Sovereignty of Evangelium: Arrival (Evangelion AU)

[Lord Sovereign]

"We all know our duty to the Crown, but we don't put our children in redcoats at school, be it Grammar, Trade, or otherwise. The Japanese…they just see them as a bunch of potential reservists for a future war against China or us." British Ambassador to Japan Sir Lloyd-James to Lord Chancellor Cromford.

XXI​

Shinji thrust as best he could. The stick that stood in for a rifle struck the straw dummy with a light thud. The strike was entirely off centre, sticking the would-be Chinese soldier in his shoulder instead of his heart.

Shinji's eardrums exploded a split second later.

"What the fuck was that!?" Sergeant Saito stood so close that his breath filled Shinji's nostrils.

"I-I tried-" He winced as Saito's cane nastily prodded him in the gut.

"Tried isn't good enough. That fucker is here to kill you and all your friends. So when you stick him, stick him in the fucking heart. Now get to the back of the line, and Gods help you if you fuck up again, Cadet Ikari."

Shinji did as he was told and walked as quickly as he could, fighting off the urge to break into a run. Saito in his estimation was like any predatory animal: if he smelt fear, he'd go in for the kill.

Like the Seraph…

Some of the other boys laughed at him. Their curiosity was already turning into contempt. The girls meanwhile raised their noses in amusement and faint disgust, although Hikari flashed him a sympathetic look.

One of the boys, only a little shorter than Toji and about as muscled, folded his arms and smirked.

"At least we all know who the meat shield is."

At that the two boys closest to him sniggered.

Oh shit.

Shinji knew who he was. His name was Taro Seki, their resident school bully and one of the primary competitors for dominance in the classroom. And, like Saito, he'd just smelled weakness.

Can I please stop walking into trouble for one day?

Shinji resolutely refused to meet his gaze and continued to the back of the line. As if some divine entity had heard his plea and decided to punish him for it, he found himself next to Toji. Fortunately, the ordered chaos and cacophony of camp Tsuyama managed to fend off any real conversation.

Nestled in the hills of Hakone, it was a two square mile slab of concrete and tarmac, ringed in by a cruel barbed wire fence. According to Saito there could be two or three full divisions worth of "you shits" there at any time and Shinji believed him. Formation of Nakisawame's children, ranging from platoons to battalions, marched or jogged past them. In their khaki trainee uniforms they were taught the bare basics of warfare: to march and to kill. It was a scene repeated across the Home Islands as a new generation of the Emperor's warriors were raised into his service. Despite the whine of Manmitsu engines as tanks and trucks drove by, or the scream of VTOLs overhead, Shinji could still make out the sounds of thousands of boots tramping in unison.

Hearing such a tramping, his eyes drifted over to a company of older students from Sengokuhara High. Unlike their juniors they wore the army's navy blue and marched with the same precision Shinji had seen the marines parade with at Kure. With Arisaka rail rifles over their shoulders, their bayonets glinted in the summer sun. They were truly striking.

I wonder if I'll ever get to wear a uniform like that? He hid a humourless chuckle. No. I'm pretty obviously not cut out to be a soldier, let alone a sailor. Besides, the Navy's uniforms don't look much like that.

"Quite something aren't they?" Toji followed his gaze.

"…yeah…" Shinji murmured then realised who he was talking to. Immediately, he forced some jumbled words out to suppress any mention or thought of Sakura Suzuhara. "You…er…want to be a soldier?"

"Me? No." Toji laughed humourlessly. "I don't have the time."

"Right."

Shinji turned his mind back to the matter at hand, of "sticking" a straw Chinese soldier, praying their conversation ended there. He was unlucky, of course.

"How are you holding up from earlier?" Toji said.

"What? Oh, that." Shinji winced over his sudden disappearance and the suspicion it aroused. "I'm fine."

"You didn't look it, buddy."

"A bit of my sandwich disagreed with me."

"Must have been one hell of a sandwich. If anything, you seemed kinda upset about what happened to my sister."

Shinji felt his heart pound in his throat.

He's suspicious. Shit, shit, shit.

"It-it…it's a terrible thing to happen. M-my condolences."

Toji frowned. "Well thanks, I guess…" He suddenly looked up, like a fox smelling danger in the wind. "Quiet now. Saito will cut our tongues out if he hears us speaking out of turn."

"Mm." Shinji nodded at that without a hint of disagreement. Despite it being a welcome distraction, he would have liked a distraction less vicious than Sergeant Saito.

Their turn approached, and he got another good luck at their drill sergeant. Built like a gorilla with a face that looked as if it had been squashed by a frying pan, Saito had beady brown eyes that maliciously peered out at everyone around him. They were all insults to his army, and it was his mission in life to turn the insults into soldiers or grind them into paste.

The worst part was, in a way, he was right. The hideous scar that ran from chin to forehead told Shinji enough about his experience. In a way it complemented his greying brown, military cut hair and stubble. He had the look of a veteran, one who'd killed many, many times.

I wonder where he fought? For a moment, Shinji pondered whether or not this man had fought in the Siege of Tsuyama, the famous battle for which this camp was named.

Shinji's turn came.

After Toji had finished jabbing the dummy straight in its heart, Shinji marched up and thrust again. Meeting no further luck, bouncing off its "stomach", he sagged and sighed.

"Oh, what's the use?" He muttered under his breath.

Unfortunately, he hadn't been quiet enough.

"What's the use!?" Saito's voice went off like an artillery barrage in his ear. Shinji's teeth nearly chattered. Almost immediately, his stick was snatched from his hands and he was hoisted one hundred and eighty degrees to look his classmates in the face. Saito stood at his side. He dwarfed him in both width and height.

"Cadet Ikari here is wondering what the point of this is." Saito's snarled.

"I-I-I didn't mean-" Shinji winced as Saito struck him in the arm.

"He probably thinks that war is a range game now. That knife work is beneath a technologically advanced military. No doubt some of you maggots think the same." The sergeant began to pace.

"You are thinking wrong. At some point, you will face someone eye to eye who wants to kill you. He will take his 'primitive' weapon and cut your fucking throat out with it! Do you understand me!?"

"Yes, sergeant!" Twenty fearful teenagers shouted.

"Uh-huh, I bet you do. Right now none of you would survive a fight with the most basic Chinese conscript, let alone a redcoat." At that he rounded on Shinji.

"Does that explain what's the use to you, Cadet Ikari."

"Y-yes, sir."

Saito glowered, but his fury seemed to have abated.

"Carry on." He turned and strode away, muttering to himself. "To think this had to happen to me…in my fucking army…"

Shinji breathed deeply for a few moments, wanting to curl into a ball and hide. But they all looked. Some shook their heads and others laughed. All had a caution to them. Every platoon had a bad apple, one who constantly got everyone else in trouble. It would seem he was the rotten fruit in question.

"Get out of the way, cunt." Mary growled, pushing him aside less forcefully than she could have, and advanced on the dummy. Her thrust was nearly perfect as well, although Shinji reckoned she wasn't imagining a "Chinese" soldier there.

Teaching a provincial how to kill? That might be a worse idea than training me.

Making his way to the back of the line, Shinji wondered if he should disappear among the various cabins and barracks of camp Tsuyama. He'd done it before and could do it again, a lifetime of dodging the Kenpeitai teaching him well in that regard.

"Ikari." Said a whisper of a voice.

Shinji shut his eyes. Fuck.

His day had just become worse.

Rei stood next to him. Her red eyes slowly appraised his tired body in their mechanical war, almost a welcome difference to the scorn of everyone else.

Almost.

Shinji itched to stick that dummy again. Anything that got him away from her was worth it.

"Permission to ask a question?" Rei said in her usual tone but made no attempt to hush it.

"Later." Shinji growled.

"When?"

Shinji blinked. "What?"

"You said later. When would that be?"

"I have absolutely no idea. Now shut up before-"

"Cadets Ikari and Ayanami!"

Shinji fixed Rei with a glare.

I hate you. I hate you with all my heart.

Saito had found prey and he pounced. "Speaking without permission. Not in my Army. You both. With me. Now." He beckoned for them to follow.

Obediently, the two jogged after him. Some students stifled a snigger at the class's two loners getting it in the neck, but Shinji didn't have long to hear them. Saito lead them through the labyrinth of Tsuyama, until they reached an empty barrack just off the main vehicle depo.

"Inside." He growled. The two teenagers walked in and he followed, slamming the door behind him. Sunlight trickled through the small windows and onto the concrete floor. Saito's black boots echoed throughout the building, cane held behind his back and eyes narrowed into slits.

"I've been made aware that you are both on Gendo Ikari's payroll."

Silence hung like a steel blanket.

"Now, because you're Nerv's pets, I have to go easy on you. Marshal's orders and all that. But that does not mean you shit stains are exempt from rules." His cane began to bend to a frightening degree. "Probably not a single fighting man among those fucking civvies. Who've they got training you?"

Shinji nervously licked his lips, not daring to answer. He was about to punished, he'd no doubts there, but at the same time had no desire to make it worse. Once, when teacher was angry, he'd dared to talk back and to look him in the eye.

That had been a hard lesson.

Keep your mouth shut. Let him talk and this will be over all the quicker. He grimaced. If you'd kept your mouth shut in the first place, you wouldn't be in this mess.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Rei's stonelike expression had remained unchanged. His heart began to beat that bit more angrily. This mess? I wouldn't be here in the first place if it weren't for you.

Saito sighed. "Permission to speak, granted."

Shinji shifted from the discomfort of his sticky with sweat tunic. He had to give an answer, and better he than Rei who might open her mouth and get them into more trouble.

"We have two, sir. One's an ex-army surgeon. He's our doctor. The other fought in America's civil war. He's our combat instructor." He said.

