, stomping on stick legs.
It was the opportunity Shinji needed, breaking into a quick burst of speed, scrambling over the high rising trench edges he'd kicked open seconds before. Ruined floor material cracked and broke away under each step, but he was moving faster still. Bullets flashed past Shinji's head as he closed in- one slammed into his hardened cheek and bounced away, the others peppering his chest and arms. The ninja flailed, tossing the gun away after it clicked empty, moving to grab its red-edged sword in both hands. That was something Shinji didn't care to take chances with.
Slashing once from shoulder to hip, the ninja charged forward. It was fast, disgutingly so. Muscles had only so much impulse, but Shinji could hear the hydraulics and servos whine as they were pushed to their limits. Rearing back, Shinji gave the first swing all the space it needed to sail back, but the ninja corrected at an impossible angle, spinning its wrist around a full three-sixty and drawing the blade up and across in a belly-splitting reversal. Shinji sucked in his gut, jerking his hips back and away even as he rocked on both heels. Teetering for that split second, Shinji felt his soul respond, and the sublime dexterity shone through.
Then he pitched forward, hand braced on the ninja's wrist and mechanical shoulder for a split second. Not to grab, crush or rend, he didn't have the time for that. Instead Shinji rose up high and reached for the ceiling with his toes, his hands braced on the ninja's head and shoulders in an impromptu handstand. The invader tossed its sword to the other hand and stabbed straight vertical, but Shinji only needed to chamber a kick and let fly. His heel slammed into the ceiling, and from above a torrent of dust, rebar and concrete cascaded down.
Pelted on all sides by the sudden collapse, Shinji pistoned his arms and pushed off, out of the ruin and landing in a fluid crouch a few meters away. The swordsman wasn't as quick, vanishing beneath the rising mound of wreckage. Rising and caked with dust that poured off in thick streams, Shinji turned toward the large cyborg.
The crack of snapping bone was surprisingly loud.
Shinji flinched, and his eyes locked onto the mechanical hand that had clamped around the scientist's unmistakably broken arm. The huge cyborg lifted the hostage up, and small red lights flickered behind the black sensor strip. Shinji couldn't tell if they were eyes, but they gave him something to look at. He tensed his fingers, curling them into claws before balling them up into heavy fists. The cyborg raised one hand, bristling with red spikes, and held it dangerously close to the hostage's jaw. It was Tsukasa Hirano, one of the men he'd condemned to isolation for not working.
"Shinji Ikari." The cyborg spoke with accented English, notably putting his given name first. "This can be a clean transaction. Retrieve my companions from the rubble, and we shall discuss further terms."
Scowling, Shinji let out a low, muted breath. He'd been trained by soldiers. None of them had gone much into talking, other than how to bellow out orders when subduing someone. He flexed his hands again, open, claw and back into a fist. The weight and potential to rend the cyborg limb from limb was there, but he was more than a dozen meters away. The other scientists and engineers huddled against the far wall behind the big cyborg, still shackled together in an improvised chain-gang. The other cyborg in the mound of debris was moving, slowly digging his own way out, too.
The seconds ticked by, and a bead of sweat trickled down Shinji's face, leaving a slightly less filthy line through the caked on dust. He looked at the civilians, utterly aware of the anger, fear and frustration etched into their faces. They needed him, something that he couldn't name. The feeling simmered in his chest, a drive to move, to act. The scientists and engineers needed something more than just a fighter, or even a savior.
In his ear, he heard Rei whisper her softest reassurances, reminding her that she was with him. Another two seconds passed, and then the answer appeared to him, almost unbidden and absolutely welcome.
"No, there's not going to be any transaction." Shinji closed his eyes and took in a deep, steady breath, then exhaled. Hope was what they needed. "They're all going to walk out of here, and you'll have to go through me if you want to hurt them again!"
Shinji's eyes snapped open, and in the same instant, the lab was filled with sunlight. The flickering disc upon his brow burst out into full resolution, gleaming solid gold and not stopping there. Spreading out for meters in every direction, Shinji was sunlight, surrounded by it. And in that same instant as his Anima flared, he charged. Leaping across the distance, Shinji threw both feet forward, driving his heels into the cyborg's middle. The inspector doubled over from the impact, tumbling toward the knot of hostages and falling to the ground with a clicking, plastic bang.