"Hmph. That's a surprise. One or two know what they're doing then. They've clearly failed to knock discipline into you though." Saito turned and advanced on them. "Truth is, I couldn't give less of a shit about you two. I don't care about how important you are to Nerv. In this camp you are cannon fodder of the Imperial Army. You are all equally worthless. You are not better than your fellow cadets."

"S-sir, I-" Shinji tried to explain to no avail.

"You are not exempt from the rules. Speaking without permission is a breach of discipline." His eyes narrowed into slits at Shinji. "As is sneaking off when you think we aren't looking."

Oh shit. Shinji stared straight into his shoes.

Saito stepped back, quickly casting a glance at Rei. "As this is your first infraction, we'll let you off lightly. But as for you…"

The cane crashed into Shinji's cheek. Pain exploded throughout his jaw but he stayed resolutely at his spot. Compared to a fist, the cane stung a good deal more.

"I've got my eye on you." The drill sergeant hissed directly into his face. "Dismissed."

Without another word, he ushered them out of the hut. He didn't beckon them to follow, indeed it were as if they didn't exist for the moment, but Saito clearly trusted them to know what would happen if they didn't follow quickly.

I cannot wait to go home. Just a few more weeks. Shinji inhaled and exhaled deeply, fist clenching and unclenching.

"Ikari." Rei said.

"What?" He almost shuddered with rage.

"Is later now?"

Something in Shinji snapped. This thing, this desecration of his kind and beautiful mother, had not only got him into trouble in the first place, but now she dared to mock him. It was the reason he was in this city at all, and he was the reason it was still alive.

His fist cracked into the clone's jaw. Rei toppled over into the mud, her eyes having flown open in shock. Shinji had a second to feel amused at the breaking computer before Saito's cane descended on him.

The sergeant didn't say anything this time. He just made sure he battered Shinji into the ground, then aimed a savage kick at his ribs. Finished, Saito then helped Rei to her feet and brushed some mud off her.

The favourite as always…Shinji spat blood out. I should have let that Seraph kill you.

The moment the thought came, he felt his stomach turn inside out. And soon the sickness intertwined with shame, as Rei's usually placid red gaze held a twinge of fear. He'd attacked a girl, and now she was frightened of him.

Now matter hard he tried, he couldn't stop disappointing Yui Ikari's memory.

Nothing to be done about it now. He forced himself to his feet. It's for the best. At least she'll stay away from me now-

A pair of brown eyes in the corner of his vision caused chills to roll up Shinji's spine. In the shadow of the hut, doubtlessly soon to be disciplined for leaving the platoon without permission, was Toji.

He'd followed.

From the look on his face, Shinji guessed he hadn't liked what he heard.

For a moment the anger and shame dissipated, as Shinji's heart sank into his shoes. Now Toji knew for certain he worked for Nerv. And on the very same day he'd arrived, little Sakura Suzuhara had been near crushed to death by Evangelium Unit 01. A subject which he'd been extraordinarily incompetent at hiding his guilt over.

In his position, even Shinji could put two and two together.

He knows…He knows…

---

Author's note.

I make absolutely no excuses for this absurdly long wait. I think my original idea had been to type up a bunch of chapters then post them all at once, but due to my horrible attention span and constantly being distracted by the internet, this didn't happen. Add the ever-increasing embarrassment over the widening gap between updates, and I found myself evasive of writing. Even worse, I was gripped by the mindset of "just a bit longer and I'll get it perfect!"

It's very silly, I know.

But I seem to be getting back into the swing of things. I have managed to cobble together a bunch of chapters that only need a few more tweaks. My update schedule should be a bit busier now!

Until next time, my dear readers.

 

[Lord Sovereign]

"What little we know of an Evangelium's controls utterly baffles our HMAC devicers. And a Type-17 Shingen is a complicated machine." Ministry of the Interior report.

XXII​

The display slowly bloomed into life. Around him stretched a computer generated Nakisawame, perfectly replicated from the day before the Seraph attack. Blue sky and wispy cloud stretched on forever, but there wasn't even the tickle of warm air. Shinji knew everything was artificial and hollow, just like Nerv itself. Beyond the rosy display was a cylinder of steel, a similar model to the one he'd almost died not so long ago.

It was not just because of his new suit that Shinji shifted uncomfortably.

"Itchy?" Lieutenant Ibuki's voice crackled over the radio in his helmet.

"A little."

"We'll make some changes to it after the session."

"Thank you." He held up his right hand and flexed it whilst twisting it. A combination of black rubbery nanosuit and grey armour diminished his ability to feel much. Still, it was much better protection than his poor shirt and trousers.

For what good it does. He pictured a blade of light slice towards him.

"Link established and holding at forty-six percent." Lieutenant Ibuki said. Her voice made a welcome change to the sharp and unforgiving tone of Dr Akagi.

Usually, she, Misato and Captain Smith would be overseeing his Eva training, but today the former two had been called away. That meant it was only Smith and a dozen other technicians and staff today. The thought of not even a familiar face like Misato watching his every move only made Shinji's discomfort worse.

"Loading simulation."

As if summoned by the snap of a god's finger, the Fourth Seraph popped into existence. Those beady black eyes bore into his soul as if they were still alive, and Shinji felt his skin crawl.

"Heart rate's gone up, kiddo." Captain Smith said. "This is just a simulation. Pain reception is off. It can't hurt you."

It can't hurt me…Again, in his mind's eye those blades swished towards his throat like a flash of lightning. It can't hurt me.

"Get into your stance."

Shinji shook away the cloud of fear and forced himself into a crouch. This was only a simulation, and the sooner he finished the sooner he could get home.

"Initiating combat simulation in 3, 2, 1…" Ibuki counted down, each number a nail clawing down his spine.

As if jolted from a standing slumber, the Seraph leapt for him. The speed with which it crossed the city caused Shinji's heart to jump into his mouth, as memories of that terrible afternoon became all the more vivid. Goosebumps prickled up across his skin as his reason crashed into a wall of fear.

I…I…I need to-

A blade of light punched straight through Unit 01's chest, whilst the other swung for its neck. The scenery cut to black.

Smith sighed. "Take five. We'll try again then."

Shinji slumped for a moment, then pulled the hatch to exit his plug. He didn't care if it were only for a few minutes, he needed to stretch his legs.

Stepping out onto the platform, he took in the steel box he currently resided in. Lit by the same cruel and unforgiving lighting as the rest of Levav Base, the simulation room had circuitry running throughout it, linking a dozen cylinders built into the floor to the observation room from where he was being watched.

It was just as much a prison as the Eva's entry plug. Indeed, until the First Child had properly healed, Nakisawame itself was a prison for him.

He removed his helmet, took a few steps away from his plug, then leaned against the wall and let himself slide to the ground.

"Why me?" He whispered, hopefully too quiet for his observers to pick up.

Pulling his knees in, Shinji allowed the seconds to tick by before he'd be ordered back into that replica of a glorified coffin. That was no comfort on the hard floor and hard wall, but still he could let his mind drift. Almost immediately his apartment, dust slowly carpeting everything, floated up from the back of his subconscious.

My poor cello.

Kure was rough with its gangs and Kenpeitai patrols. But it had been his home, absent of Seraph attacks and over a thousand miles away from Gendo Ikari and his abomination.

My father and his abomination…

Those frightened red eyes flashed up in the back of his mind. Shinji groaned and ran a hand through his hair.

I'm only good for hurting little girls. I'm not meant to be here. I'm not meant to be doing any of this. I never was. I'm a coward from Kure who's just good at running away from his problems….

Shinji balled his fist.

…and is frightened by a fucking simulation. Yes. I'm a coward. I'm a worthless coward.

The entrance door slid open and Captain Smith walked in. To Shinji's mind his face was stern yet gentle, the same sort of feeling he got from Misato except more professional. In his crisp brown uniform, you could tell who the soldier was here and who wasn't.

Smith's polished black shoes clicked as made his way over and sat next to him.

"I'm such a coward." Shinji said.

"Being scared isn't cowardice, kiddo."

"Yes it is!" Shinji snapped. "I'm Japanese. I'm meant to charge down a Chinese machine gun nest with bayonet fixed, not freeze up. I'm meant to pull a sword through my guts before admitting defeat. But I can't do any of those things."

"Probably for the best you can't." Smith said. "A soldier needs to be smart, not fearless."

Shinji sighed. "I can't really be that either. I don't know why any of you bother with me."

"Oof, that's a bad attitude."

"What?"

"It's pointless. I've seen men who should have made it through die because of that."

"Oh, I…" Shinji squirmed a little. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Ah. You mean, I'm not going to be here long so why bother?"

Shinji nodded.

"Still a bad attitude, bud. You don't know when the enemy can attack. Today, tomorrow, next week, it doesn't matter. If you aren't ready, they'll gut you like a fish."

Gut me like a fish, huh? Shinji frowned as he thought back to that orange afternoon. He hadn't been ready, and the Seraph had done its very best to cut him open. Those beady black eyes peered out of the darkness of his mind, causing him to suppress a shudder. He'd been terrified and it had only looked down on him in contempt. It hadn't been afraid.

"That shouldn't be too hard for them then. That Seraph was fearless. Strong. I'm…I'm…" He said, almost to himself. Even a coward such as himself had to admire the might and confidence of the most powerful organism ever seen.

"So are Principate Triarii. Or so they say." Smith frowned at that. "They die in their droves for it."

"But they always win, don't they?" Shinji said, the legendary reputation of the American Principate's elite soldiers known to even him.

"Not always, kiddo. Not always. Wouldn't have beaten the Principate otherwise." His expression darkened, as if seeing phantom tracer fire flicker. He shook his head. "You had a Civil War as well, didn't you?"

"Yeah…" Shinji nodded. "Not much compared to yours though. Just some stupid communists who thought the revolution was nigh. Students with Kalashnikovs and not much else…" He chuckled. "Not much compared to Aurelian's legions, I guess?"

"No." Smith smiled. "I guess not."

They sat there for a few moments more.

"Ready to try again?"

Shinji nodded.

Don't have much choice, do I?

"Come on then." Smith clasped him on the shoulder and helped him to his feet. "Remember. Nothing wrong with being scared."

"Yeah…" Shinji half-heartedly acknowledged as he climbed back into the cylinder. He shut the hatch behind him, slid the helmet over his head, and again sat in darkness. The display soon flickered back into life, the Seraph waiting for him. Out of the corner of his eye, Shinji noted that the monster had been designated as "4th Seraph: Sachiel" but didn't pay it much mind.

"Link established and held at forty-five percent." Ibuki relayed.

"Dropped huh?" Shinji muttered.

"Fluctuation, Ikari-san." Ibuki's already soft tone somehow softened further. "It happens. Nothing to worry about."

Shinji added her to the list of people who were "nice" at Nerv.

"Commencing simulation imminently." Smith said, but it sounded as if he were smiling a bit. "Let's shake this up. No countdown."

No countdown? Shinji's heart did a summersault.

He immediately pushed the computer-generated Unit 01 into a crouch, his attention completely fixed on the Seraph. He twitched constantly, infuriatingly, ready to move at the slightest sign of enemy movement.

Ten seconds passed. Shinji was almost tempted to play it off as a joke and relax, but he stayed on edge.

Be ready, or it'll gut me like a fish.

The Seraph lunged.

This time, Shinji dived out of the way and landed in a roll. He felt a tinge of muscle memory from his Gimu training come into play, as he forced himself to stand and throw himself at the Seraph. True to their observations, 'Sachiel' corrected its footing, but not quick enough. Shinji slammed his fist into its bony helm.

The monstrosity staggered back. Shinji smiled, only to realise he'd put in a bit too much weight and lost his balance. That was all Sachiel needed, as it whirled around and slammed him to the ground. Two blades punched straight through Unit 01's back and the simulation cut out.

Well…at least I was ready that time.

"We'll focus on toning up your reaction times, Shinji." Smith said. "But good effort."

"Guess we've still got a lot of work to do?" Shinji said.

Why am I saying this? I'm literally gone in three weeks and never coming back. I know what you mean, Smith-san, but a Seraph probably won't be coming again anytime soon.

"Yeah, but a bit less now. You can last ten seconds before dying."

"Great." Shinji sighed.

"Hey, you could about manage one second a few days ago." Smith laughed. "Way I see it, that's a one thousand percent increase."

…you could see it that way, I suppose. Much like Misato, Shinji decided to like Captain Smith.

They repeated the simulation half a dozen times for the rest of the afternoon, check marked with breaks. As if subtly encouraging him, for each second he survived Smith would add another minute onto his five minute break.

He was a far cry from Sergeant Saito, and a part of Shinji's brain wondered if he might start enjoying this.

Time edged by just that bit quicker, and soon enough Shinji found Smith saying "that'll do, kiddo."

"How long was that?" Shinji said, stretching his cramped muscles.

"Fifteen seconds now. Definitive improvement."

Shinji smiled a little. He popped the hatch as before and stepped out, removing his helmet with a good deal more care this time. He took a deep breath of slightly less humid air.

Fifteen seconds? Wonder what Katsuragi-san will say to that?

From there, he made his way into the changing rooms where a team of lab coated personnel waited to help remove his armour. Various segments of hardened plastic whirred and clicked as they were removed, making little difference to him. It blew his mind that something so light could, in the right situation, absorb a bullet.

On top of a genuine nano-suit as well. Nerv does not do things by half measures, I'll give them that.

Almost immediately after his nano-suit transformed itself back into a solid black cube, Shinji was ushered into the showers to scrub off anything residual, as much for his own leisure. After that, he slipped back into his school uniform and began planning his route home.

If I hurry, I could catch the 5:30 bus. He frowned. Fuck hurrying. If I can catch it I'll catch it. If not, walking isn't so bad.

"Hey, kiddo."

Shinji jumped. Captain Smith had materialised behind him.

"Oh, Smith-san. Did I leave something behind?" Shinji smoothed away his surprise.

"No. Just been meaning to ask." Smith frowned. "What happened to your face?"

Shinji's somewhat good mood quickly evaporated. The sting of the cane across his cheek and everywhere else for that matter, and the red eyed reason for it, caused white hot anger to pulse through his heart for only a moment. Swiftly enough it melted away into heavy regret.

"Disciplinary infraction for speaking out of term." Shinji said, dourly.

"Jesus Christ…kids…kids shouldn't be doing that. Fucking Japanese Empire…" Smith grumbled to no one.

"Anything else?"

"Do you need to see Dr Tenka about that?"

"No. I've had worse, Smith-san. Believe me."

"Yeah…" Smith sounded as if he did believe but really didn't want to. "Best get on your way. Make sure Misato doesn't drink too much as we need her on duty in the morning."

"I'll see what I can do."

Shinji straightened the strap of his bag over his shoulder and walked off, trying to think of his "carer's" drunken antics in an effort to block out any thought of Rei. So desperate was he, that he even indulged in his "success" today.

Expected combat survival time of fifteen seconds. Quite a veteran, aren't I?

"Ikari-san." Ritsuko's icy voice cut into his ears. He turned to see her striding towards him, lab coat billowing out behind her. That usually pensive, faintly bemused green gaze had vanished, replaced by a pair of burning coals.

"Er…Akagi-san"

"The CEO has been made aware of your incident with the First Child. He wants you in his office." Ritsuko growled. "Now."

 

[Lord Sovereign]

Gendo Ikari is a curious man. I was parted from my daughters unwillingly. I lost them. But he…he gave his son up. His own flesh and blood. What could make someone do that? Marshal Chiso Motichka's opinion on Nerv's CEO

XXIII​

Long, wide and dark, the office was clearly designed to overwhelm all who entered. It worked on Shinji, who felt his back almost bend beneath the pressure, but his blood boiled a little too much for him to completely capitulate. His father hadn't spoken to him once since the day he'd arrived. No phone call, no letter, not even a visit whilst he was in hospital.

Shinji desperately would have liked to believe otherwise, but it seemed clear his father didn't much care for him. In time he could have made peace with that, but this? This raked cold fingers down his spine and filled his chest with white hot anger.

He'd been summoned here because he'd hurt Rei. His replacement.

The worst part was he knew what he'd done warranted this.

Shinji stopped a good ten metres from his father's desk. The man sat with nose rested on laced together hands, his icy blue gaze observing him from behind orange spectacles. At his left stood an older man Shinji now knew to be the Chairman of the Board.

Kozo Fuyutsuki…The name, and the face, rang a few bells but little more.

Father and son stood there for a while, appraising each other. Shinji had dropped his gaze quickly after realising how impassive Gendo's expression was. This was simply a game of dominance he had no wish to play.

Just get on with it.

"You called me?" Shinji said.

"Yes."

More silence.

Shinji sighed. "Look. I am sorry about hitting your toy. I don't much like her, but that was wrong."

"Rei-" Gendo emphasised. "-is an invaluable asset. I'd rather you didn't damage her."

"Can't you just make another one?" Shinji sneered.

"That would take time and resources I'd rather not waste. As I have said, she is an invaluable asset."

"Well." Shinji said acidly. "I promise not to damage your asset again. Far more valuable than me, anyway."

Gendo blinked at that. "Rei can be replaced at great expense. You cannot. Your loss would be regrettable."

"Oh wow, thanks father."

"Shinji…"

"Don't 'Shinji' me!" The teenager snapped, fist balling. "You lost the right to that the moment you made that thing. Let alone when you called me here to be that Seraph's chew toy."

He glowered at his father for a few moments, then dropped his gaze again. He squeezed his anger out through his fist. "How is the First Child anyway? I didn't hurt her too bad did I?"

Her? It. Don't be naïve.

"Hmph, please." To Shinji's surprise, Gendo harrumphed, as if his pride had been insulted. "Rei is a clone, quite physically superior to most normal humans. As I understand it, you came off worse after your incident."

"What's it to you?"

"I need my pilots at peak performance."

Shinji snorted at that. "I thought as much."

I'm just an asset to be discarded, aren't I?

Once again, nothing was said between father and son for a while. So much so that Shinji's discomfort faded just enough for it to turn into annoyance.

"If that's it, then I'll be going."

"Not yet." Gendo took off his glasses and massaged his eyelids. Unobstructed by those orange lenses, it chilled Shinji to see just how alike their eyes were. Down to the exact shade, they were both cerulean blue.

"Well? What is it?" Shinji snapped.

"Do not mistake me." Gendo said. "An Eva pilot's value is one a million, their military value absolute. That aside, you are my son."

"Oh, bullshit." Shinji snarled. "I'm the Third Child. Ayanami-san is the First Child, which leaves the Second and a whole conveyor belt of others unaccounted for. Don't mock me, sir. I'm a substitute and everyone knows it." He let his burst of anger suppress the lump in his throat that had welled up at the moment Gendo Ikari called him "son."

He's just trying to trick me.

"Half wrong, but still astute." Gendo folded his hands. "There are approximately a dozen other active Eva pilots, although only five of them are truly effective. The remaining seven are back-ups."

"Twelve?" Shinji tilted his head. "Then what the hell am I here for?"

"The pilots and their units are currently overseas. We have a further five Evas waiting for deployment to Japan. Unfortunately, the Seraph attacked sooner than we anticipated. With Rei injured, you were my only option."

His hunch had been right. That day he'd been driven into Levav Base the situation had been utterly desperate. Still, Shinji didn't much like an accident and a miscalculation of logistics putting his life on the line.