Hirano slipped out of the cyborg's hold and tumbled gracelessly to the ground, bouncing off his captor's thigh before hitting tile. Despite a broken arm, the man picked up his feet and scurried away. Meanwhile, Shinji scrambled with pumping limbs, pressing his palms and toes into the cyborg's body and vaulting away before two pairs of fists slammed together. His pantlegs fluttered, snapping harshly against his ankles as he swung his legs around, fighting for space. The cyborg was big, and it had reach- a disgusting amount of reach.
Nearly skipping away, Shinji had maybe a second to get his bearings and back into the fight. Or maybe five seconds- the hostages had broken away from the wall and found their courage, dogpiling the big cyborg and throwing bound arms over its limbs. They tugged with all their might, pulling and screaming without words. The inspector might have had the strength of ten men, but there were far more than ten men wrenching at his arms. Despite that, the cyborg shot upright with an oily motion, spinning left and right fast enough to cast the scientists and engineers away like raindrops.
Shinji bounced back to his feet and dashed forward again, vaulting the scientists and all but gliding atop their shoulders, hands above the swirling melee. Everywhere he moved, he carried the sunlight with him, casting the world in noonday tones. Stopping for half a second on the cyborg's shoulder, Shinji swung one leg up high and brought it down in a whistling axe kick. His heel slammed into armored head hard enough to make something crack. The cyborg swung out with three limbs- one towards Shinji's ankle, while the other two flung bodily the impromptu mob apart, four scientists at a time.
Leaping up and bouncing off the ceiling, Shinji darted back to the ground in a wide sprawling crouch. Flipping back his feet, he waded back into the fray. The big cyborg towered above him, and that was when Shinji wondered if that was how everyone else felt around him. Casting aside the last of the mob and shedding the improvised snares, the inspector lashed out with two fists at Shinji's face.
The faintly lustrous bloody red spikes were terrifying. He was imagining it, but Shinji could almost see the rippling quality that let them rend souls. The cyborg was fast too, a three swing combo followed the first two punches. Finding himself on the defensive, Shinji hunkered down and set his stance. The cyborg had range, but he had skill. The technique was the easiest one he knew, the simplest expression of his arete. It simply generated raw capability from nothing, and he needed every bit of it. His only tactic right then was to be absolutely certain of every incoming strike, to turn them aside without being touched in return.
Jabs shifted into lightning-quick hooks or aborted into crosses. The cyborg knew his body, knew the inhuman joints and articulation like Shinji knew his own sinew. The pilot huffed, cupping wrists and fighting against servos to turn the incoming strikes aside. Turning sidelong, he took a moment to deflect with just one arm while shoving more of the scientists out of the way. The cyborg pressed his weight advantage though, forcing Shinji to give ground toward the mound of wrecked lab. One step, two step, shuffling through the battleground. They were very nearly boxing.
Shinji wasn't a boxer though. He read the pattern and ducked, swinging out both arms in a wide arc to slam both fists into the cyborg's hinged knees. To most the impact would have tickled, stung the nerves. For Shinji, victory was his privilege in close combat. The doubled strike crumpled metal and plastic, and the cyborg's legs let out an unhealthy whine as he stumbled back.
Rising, Shinji moved to follow up when Rei's voice filled his ear. "Behind you!"
The cyborg in the rubble had freed itself, leaping into combat and swinging its red-edged weapon into Shinji's neck. Or it would have, if not for the hostages throwing a dozen lengths of cable up and around it's legs and pulling. The smaller fighter dropped like a stone, slamming its ruined head into the ground. One of the scientists stomped on the blade while the others scrambled to disarm it, sawing at the shoulder with hand tools in awkward grips.
Focusing on the big one, the leader, Shinji barely had enough time to duck as another punch sailed overhead. It was close enough to whip through his hair. Rising, Shinji threw his own arms up and over, wrapping around the overextended limb. It was one of the man's lower arms, he noted. Braced with his own arm spiraling around, Shinji pivoted at the hips then the toes, ripping through electric muscle and hydraulics. The arm came off with a metallic screech. The inspector doubled back, feeling no pain but accounting now for the weaker side.
Tendons clamped down on the stump shoulder as hard as a vice grip. Now Shinjii had range. He swung the severed arm up and into the cyborg's body, and the inspector blocked, throwing his own forearms against the blow. The artificial limbs bounced away with a sharp crack, and Shinji was already moving. He whirled, stepping into the larger fighter's shadow and driving one elbow into the man's pelvis, sending a spiderweb of cracks through the brittle plastic and ceramic parts. A furious counterstrike cratered the floor and nearly clipped Shinji's heel during the frantic dodge.