"Well, it's good to know that I won't be needed here soon."

"Indeed."

Once again, the gap between father and son was filled with silence. At that point, Shinji noticed Fuyutsuki hadn't said a word throughout the entire exchange. He just stood there as if he were Gendo's shadow.

This whole company is an extension of him. It's no surprise.

"You are dismissed." Gendo said.

"Yeah." Shinji muttered and turned away. The guards opened the doors as he marched towards them, already gritting his teeth a little.

Dismissed? Really am just another employee to you, aren't I?

"Shinji."

He paused and tiredly looked back at his father.

"Rei is neither you or your mother's replacement." Gendo said. "I am a wholly inadequate father, but I wouldn't do that to you."

You could have heard a pin drop. Shinji didn't realise he was holding his breath. His skin tingled as he stood rooted to the spot. This was not only a confirmation of parenthood, it was a declaration. It was everything he'd ever wanted.

"We will meet again shortly. Now, I have business to attend to." Gendo slid his glasses back on.

Strong hands, those of Gendo's guards, clasped Shinji's shoulder and gently frog marched him out of the room.

The doors shut behind him and he was out in that cold steel corridor, its harsh artificial light straining his eyes. Shinji had to lean against the wall for support. A disbelieving smile spread across his lips.

Maybe…maybe he does care after all?

---

The doors shut. The crack of light was snuffed out, and his son was shut out. Gendo sat in darkness once more.

"That was cruel, sir." Kozo whispered.

"Yes."

Bile bit at the back of Gendo's throat. He'd done some despicable things over the years, but stringing along the son he'd completely failed, to keep him loyal and keep him here, made his stomach turn inside out.

Yui, my love. I am so lost without you.

But it wasn't a complete lie. Rei had not been created to replace his wife or his son. And there were many, many things he'd never wanted done to the only bit of light he'd put into this world. This truth, with some spin, would suffice.

Some positive reinforcement and the promise of 'quality time' that'll never come should be more than sufficient to keep him here.

"Some hints of affection and attention you can never truly give in full, coupled with a sprinkle of positive reinforcement. He won't be going anywhere for a while with that carrot dangling in front of him." Kozo shook his head. "You are a bastard, sir."

Gendo made no effort to dispute him. "What is your assessment on the First and Third Children?"

"Maybe you shouldn't have informed the Third of his links to the First." Kozo said. "But you believed he'd find out sooner or later."

"No." Gendo said. "I did not believe Shinji would have discovered Rei's heritage. I know he would have. Better to get that nastiness over and done with."

Gendo heaved himself out of his seat and silently cursed the tingling of the aches and pains associated with aging. He'd even spotted a few more flecks of grey in the mirror that morning.

"He's no fool." Pride twinged its way into his tone. "He guessed there were far more Eva pilots than himself or Rei without anyone's input."

Another ten years and you could probably play this game well, my son. You've got the attention span for it.

"Let's hope he doesn't think too hard. Given how many secrets we need to keep." Kozo frowned.

"It would avail him nothing if he did. Things are in motion that none of us can stop."

 

[Lord Sovereign]

"Nakisawame is a heavily militarised city, and not simply because of the IJA's presence. Many of its smaller businesses are in fact run by ex-servicemen, who give special perks to fellow soldiers." Tour guide of Japan, written for Columbian holiday makers.

XXIV​

Now he's being nice? I can't make any sense of the man. Shinji readjusted the strap of his bag as he walked.

The sun had long passed its zenith as he left Levav Base, bright yellow giving way to orange. As if it coloured their thoughts, the people of Nakisawame began to wind down. Many were making their way home as he did, although roughly the same number sat in the various sake dens and cafes for a quiet drink. Much like Kure, Nakisawame was a living organism with its own moods and swings.

Although as far as animals go, they couldn't be more different.

He admired the sleek and clean buildings of the capital, noting the absence of smashed windows and heavy Kenpeitai patrols. The brown shirts noisily marched around to remind people they were there, but they didn't have to do much at all.

It had been a blessing not to be woken up by a public disturbance. Impromptu visits from the Kenpeitai were unheard of here, even more so in the Nerv residential areas they avoided like the plague.

But the lack of brown shirts was more than made up for by rank upon rank of navy-blue tunics.

Eight katana shaped warships cut through the orange sky, their Manmitsu Reactors faintly humming even over the din of Japan's capital. The News channels and papers were explicit about mass deployment to the capital, shocked and stunned by the Seraph attack. Five full army divisions had been shunted here. Compared to the eight million strong population, sixty thousand extra men or so shouldn't have made much of a difference, but their presence was felt by all. More importantly, the reason they were there chilled all to the bone.

Japan had been stabbed in the heart whilst her armies stood helpless.

A people carrier trundled past him whilst he waited at a crossing, a bundle of belongings hurriedly strapped to its roof. Such a sight was common in Nakisawame these days.

What was it Katsuragi-san said? A few hundred thousand people have already fled?

The rest went on as if life were normal, although even he could feel the tension in the air. The stiffer, at times more jittery way people walked, was a dead giveaway. Still they carried on, partly as a coping mechanism to prevent complete panic, but also a sense of pride in his estimation. Japan was the immovable rock against which the sea crashed in vain. It had weathered worse and would weather this.

Shinji both admired and chastised their courage.

If I wasn't stuck here, I'd be long gone by now.

As he walked, the waft of teas and hot drinks from nearby cafes tickled his nose, and eventually Shinji gave in. Fifteen minutes wouldn't hurt.

The café he turned into, a quiet thing along a quiet road, was a modest affair. The man at the till, its owner, looked grizzled but hardly old. An a faded photo of him standing in the cockpit of an old F-16 hung proudly on the wall. Half a dozen rich wooden tables and no more took up the café's front, which was perfect in Shinji's estimation. He'd sampled the busier places in central Kure from time to time and, whilst higher class, were hellishly expensive and much too busy. Central Nakisawame was everything bad about that magnified tenfold.

I'm lucky I've only got to change buses there. He shuddered, thinking of the teeming masses that rolled like a wave through the concrete sea. For a moment, Shinji wondered if lost Tokyo and Kyoto had been any different, then dismissed it. Cities were the same across the world, from Winchester and Denver to Luoyang and Nakisawame itself.

Mind you. He smiled a little. Japanese cities are obviously the nicest. Everything runs on time…

Ordering a sencha tea and a slice of honey cake, Shinji sat down and watched the world go by. He sipped his tea and let its hot, grassy flavour warm his soul, then all but melted into his hard wooden seat. How long had it been since he'd last done this? After racking his brains, Shinji realised this was the first time he'd visited a café in this city.

Have I really been that busy?

He couldn't have been. There'd been time between his travels hither and thither. No, the more likely answer was his feeling totally out of place here. He knew Kure, its alleyways, its sprawling centre, how best to avoid Butai patrols. Nakisawame had been a place on a postcard for most of his life, so Shinji felt lost in its sea.

But today, perhaps exhaustion, perhaps growing familiarity, had permitted him to take some real leisure time. And also, more vitally, a bit of time to himself to think.

This has probably been one of the most eventful weeks of my life.

How much had changed since he'd opened that letter in Kure? Japan had been attacked, Kaiju were real, and he'd never spoken to this many people in a very long time. Strangely, stupidly in his eyes, it was that last one which really bothered him.

He'd been in school for a week and had not only marked himself out as a weird loner, he was also a bully and had made an enemy of the most formidable boy in his class. Shinji sighed sadly.

Only he could make such a mess.

Speaking of messes…

He sipped some more tea, trying to use its heat to melt any icy thoughts.

Father, where do things stand between us?

Sometimes he felt like the man didn't care at all. The day he'd been thrown at that Seraph gave credence to that. But the way he'd just been spoken to was food for thought. Gendo was a complicated man to say the least, but perhaps, buried deep down, there was still some familial affection.

Shinji stared into his cup as he thought. He had three weeks to see if he could unearth this elusive affection. It was worth a try.

In his pocket, his phone sat heavily as an unfamiliar weight. Thin and silver, the smartphone embarrassed the blocky things he'd known as a child. This one had been given to him as a "perk" of his job, although he had to stop himself shaking his head.

I should be careful. They've probably put a tracking device in it.

He flipped it out and held it for a moment. Briefly, Shinji considered calling his father, but then realised he didn't have the number and Gendo was probably still working.

The sound of the cafe door creaking open caught his attention. He slipped the phone back in his pocket for another time. Three men, all soldiers, walked in. The dark circles under their eyes and the heaviness of their movements told Shinji all he needed to know about the military's current condition.

After exchanging a respectful nod with the man at the bar, the troopers asked for coffee and took a table close to his own. Although the blue tunic was worn by basically every soldier in the Imperial Japanese Army, their khaki trousers and facings gave them away as tankers.

Two branches of armour. Cavalry have red trousers whilst tankers have brown. Not to mention cavalry tunics are way gaudier than the simple stuff tankers get, even before you get to Guard formations. Shinji thought long and hard to make sure he wasn't confusing them with HMAC pilots. Simply put, HMAC devicers had far more expensive training, so came from a higher rung of society than he. Many magazines and talk shows hypothesized that they were a proto aristocracy in the Samurai vein. Because of that, Shinji knew to hold his tongue more so than usual around them.

But the three men clearly weren't aristocrats.

"Tastes like piss." One of them muttered, then gratefully gulped down his coffee.

"Higher quality piss, mind you." Another, his voice younger, added.

"And cheaper. So don't complain, corporal." The third individual growled, superior in age and rank to the other two, but clearly not a commissioned officer.

A sergeant maybe?

Shinji fought down a sigh at being stuck next to talkative soldiers, men who flattened peace and quiet. But then he frowned.

I know those voices…

He snatched a glance at the oldest one, seeing his greying black hair, grey eyes and long scarred face.

By chance, Staff Sergeant Kiyoshi Yukimura looked back, blinked, then gave a weak smile. "Oh. Hello again."

The other two turned to look at Shinji, vague recognition dawning on them.

"Isn't that the civvy from the train?" Corporal Fukui said.

"So it would seem. Ikari-san, isn't it?"

"Yes…Yukimura-san." After racking his brains for the name, Shinji gave a little bow of his head which the three men returned.

"Small fucking world, eh?" Fukui took another gulp of his coffee.

Shinji didn't comment, until his heart all but leapt into his mouth.

I've…I've never asked what happened to the crash survivors!

All this last week he'd been so wrapped up in his own problems, he hadn't bothered to think about those mangled hundreds on that fateful train to Nakisawame. For the second time that day, shame coursed through him.

"Th-The crash…" He tried to form the right words. "What happened after we left?"

"Not much, thankfully." Yukimura murmured. "A few hundred bodies to line up for collection. No one else died after you left, and that Seraph's interest was elsewhere."

"Yeah. Butchering what was left of our poor fucking army." Fukui growled. "Fat load of good Nerv were. They had that Eva in reserve the whole time and just watched us die."

Shinji's heart panged in guilt.

They didn't use it because they didn't have a pilot…because I didn't get there in time.

"There was a woman I was taking care of." A memory sprang to mind of a kind stewardess. "Is she…"

"You'd already done most of the work, Ikari-san." The younger soldier, Lance Corporal Oshiro, smiled. "Akane-san couldn't speak more highly of you."

"That's good…" Shinji nodded. "That's good."

Akane had got to see her family again after all.

"If you were wondering about that Kenpei…" Fukui chuckled. "We didn't hear a peep out of that cunt. He just waddled around looking pissed with a big bruise on his face."

The other two soldiers laughed. Another image flashed before Shinji's eyes, of a brown uniformed young man pummelling him for a slight infraction. To his shame once again, Shinji didn't feel too bad for him.

"Speaking of bruises, what the fuck happened to your face?" Fukui frowned and pointed.

Shinji sighed. "Disciplinary infraction in Gimu. I spoke without permission."

And hit a girl.

The tank crew winced.

"Classic mistake, that one." Yukimura said. "Don't do it again. Gimu's hard enough as it is."

"You've done it?" Shinji felt stupidity cascade through him as soon as the words left his mouth. All three men laughed at that.

"I'd fucking hope so!" Fukui said. "Wouldn't be much of a soldier if I couldn't get through basic training."

After the genuine but strange laughter, it really came home to Shinji just how drained of energy the tank crew was. Even in the midst of utter defeat at the train they'd seemed livelier.

"You look exhausted." Shinji said.

"Hm." Yukimura limply nodded. "Constant patrol, constant drills. We need to be ready at a moment's notice in case another one of those things show up."

"Gods forbid." Oshiro shook his head, his young blue eyes looking much too tired. "We lost too many last time."

"Eh." Fukui waved his hand. "Nerv will actually do their jobs this time. Given the amount we're paying the bastards, they'd better. Good to know my taxes go on giant robots."

Giant robots? If only that were true, Fukui-san.

"I heard the Navy got roughed up pretty badly." Shinji said, eager to blot Evangelium Unit 01 out of his mind for a little while longer. Even grim news seemed better than that.

"Yeah." Fukui laughed humourlessly. "Second Fleet got ravaged. We're lucky we didn't lose any battleships…"

"The Air Corps got a pummelling too." Oshiro added. "They're still repairing that FCV."

For a moment Shinji cast his mind to the news reports and the scenes of utter destruction. Tens of thousands were dead at least, and that was the most he wanted to know. Getting an exact number, making an effort to look into the sheer volume of corpses, would be too much for him.

Shinji made a show of stretching and checked the clock on the wall. His fifteen minutes were up.

"I'd better go." Shinji downed the last of his tea. "It's getting late."

"Best be on your way then." Yukimura nodded, blowing over his own piping hot coffee.

Shinji drew out his chair and stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulders. Just as he turned to leave, Fukui spoke up.

"Hold on." The crass soldier frowned. "Er, that gorgeous Nerv woman who picked you up. Does she live around here?"

"Katsuragi-san is my guardian. I live with her."

Fukui and Oshiro whistled at that, the former saying. "Could certainly do worse you lucky little shit."

Not wrong.

Misato was very easy on the eyes, but she'd been kind to him. He didn't know of many people who would willingly share their home with a stranger, much less try to make him feel welcome.

"I suppose." He smiled a little to himself. "Take care of yourselves."

"Wouldn't be in the army if that were a concern!" Yukimura laughed and his men followed, clanking their mugs together with a cry of "long live the emperor!"

The sergeant turned back to Shinji. "Until we bump into each other again, Ikari-san. Whenever that is."

Shinji found his smile getting a little wider. He walked out, hearing the doorbell ring behind him as it closed. Just before he took off, he looked over his shoulder to memorise the café's name.

Toyoshi café. Must be the owner's name. Well, it's on my way back to Katsuragi-san's apartment. I'll pop by here more often.

He adjusted the strap of his bag, then picked up the pace.

 

[Lord Sovereign]

"Say what you will about the Eruption and all that came with it, but verdammt has it been good for business." Dr Schaff, practicing psychiatrist in Dresden.

XXV​

The apartment's door slid shut behind him. He was "home."

Nonchalantly, Shinji observed the Emperor Penguin amble through the kitchen, a beer can under its wing. The two had reached an equitable relationship, in so far as they used the toilet at separate times to not scare each other half to death at the crack of dawn.

A working relationship…with a bird. Shinji laughed under his breath and dropped his bag on the sofa. Pouring himself a glass of water, he noticed a ripped piece of paper covered in frantic scribbles left on the kitchen table. He picked it up.

"Shinji-kun. Have to work an extra few hours today. Should be home at about eight-ish. Help yourself to whatever's in the fridge but stay away from my drinks's cabinet. I always do a head count! XXX.

Shinji sighed and shook his head.

Preposterous woman.

He downed the glass in one go, then let himself drop on the sofa. It was as if all his energy had dissipated as the cheap leather enveloped him. Dirty cutlery filled the sink, and clothes littered the floor like a battlefield, but it could wait.

He closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink further into the sofa.

Thoughts of his current predicament, of the war he was trapped in, of his ever-confusing relationship with his father, of the cruel echo of his mother, fought for supremacy in his mind. With tremendous effort he was able to force them down for just a little while. Long enough for a little peace for his weary soul.

As he lay there, his ears were occasionally tickled by Pen-pen shuffling around. For such a massive creature, he did have to strain his ears sometimes to hear him. For all Shinji knew, the bird could be right next to him.

He cracked open one of his eyes.

Nope, penguin's at the table.

The bird sat there, with opened beer can in one wing and a newspaper laid out before him.

I'm going back to sleep.

He let his eyes close.

A few hours later they snapped open again. As ever, that disappearing back at the train platform clouded his mind. A child's phantom wail rang through his ears.

'Daddy don't go! What did I do wrong!? Daddy!'

A tear already trickled down his cheek. Shinji growled and rubbed it away. Bleary vision clearing, he realised Pen-pen stood next to him. Shinji's head jerked back.

The bird breathed as loudly as ever but fixed its beady black eyes on him.

"What do you want?" Shinji growled and made sure to wipe away any trace of salt from his eyes. "Are you hungry?"

The bird tilted its head, then flopped on his lap and did its best to snuggle into his belly.

Naturally, Shinji flinched. Aside from the mass of a metre tall Emperor penguin hitting him like a cannon ball, such an open and unexpected show of affection caught him off guard. Slowly, Shinji flexed his fingers then stroked the bird's back. Pen-pen snuggled in just that bit more.

Shinji gently laughed. "Silly bird."

Time passed, but Shinji wasn't sure how much till his phone rang. He flipped it open, saw the number was Misato's, and answered.

"Good evening, Katsuragi-san."

"Heh, 'good'." Misato breathed, the sound of her footsteps echoing against concrete. "I'm on my way home now. Should be with you in half an hour."

Shinji blinked in surprise then looked up at the clock. It was dead on 8:00pm. He'd had a bit more than forty winks.

"Sounds like you had a busy day?" He said.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe it. Two extra hours for stupid fucking paperwork."

Shinji smiled a little. "Alright then. See you soon…"

"We've…er…" Misato mouthed between breaths, although genuine hesitance filtered in. "We've something to talk about when I get back."

She'll want to talk about Gimu. His smile dropped.

"We do. Safe journey home, Katsuragi-san." He hit the end call button and pocketed the phone.

Gently removing Pen-pen from his belly, Shinji stood up and started to give the apartment a quick clean. It wasn't nearly enough, but he didn't have long. Clothes and dishes came first and foremost. He'd only just finished when Misato walked through the door.

"I'm home!" She said tiredly but truthfully. Then, as he had done, she made her way into the lounge and collapsed on the sofa. Pen-pen joyfully waddled over to her and hopped on her lap.

"You look exhausted." Shinji said, gently putting crockery away in the cupboard.

"Tell me about it." She rubbed her eyelids but spared a hand to ruffle Pen-pen's head. "You've got all this to look forward to one day, Shinji-kun. Just make sure the bastards pay overtime…" Misato was already halfway through waving her hand when Shinji put a beer can in it. She muttered a quick "thanks."

"Well, they don't pay me for going to school." He said.

"They should!" Misato said earnestly. "School's crap and doesn't teach you anything about the real world. The only good thing about it is making friends…" She abruptly tailed off.

Misato had asked him a few times if he were making any friends at school, and got the same response: a flat "no."