Screaming from the civilians forced Shinji to look a way for an instant, and he paled. Two of the scientists had been wounded, cut by the red blade and already losing cohesion. He had no time or chance to save them. The other men and women didn't let the casualties slow them down. They kept fighting, tying on more cable and rope, grabbing whatever they could to pin the cyborg down. Dodging another blistering series of jabs, Shinji swung his borrowed arm up and forward into an overhead blow. It slammed into the cyborg's head and broke the red knuckles against the hardened brow.
The shards gleamed in the burning sphere of sunlight, and Shinji swung his weapon twice more, denting the cyborg's chest and shoulders with everything he had. On the third and last strike his weapon shattered utterly, spilling apart into lose cables and alloy. The big inspector charged through the ruined parts and tackled Shinji around the middle. One arm circled around his middle while the other two chambered punches, aiming for his kidneys with soul-rending weapons. Shinji dug his heels into the ground hard enough to cut trenches through the tile, and fought the clinch with everything he had.
Before the blows could land, his toes caught on rebar and gave him everything he needed to flip the cyborg up and over his head, bending backwards in an improvised bridge. The inspector landed hard, sprawling as the body slam broke his assault. Working quickly, Shinji darted around and grabbed one of the cyborg's hands, lifting it up and pounding it down into the floor. The knuckle spikes shattered, and he scrambled for the next. The second set broke as easily as the first, but the cyborg was ready by the third. Spinning its wrist around, it grabbed him and pulled, swinging the boy around by his arm and into a desk, a milling machine, and then the ceiling.
Spitting out blood, Shinji snarled and fought for traction. The two fighters dug in for whatever they could get their free hands or feet on, bending and twisting around the other. Each move was part of a plan to break the other. Cables and systems were ripped out of every surface, machines were crumpled as they grappled, throwing up sparks and shorting out the lights in guttering patches- not that it mattered, as Shinji's mere presence scoured away the shadows.
Shinji wrenched his arm free and dug his steel-rending fingers into the cyborg's hand, shredding the palm and letting the stump fall away in mechanical ruin. Swinging around, Shinji caught the next limb under his armpit, then the second on that same side. Now with his hand tangled in the cyborg's stump, Shinji looked up, and his burning gold brand shone out above his brow. The words came from within, in a language that never existed.
"Heaven. Thunder. Hammer."
The headbutt sent the cyborg flying into the far wall and one of the wrecked junction boxes. All the lights along that wall guttered out and shattered as the power overloaded, electrocuting the inspector and leaving him a helpless wreck. Shinji sniffed, suddenly aware of all the dust in his nose. The three ruined arms fell to the floor from his tearing grip.
Slowly, Shinji let out a long sigh of relief. He glanced around at the labs, past the damage and ruined facilities. He was achingly aware of the forty or so pairs of eyes on him. His corona, his Anima was bright enough to make them shield their eyes with raised hands. They stood outside the almost tangible dome of sunlight, fidgeting openly. More than a few of them had taken up tools to cut themselves free, leaving about half of the gathered men and women rubbing absently at their wrists.
The one-armed cyborg was hauled out of the rubble, little more than a mechanical paraplegic. Fully unarmed, the one with the sword had been pulled over as well, and both were bound up with chain and thick knots of cable. The crew and mechanics were wrestling with the urge to kick them while they were down, but even Shinji could see their hearts weren't really in it. Everyone present just let the silence stretch out between them, like it was some profound truth they were waiting to understand. Shinji wasn't sure either way, but they were safe, and that was what mattered.
A sputtering, hissing gurgle echoed out, and everyone immediately spun to the ready, raising arms and weapons at the sound. The most damaged cyborg spasmed, its chest rocking back and forth while something inside let out a keening electric whine. The tone built in pitch until it cut off with a wet, sloppy noise, and the cyborg slumped flat. What was left of it's limbs splayed out like a puppet with its strings cut. A thin curl of steam and the faint stink of something that had been cooked too long hit Shinji's nose, and he frowned.
Moments later, the swordsman did the same thing, and Shinji blinked once, twice. Those with medical and cybernetic expertise hunkered down next to the cyborgs and declared what Shinji already suspected- that they had microwaved their internal organs. Seconds ticked by, and Shinji glanced at the fallen leader. The inspector hadn't moved since being shocked. He started moving slowly, picking up speed as the hunch gnawed at him. Sliding on his knees to crouch near the man, he scrambled to assess.