Having no desire to think about school, Shinji made for the kitchen to finish off putting cutlery away. He was about to ask what Misato would like for dinner, before he felt an atmosphere descend.

"So…" Misato shifted uncomfortably.

Here it comes.

"I hear you had to be called to the CEO's office today. Something about a falling out with Ayanami-san?"

"Yes…" Shinji found his jaw clenching as he searched for the right words. "I've already apologised."

"To her?"

"To my father."

"That's not the same thing, Shinji-kun."

"How? I doubt that thing even knows how to be offended."

Misato raised an eyebrow, as if not taking him seriously which just annoyed Shinji all the more. He found himself slamming cutlery into its draw with uncharacteristic force.

Misato sighed. "Well, Rits-chan is livid so you'd best keep out of her way."

Ah yes, I'd forgotten about that. An image of the blonde woman looking down her nose at him, as if she wanted to dissect him, came to mind.

"Why does she care?" Shinji said. "Did she help make it-"

"Her, Shinji-kun." Misato shook her head. "I know you don't really think these things. You're just pissed off with your old man and taking it out on anyone unlucky enough." She stood up and brushed herself down a bit.

"Ayanami-san creeps me out too, but she didn't choose to be created. She didn't choose to be raised in a lab and have the social skills of a teaspoon." Misato's tone saddened a bit. "She must be terribly lonely."

Shinji's fist balled. He gritted his teeth and lowered his head.

"Look, I get it. What I did was out of order. It doesn't matter what I feel about Ayanami, I had no right to do that. I'll try to avoid her more in future so that doesn't happen again. Is that enough?"

"I guess it'll have to be." Misato said. Clearly it wasn't. "I'm going to have shower."

The evening passed quickly. A wall of silence descended between the two. Even Pen-pen noted it and waddled off to his freezer to escape, a mug of hot coco in hand.

There was little to say. Shinji knew it was entirely his fault, but he couldn't force his cold attitude to drop. He simply did housework which sometimes brought him past Misato reading magazines on the sofa.

She's disappointed in me. He felt his heart sink a little, as he found an odd sock that looked to have been hiding under a drawer for months. Had to happen eventually, I suppose. I'm good at disappointing people. That and…he looked over his shoulder at his guardian. Misato continued doing her usual business of leisure, but with a frown etched into her beautiful features.

…she doesn't know what to do with me.

The clock finally ticked past a reasonable hour. Shinji wished Misato good night and made his way to his room. He let his rand rest on the door as he took in that sign she'd put there a few days ago.

"Shinji's lovely suite."

Not so lovely when you get to know me, am I? He thought back to a middle-aged man, full of self-righteousness, who never missed an opportunity to twist the knife.

"The world is a greedy and cruel place boy. Therefore, as a creature of it, squatting in its material filth, so are you. It says so in the scriptures." The words clanged through his head.

Right as usual, eh sensei?

He entered, changed into his pyjamas, then fell into bed. Always his conscience nagged, that he could have handled it better, that he could have explained just how much Ayanami unsettled him. Even further still, it reminded him that he hadn't had to lash out in a moment of blind anger and hit a girl.

This was all his doing.

Shinji tossed and turned in the darkness of his bedroom, a part of him uneasy due to the lack of sounds outside his door, of the thump of people moving on the floor above him. Eventually he closed his eyes, only for them, as always, to snap open a few hours later. He sat up and massaged his sweaty brow.

He'd dreamed of Chinese guns again.

They aren't real. The war's been over for years. Breathe.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, balling his fist tightly.

Just as his mother had shown him.

Why can't I have dreams about you? He ran a hand through his hair. What do I do, mother?

Getting no answer, and not expecting one, he threw back the sheets and got out of bed. With a dream like that, sleep would be elusive for a while. He walked through to the kitchen to make himself a hot tea, only to find Misato asleep on the sofa. Her head was thrown back, mouth open in a snore, whilst her left hand touched the cross around her neck. An empty can of beer sat in her other hand.

Shinji snuck past. Boiling the kettle as quietly as possible, he made his tea then tried to creep back to his room.

Misato stirred. Usually her drunken mumbling did not warrant any attention, but he had to pause at the sound of this.

It was no intoxicated garble. It sounded like the whimper of a frightened child.

Shinji turned to see Misato unconsciously shift, the grip of both her hands tightening. Her chest rose and fell that bit quicker.

"F-father…" She jerked awake, blinking blearily for a moment before she saw Shinji.

"Shinji-kun." She stared at him like a deer caught in headlights. "How long have you been there?"

"I just came in." He lied. "Needed a drink."

She studied him for a moment, as if unsure to believe. She squinted through still half-asleep eyes and yawned for good measure.

"What are you doing up at this hour? I know teenagers are nocturnal but-"

"I was thirsty." He lied. His nightmares were his and his alone.

Misato tightened her grip around her cross as she staired off into nothing.

"Do you need a drink?" Shinji asked.

"Get me a beer."

Shinji knew what to say. That alcohol was no solution for whatever she had. That it only suppressed then made the memories come back all the worse. That men living in the gutters of Kure had liquified their brains to drink away what they'd seen in the war, or the years after the Eruption.

Except they'd failed. The memories drove them mad all the same.

Shinji kept his mouth shut and fetched Misato a can.

 

[Lord Sovereign]

"Down the years you have often asked, 'what is Nerv?' Well now you know. We are your protectors and under our watch mankind shall survive the coming storm." A rare statement in a rare conference given by Gendo Ikari. 7th May 2017.

XXVI​

Misato downed the can as Shinji went back to bed, brown gaze subtly following him. For although her mind was partially addled by her old friend Yesibu-san, even she could detect something was wrong.

Shinji's already haggard form somehow looked gaunter than usual. Was that just lack of sleep?

It's too damn late for that kind of thing. I'll think about it some more in the morning.

Letting her head roll back into her sofa, Misato could hear the distant whine of a car drive past. Sometimes, if she allowed it, it would irritate her. A car was meant to make a throaty roar, not a whimper.

There I am being an old woman again.

She closed her eyes to snatch a few hours more sleep, but fearful, animalistic, instinct fought her at every turn. As she struggled to drift off, the thought of going back to that place from which she always awoke in sheets of sweat became less and less appealing.

Misato gave up and blearily opened her eyes again.

"Fuck."

Regardless of how early she needed to be up in the morning, sleep would not come. For now Misato sat alone with her thoughts.

Will I ever stop having these dreams? It's been seventeen years already.

Reaching for the remote to take her mind off it, she switched her television on with the volume turned down. She might have been a slob, but Misato kept her neighbours in mind.

Flicking through the channels, it was the usual stuff, sitcoms, anime, the insanity of Takeshi's Castle. These were the normal things that helped keep the world spinning, kept people laughing when Chinese shells fell all around them. However, she paused at NHK World.

Helicopter footage of Nakisawame's wreckage, of the burnt-out husks of tanks littering a one-sided battlefield, of the Emperor giving a speech, and grainy illegal footage of two titans locked in a battle to the death, flashed across the screen. A pale faced female newsreader, who looked the same age as Misato, sombrely read through casualty reports and reconstruction efforts.

It wasn't just Japan, of course. Media across the world had gone crazy, talking about nothing else but the giant monster which had swept aside Japan's armies in one day. That, and every reporter in the world wanted the scoop on the secretive Nerv.

No more doing things in the dark, eh? Misato wondered when she'd get an impromptu interview. Hopefully never unless the reporter was cute.

The last thing she wanted, on top of all the paperwork, stress and worry, was some paparazzi hack bombarding her with questions. Those woeful few questions she could answer she'd have to do so with a smile to mask all the fear everyone felt in Nerv.

They'd a duty not to frighten the people whose lives depended on them.

But all mankind had very good reason to be afraid.

Misato sighed.

The weight that hung around her neck was heavy enough.

Even though it isn't the same way, I do understand, Shinji-kun. Having the world on your shoulders is no easy thing.

She unconsciously touched her cross, a part of her still bitter as to how this weight had been unceremoniously dumped on her as a teenager, as a fourteen-year-old girl bleeding out on those now vaporised frozen wastes.

All a parting gift from her father.

Misato abruptly made her way to the fridge. She needed alcohol to wash away any thought of howling Antarctic wind and hellish red eyes dotted within a blizzard. She cracked open a can and let the ice cold yet hot liquid burn her throat. The memories were washed away by an alcoholic haze for just a moment which ironically cleared her mind.

Yet even when it was adrift, Misato Katsuragi's mind never truly stopped thinking. For the waves of the subconscious soon carried her thoughts over to the shore that was her troubled young ward.

She sighed and necked the whole can.

What do I do with him? I'm not a parent. I'm scarcely a guardian.

Leaning against the fridge, she massaged her brow and dwelt on her earlier phone call to Ritsuko. It had been a long time since she'd heard such venom in her old friend's voice, but it had been acidic enough to make her cringe.

"You keep that vicious thug away from her. Do you understand!?"

Sure. Problem is he's not a thug.

Oh he'd done something awful. But the way he carried himself over it indicated no pride in the act, nor desire to repeat it.

He's screwed up and he knows it…Misato drummed her fingers on the empty can. Not really much point hammering that in anymore, Rits.

Despite the anger and the enmity over the subject, the shame in Shinji's hunched over posture was obvious: he'd learned his lesson. Rei needn't fear anything from him for now.

That wasn't what bothered Misato though.

I think he's a nice kid. He just swings from one extreme to another too damn quickly. Something isn't right.

Misato took out another beer can and walked over to the kitchen table. Pulling out a chair, she sat on it and muttered to herself.

"Is he bipolar? Or is there more going on under the hood?" She fiddled with the can as she tried to think of some way to help him, but every idea crashed into a solid wall of painful reality.

Would probably make a total mess of it if I tried to do anything anyway. I am a soldier, not a therapist. I'd probably make it worse.

The sound of the other fridge door sliding open caught her attention. A bleary-eyed penguin waddled out. He looked up at her with vague confusion.

She smiled and yawned. "Sorry, buddy. Did I wake you up?"

The penguin trilled quietly, then smooshed himself against her leg. Misato ruffled his head and slid the unopened can of Yesibu into his wings. Pen-pen snuggled some more in gratitude.

Here I am drinking the night away with my pet penguin. Heh, Shinji-kun's not the only one messed up here.

Her phone buzzed. She flipped it open and saw a text message light up the screen.

All staff. Early start required tomorrow.

CASPAR.

"Fuck."

It was a good thing she'd no plans of going back to sleep. By the time her annoyance had finished bubbling, Misato got up to boil the kettle for her first coffee of the day. By her reckoning, she'd need quite a bit of caffeine.

Behind her, Pen-pen had already hopped onto his seat, his gaze hovering over some of yesterday's crossword puzzles which she always left out for him. Misato allowed the hiss of the kettle to mask her chuckle. She poured a glass of cold water then quickly downed one of her pills, that which allowed even the worst alcoholic to quickly sober up.

Modern medicine. What would I do without it?

She focused her mind on the day ahead and all it entailed: meetings, paperwork, and all the other things that sucked out someone's soul. Yet there was a bright side to her job.

Battle tactics.

In her mind's eye Misato had already pictured the layout of Nakisawame as a 3D model. Cities were a defender's dream. Every avenue was a choke point, and any house could be a fortress. An army could oh so easily die in a well defended city, as the Germans at Stalingrad had learned those long years ago.

Focus. She chastised herself. Whilst it was helpful to imagine Nakisawame in such a way, it wasn't everything. Seraphim were not an army; they were a force of nature. One that had to be slowed down, distracted, and its H-Field cracked before the killer blow could be struck.

Ideally I'll get military units on standby to blow off a limb or two after we've got its Field down. Then it should be a cake walk for Unit 01…suddenly the enthusiasm faded, and her stomach turned cold and hard at the thought of the monstrosity's forsaken pilot.

Nothing would ever be a cakewalk for Shinji Ikari.

Had humanity's survival ever been so dependent on the instabilities of a boy not yet sixteen? Although no great professor of history, Misato was pretty sure this was a worst part was knowing she had very little power over it. Aside from them having no choice but to throw him at whatever abomination came their way, the problems Shinji had, be it with Rei and his father, were far beyond her power to fix.

It was almost enough to make her neck another can.

She spooned some coffee powder into an empty cup. I'll see to it he gets some help when he goes home. But…there just isn't much I can do about it anyway. Besides, like he said, he'll only be here for a few more weeks. Even if I could so something, that's not enough time…

Misato's own thoughts didn't sound convinced.

Damn this war.

The kettle pinged as it boiled. She poured the hot water into the cup and mixed it together with the powder. Letting it warm her hands, Misato walked with it out onto her balcony. Very distantly a few shards of light began to spill over the dark blue horizon, as the faint sounds of shutters being opened and more cars trundling along tickled her ear.

Her city was waking up.

Salarymen prepared to make the commute to their miserable jobs, mothers braced for another day of keeping their demon spawn under control, monks made their morning prayers, construction workers got themselves clean for another twelve hours of hot, hard work, etc.

Should have gone into construction work. All the things I'd get to flatten and be paid good money for! And the men are hunks.

She raised the black coffee to her lips and sipped the steaming liquid. It sent a shiver down her spine. Blood pumped just that bit harder into a brain still wearily shaking off the daze of sleep and alcohol. It was as if she were one with her city.

Half right, I guess. If Nakisawame dies, then I do too…along with everyone else.

All those eight million people down there, and the near three billion more worldwide, depended on her in ways they couldn't imagine. It was a crushing burden for everyone on Nerv's payroll, but the job remained worthwhile.

At least, that's what I remind myself of every time I'm down there.

Regardless of less gallant motivations, she knew what she was protecting.

Shinji didn't have that luxury.

He certainly understood on paper what would happen and wanted to prevent it, but all those millions of faces likely didn't mean much to him. Whether he liked it or not, his piloting Eva was tied to his father as much as it was to mankind's future.

Gendo Ikari casts one hell of a long shadow…and I only work for him…upon thinking of her superior, a thought touched Misato's mind.

Huh…speaking of the boss, aside from him and myself, Shinji-kun doesn't really have any connections here as far as I know. By the sound of it, he'd even fewer back in Kure.

She frowned.

She'd known more than a few loners over the years, but they'd still had people they routinely talked to. Shinji meanwhile didn't have much company here aside from himself and had made no mention at all of friends or neighbours back in Kure.

It appeared he'd been alone to an almost ludicrous degree.

No friends…only one distant family member…no social skills…no medical record…Misato's hand, on impulse, fiddled with her cross.

It was as if Shinji hadn't just been kept off the grid all his life but kept away from other people as well.

Why would someone do that though? She sipped some more coffee, keeping those freshly roused neutrons alive. What's the point of isolating a teenage boy?

She dismissed the thought.

I'm just being paranoid. Lots of kids fall through the cracks. It happens.

As if disagreeing with her, Misato's memory conjured up an image of Shinji flinching whenever she raised her voice.

It was as if he expected a blow.

Stop it. She grit her teeth. Shinji-kun's a jittery guy, that's all. I have to focus on the here and now or else we'll both end up dead.

 

[Lord Sovereign]

"Faith is a marvellous thing. It grants hope to those who struggle and peace to the dying. But blind faith? There lies the road to madness." Pope Paul VII answering the question of a worshipper, circa July 2014

XXVII​

Candles flickered in the dark, their light glinting off a golden cross mounted on an altar, a sword laid in front of it. Dimly they illuminated the grey floors and walls built with ancient stone. Above, only just visible in the gloom, was a glorious painted ceiling, of angels and men returning to their true source: God.

Before the altar and its golden cross, kneeling on the hard stones with eyes closed, was the owner of this sanctum. He was an ordinary looking man in an ordinary suit upon initial inspection, clearly no older then forty with short cut brown hair. But if you peered through the shroud of gloom, you could almost mistake the skin for being stretched and the face weathered indeed.

He was old. Older than many could imagine.

Gently, repetitively, his quiet and calm breath tickled his ears. The faint tang of wine taken in communion still touched his tongue, as the remnant of holy incense lingered in his nostrils.

The stones were harsh against his now hardened knees, which were as he wished.

When one lifts their thoughts to God, they must be reminded of the wickedness they stand on. That so many men of the cloth fail to understand this is a sad indictment of our fallen world.

The man quietly tutted, chastising himself from straying from his prayers. He could ill afford such lapses as plans accelerated and the day of Rapture came closer and closer; the Almighty's guidance had never more been needed.

My Lord God, show me the way. Ikari is wily and seeks to counter our movements. He may yet undo everything.

The Chapel's mighty wooden doors creaked open. He masked his wince well. Telltale footsteps, heavy and full of purpose, echoed off the stone floor.

His prayers would have to wait.

The man sighed, opened his brown eyes, and gently rose from his knees. Abruptly, the footsteps came to a halt.

"Forgive me, Excellency." Said a harsh voice. "I know you prefer a quiet church."

"It is no trouble. What is your need, my child?" The Archbishop of the Viaticum straightened out his suit and turned to face the intruder.

A man more bear than human stood there, save for his black business suit. Penance, the enforcer, stood at over six feet tall. His blue eyes burned with a zeal that left the faithless to cower and quail. Yet the Archbishop was unmoved by the vastness of a man who'd personally killed hundreds without compunction.

To the faithful, Penance is no danger. To me, he is a gentle son.

"There are a few issues, Excellency. Lorenz has asked for an audience. And a reliable source has informed me that some of our acolytes are having doubts." Penance said.

Issues indeed.

"Admit Kihl. We shall resolve his matters whilst conversing over the rest."

"As you wish, Excellency." Penance bowed his head then marched back out the door.

The Archbishop turned to look at the golden cross, standing proud on his altar, to steady his thoughts. That light and symbol stood strongest in this turbulent world. It was the rock in the storm for all those who had let Christ into the hearts, and that which revealed the road to Heaven.

Praise be to God.

Heavy footsteps echoed again, followed by two lighter and slower footfalls. They tried to be heavy and purposeful, but there was little strength in them.

Ah, Kihl. Age is a cruel master, isn't it?

The two men entered the room. Now at Penance's side stood an old man. Hunched and grey, he wore a visor to help his cloudy eyes. He wore his suit open, practical for a man of politics dashing from meeting to meeting.

Despite being the littlest and perhaps the lesser man in the room, to the world Chariman Lorenz was among the most influential people alive. As nominal leader of the United Nations he had clout others could only dream of.

Alas, his power was not as secure or far reaching as it should have been.

The scrolls of Megiddo speak only true. But there have been irregularities here and there. The rise of snapping hounds like Aurelian, like Vance, like Motichka, were not foreseen.

An unfortunate twinge of anger darted down his spine. The thought of all those fallen faithful among the blue helms, slain by that reprobate Aurelian some fifteen years before, disgusted him.

He will be left behind. See how your power prevails against God, "Princeps." The Rome you so admire fell before him too.

"Excellency." The two men bowed their heads, which the Archbishop returned.

"What has brought you to my sanctum, Kihl?" He said.

"It is Ikari, Excellency. More must be done." Kihl answered sharply.

"Ah." The Archbishop nodded. "And what do you suggest be done?"

"We should do as we have done thousands of times before: remove the heretic."

The Archbishop suppressed a chuckle. In Kihl's old face he still saw the sparkling eyes of a young initiate desperate for guidance. The man's humble zeal kept him going as his body fell apart, but sometimes it blinded him to more delicate approaches.