Cracking the torso was easy, and rooting through the innards was enlightening to say the least. Efficient life-support, nervous system emulation, artificial hormone regulation and the works. The man had fully realized human biology compacted down into something the size of a lunch box. One of the armored containers was labeled A. Giraud, and Shinji finally had a name. The hostage situation had ended maybe two minutes ago, but with that name, the inspector became a person. There were a lot of things Shinji didn't know about himself, but one thing he did know, was that he wasn't willing to let someone die. Not if he was in a position to prevent it.
"Okay Giraud-san... you are unconscious..." He worked fast, skipping the normal diagnostic practice for something quick and effective.
The man's living parts were all more or less in tact, aside from the obvious cybernetics. Reaching in, Shinji touched and confirmed the magnetron cuddled up next to the armored braincase. His fingers dug in, but Giraud's body shuddered around him.
The voice was synthisized, but sounded perfectly normal. "I will trigger my explosive failsafe, Mister Ikari. I assure you, I have one."
Shinji sighed, in some ways grateful that he triggered an emergency resuscitation response. Adrenaline or some kind of direct nervous stimulation probably. "And I'm less than a second from rendering you a moot point, Giraud-san."
"Charming," The cyborg drawled. "but your father was always the superior diplomat."
To that, Shinji cocked his head to the left, then the right, humming. "Family history of stroke. Diabetic. Cervical spinal stenosis... I can see why you traded up."
"Impressive, but remain at an impasse. I cannot let you capture me," The mostly featureless head dipped down. "and you have your arm halfway inside my torso. Your bargaining posture is highly dubious."
Shinji couldn't dignify that anything other than a shrug. "Then let's get this over with. Whenever you're ready, Giraud-san."
The cyborg inspector nodded, and though he lacked a mouth, it was easy to hear the smile in the man's voice. "It was a pleasure to face you on the field of battle, Mister Ikari. Au revoir."
A great many things happened immediately after that. Shinji couldn't see or feel the electrical signals, but he heard the charge building in the magnetron. Even a fraction of a second exposure was crippling, and it was all he could do to rip the thing out as fast as possible. Other devices and failsafes started to trigger, and Shinji found himself racing to beat the systems and stabilize the man's abbreviated biology. Poison-loaded tubes were pinched off while deflecting other microwave pulses from elsewhere in the cyborg's body. Shinji's fingers were a blur, beating a tattoo of restorative pressure points against organ sheaths and the like. Every few seconds the man was dying to something, over and over.
Behind him, the former hostages crowded around, aware enough to give him space but curious nonetheless. He licked his lips again, panting. "I need a table! And sterile trays, a few inches deep if you can!"
They were hesitant at first, not that he blamed them. Some let their inherent natures as scientists and doctors win out, moving slowly at first, but some of their fellows pulled out of the crowd. The hostages were splitting even as he tried to save the inspector, muttering belligerently and gesturing wildly at the fallen invader and Shinji. Again, not something he blamed them for.
One of the scientists stepped forward, raising a hand to ward off the towering dome of sunlight. He scowled, sweaty and red-faced. "Where do you get off on ordering us? To save him? He and the rest of them had us at gun and sword point!"
Shinji didn't have an answer for that, even if the man deserved one for what he did. His jaw worked uselessly, but the inspector was destroying himself far too quickly. It left the pilot fighting a battle on two fronts, and he remembered something Sorhyu had said to him, months ago. It sucked, but he had to do it. Someone shoved and yelped, pushing their way through the crowd. It was Hirano-san, cradling a visibly broken arm.
His most vocal detractor- the last detractor during his reign of prototyping dictatorship fixed Shinji with a wide, steely look. "What do you need, Ikari?"
Grunting, Shinji didn't let the lack of honorific bother him. The sweaty leader bristled, sending his mustache quivering. "What are you doing? Doing anything he says is crazy! You remember what he did, especially to you Hirano! You can't listen to him!"
"Bullshit!" The injured man hissed back, even as Shinji worked. "We need him and each other, and keeping this guy alive might mean all of this meant something!"
Standing suddenly, Shinji turned, not to tower over the shorter men and women, but to make it clear he meant what he said. Surrounded on all sides by sunlight, he looked each of them in the eye, sneaking glances at the dying cyborg at his feet. "I don't have any right to give out orders anymore, but please, help me save this man."
He didn't wait for an answer, Giraud didn't have time. The crew all shuffled, muttering amongst themselves about how two of their friends had died as well. Even though only a few seconds passed, a handful men and women gathered around his Anima took a step inside. Another group followed the first, until more than half of the team offered their hands and skills. Shinji let out a wan smile, asking again for the trays even as some of the other technicians started filtering through the rubble.
And there was something else he needed. "Rei, are you there?"
"I am here Shinji." She was almost whispering. "You've done well."
"Maybe." He grunted, securing one more organ against failure. Giraud had a strong heart, maybe stronger than his martyrdom complex. "Listen, I need LCL. Is there any near me?"
It didn't take long for her to find the answer. More accurately Ritsuko found it and between them relayed the location to Shinji. By that time, he'd ripped out the last failsafe including the plastique explosive, impregnated with ultradense bearings apparently. The NERV team had returned with the trays he wanted, and Shinji began dragging Giraud's unconscious and insensate living parts out of the armored combat body. The case for the brain, the artificial lungs, heart and other minor organs that were so integral to the man's function. It added up to a tiny fraction of human parts, but Giraud was alive, and Shinji could work with that. It was going to be just like Sorhyu, lots of procedures, but far less grumbling.
Questions were hanging on the tips of tongues as Shinji laid all the parts of Giraud into their own little trays. The next and important part was that LCL, and someone had the forethought to grab a wheeled table. Dragging it out into the corridors, he and the freed hostages headed deeper into the outlying labs. If his idea worked, he'd have to remember to polish it up for later.
The new lab was for one, undamaged, and Shinji ignored the rest of it in favor of the clearly labled tanks along one wall. He had no idea what anyone needed LCL for other than piloting and making Rei's stabilizer, but right now he needed it's life-affirming properties. The glowing wire traceries of his Anima burst out into view once more, reaching out to anoint his tools with mudra and gesture. Filling the trays one by one, he felt sweat bead down his face. He wasn't running on certainty, no assurance that he was right, just a hunch. The self-contained organs had their own circulatory systems with independent power, and he broke them open to let them accept the LCL, mingling with Giraud's blood-substitute.
He waited a few seconds, then a few minutes, eyes darting left and right as if he were reading the air. Finally, Shinji let out a deep, shuddering breath.
"I-Ikari-san?" One of the technicians finally spoke up. "What just happened?"
Shinji scrubbed his face and glanced through his splaced fingers. "Well, assuming he doesn't die between now and then, his body is going to grow back in about a week. Ish. I'm not entirely sure."
Everyone that had followed him exchanged wary glances, but took the statement at face value. Most of them were painfully familiar, but Shinji had memorized their medical histories more than their faces or names. It wasn't a very fun thing to consider. The hostile man from earlier- Shinji regretting that couldn't remember his actual name- shouldered his way through the crowd.
Huffing, the old man's shoulders trembled, and he held back whatever he wanted to say with clenched teeth. "Director, if you hadn't noticed we are still on high-alert status. We can handle our own."
Then he sagged, as if he'd vented the last of whatever anger and frustration had been holding him up. "Personal feelings aside, I think you can be of more use somewhere else."
"Maybe," Shinji admitted. Filling his lungs with one deep, fortifying breath, he let it all out in a sputtering rush.
Finally, dusting offf his pants and standing upright, he walked through the crowd, and it parted like a river before him. Hirano-san was nursing his broken arm, and Shinji raised his hands but did not touch. The man looked up, nodded once, glasses shaking on his nose. Shinji bit his lip and pressed his hands against the joints, numbing the pain first and then pushing the broken parts together. The dome of sunlight and glowing arms reappeared then, reverently blessing the action with each gesture.
The group that had gathered around let out a collective breath, even as Hirano gave his arm an experimental flex. Healing, but more intact than it had any right to be.
Shinji looked across the crowd, seeing them all with varied expressions ranging from more fear and anger, to relief and possibly even a little hope. He tried to make a personal judgement, to understand what they were feeling as whole, but there wasn't any quick or simple answer. Shinji had realized not long ago that neither he or anyone present needed each other for closure... But now, there was no better time for it.
"Doctor... Nakahara." With flesh and blood hands, he pressed his palms together. Behind him and radiating out from the mandala wheel, his ever-moving Anima did the same. "Do you want that cancer taken care of?"