Among Kings and Emperors you are unseen, pulling strings perceptible only to you. But the faithless? Your wrath reveals itself.

"Could he be removed, Penance?" The Archbishop pondered aloud.

"Yes, Excellency. It would be difficult and take some time, but we could kill him…" Penance's face tightened as he dropped his gaze.

"Could?" A faint smile danced across the Archbishop's weathered lips. "Is the relentless Penance hesitant to smite a heretic?"

"No, Excellency. It would be done-"

"You are wise to be cautious." The Archbishop noted a candle flicker out and went to light it again. "Gendo Ikari likely has more countermeasures than Christ has followers. Should he be abruptly slain then at least one would be activated. No, we must tread with care."

"But something must be done, Excellency." Kihl pressed desperately. "That blasphemer undermines everything we do. And I fear that abomination he's created may be key to his plan to undo us. We could at least strike against that."

"Kill the First Child?" The Archbishop shook his head as he coaxed the little candle back to life. "It is a crime against God's creation, to be sure, but Ikari would only make another one."

"Then…what are we to do? His speeding the development of the dummy plug is obviously provocation to which we must respond." Kihl's shoulders began to droop in resignation.

"And our response would concentrate our resources elsewhere." The Archbishop said nonchalantly, as if Gendo's move were a well answered maths equation. "He has played his hand well."

Ironic. I ordered the deaths of billions, knowing what must be. And I would do so again. But this one well placed life we must tread so carefully around. He hid a small smile. God forgive me, but I enjoy the challenge.

"Then we must play his game for now." Growled Penance.

"Indeed." The Archbishop relit the candle then turned back to them. "Accelerate production of the MP Evas. If that must come at the cost of infiltrating Nerv, then so be it. The Lord's messengers will be enough, regardless of Ikari's plans."

Ah, our heralds. Their grand, glorious wings shall sweep over the world…

He looked up at the ceiling to try and imagine those massive beasts among the heavenly host. Then, as he stared, a thought came to him.

The hosts of Heaven…Lord you work in mysterious ways.

"What is the status of the new dreadnought program?" His question caught Penance and Kihl by surprise. The former tilted his head whilst the latter frowned.

"In excess of ninety percent, Excellency. They should be fully online in about a month's time." Kihl said, stroking his chin.

"And they are crewed by the faithful?"

"All critical staff walk the path."

"Excellent. Use your influence in the UN to get them deployed to Japan as soon as possible."

"As you wish. I shall alert the Japanese Parish to prepare for their arrival." The frown almost immediately lifted on Kihl's gnarled old face.

Gendo Ikari could not refuse three of the most powerful FCV's ever built being added to his arsenal, all whilst knowing the Viaticum now had the means to keep a closer eye on him. As if that was not enough, now hundreds of acolytes had the chance to interact with and slip into Levav Base.

In the Archbishop's eyes it was perfect.

"With that matter concluded-" He switched his attention to Penance. "You wished to speak of faith wavering in a few?"

Penance nodded. "Yes, Excellency. I have the names of some four dozen who have strayed from the path. And a further handful of intelligence agencies have operatives sniffing too closely."

"Agent Kaji?"

"Not yet, I believe."

"Good. Let him carry on. His obsession is of use to us. The Reconciliation have my full authority to silence the rest."

"It will be done."

To order a person's death was a curious thing. That you could reach out and kill whomever you so desired could become a dangerously intoxicating idea. The Archbishop trusted to the Lord that he would not slip. In his Holy cause he killed when he had to and no more.

Alas that he often had to kill.

Blood alone will earn His forgiveness. Sacrifice will grant us Eden. And I will make as many sacrifices as need be to free mankind from this miserable purgatory.

'If that will be all' was on the tip of his tongue, until he saw Kihl weakly open and close his mouth, hands fidgeting in his deep pockets.

"Kihl, my son. I sense you have something else to say?"

The old man took a breath. "Yes. With respect, would it not have been wise to place the Lamb and Deliverer together earlier? Rapture approaches, and he must bond with her or else her sacrifice cannot illuminate him. If the Final Consecration fails…"

"A valid question." The Archbishop's hand gently drifted over the blade before the altar. "Matters have moved a little quicker than anticipated. Regardless of how quickly we can move her to Japan, the situation remains imperfect. But have faith, Kihl. This is God's plan and all will go as according to His design. Both Lamb and Deliverer have already been adequately prepared for their roles. Does that put your mind at ease?"

"It shall have to, Excellency."

"Good." The Archbishop let his gaze linger on the glinting blade for a few moments more. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to my prayers."

"Of course. Ad Dei Glorium." Kihl and Penance murmured, then bowed their heads and left. Their footsteps echoed until the doors creaked shut. The Archbishop was alone.

He again turned to that great golden cross, that great gleaming symbol of all he held dear, and knelt before it. His knees scuffed against the hard stone, beneath which where buried many bodies of the faithful.

In that respect, in the company of the dead, he was never truly alone.

This was the Viaticum's most sacred site, where the Flesh of God had been found and received. Where the future had been laid open to those who could see.

To be buried here was a high honour indeed.

As he gave thanks to his Lord for that touch of inspiration, the Archbishop thought of those beneath his feet. Of even the skeletons slowly turning to dust and corruption. Regardless of their deeds, or their standing in life, this was the fate of all.

Directly beneath him was a knight, a warrior of the Third Crusade. To his left an acolyte who'd stood at the arrogant Sun King's side in the court of Versailles. And to his right, a humble financier who had managed to protect the Viaticum's wealth in 1929.

All good men he missed so dearly.

Their cruel fates were the price of Adam and Eve's foolishness. That which had cast them and all their heirs out of where mankind truly belonged.

Not for much longer. The homecoming had long been overdue. Eden called to her wayward children.

Soon, he and all mankind would be free of this mortal, flawed, coil.

Soon all would return to the one supreme being from which they all came. And there, embraced in the body of God, there would be no pain, no death, just endless joy.

And he would do whatever it took, spill however much blood was needed, to achieve it.

If evil must be done to shatter this fleeting existence, to lift the veil between us and our Creator, then is it truly evil?

 

[Lord Sovereign]

"All men fear judgement, whether it comes in this life or the next." Inscription found in the Sognefjord ruins, circa 2017

XXVIII​

The trickling water bit at his ear like a gnat. Grisca usually enjoyed nature, to hear and feel the forces of life itself be pumped like blood, but he wasn't in the right frame of mind. He would not be here were it in his power.

Give offerings before a stone? Grisca sniffed in derision. The battlefield is my grove. And I have made many offerings.

He proved his devotion to the Gods by keeping his skills sharp and striking true.

For the Lords of Hassgard, the almighty Hassir, were bloody Gods indeed.

But tradition demanded and even the Butcher bowed before the old ways.

He knew he was unwelcome here and walked briskly. Much as Grisca had hated visiting the shrines and temples of old, at least then there had been the sound of birdsong in the trees, leaves that whispered and trunks that groaned in the wind.

Not here though. Here there was only the occasional clap of dead thunder in a dead sky.

This must be what Snormaug is like…I can't wait to see Felngard again.

Grisca flashed a smile at the thought of blue sky and fluffy white clouds. As much as it consumed his soul, revenge and the sweet tase of blood were not all that motivated him.

…revenge.

His good mood was blown away like those phantom clouds.

Ierfr…

The thought of Ierfr, proud and mighty Ierfr, falling at the hands of such a mewling race like mankind sickened the Butcher to his core. His older brother, the eldest of Aerid Heldrdottir's children, was one of the greatest swordsmen who ever lived.

But he'd something the other children of Eivar Oathbreaker, kinslayer, usurper, did not: honour.

It had hindered the boisterous fool in battle yet kept his conscience clear.

Did that cost him his life?

Grisca approached the ring of stones, the tree they encircled, the bubbling stream that ran past them, and their mutilated hag of a keeper. Grisca knew Grunhild had heard him approach yet she did little to acknowledge him.

He ground his teeth.

At ten paces, the last volva sighed and turned. Grisca felt a little shiver as her eyeless gaze cut through his very soul.

"Welcome, my Prince." She gave a bow of her head, stiffer than usual. "I presume you have come to make the necessary sacrifices?"

"Yes." Grisca said bluntly. "If I may approach the circle?"

"You may." Grunhild went back to her bowls and runes. The Butcher often wondered if those who claimed themselves hearers of the Gods and the Spirits they ruled over could actually see anything in them.

Hah. 'See.'

He suppressed a chuckle and strode over to the circle, bowing his head in reverence to those unmoving stones. Unlike others, Grisca then circled them until he reached one stone in particular. It was cracked and chipped, with a face chiselled into a hard glare. These were the injuries and face of a warrior.

A small ceremonial knife lay at the foot of the tree. Grisca knelt, curled his fingers around it, and frowned.

The only way you'd kill anyone with this is if they wanted you to. Useless.

Most of his kind lifted their voices to other Gods. Waldin was a favourite, as only the Allfather could be; Friyd was prayed to by every mother expecting a child, or farmer about to harvest his crops; Thrum was honoured by every young man who sought to be a hero.

And that snake Hreki kneels at the foot of his namesake. Trickery, deception…the tools of cowards.

Those who knew the truth of this world, that the strength of one's sword arm decided things, prayed to another.

Thrum may be might itself, but Hergrimm is the War God. Every man that calls himself a warrior is his disciple, the men we kill his offerings, and the battlefield his temple.

He drew the blade across his hand.

"Hergrimm battle lord, guardian of the strong, bane of widows, hear my prayer."

Blood pattered like raindrops.

"Upon my name as Grisca Eivarson, I vow to triumph or die. I will present this Evangelium's flayed corpse as my bloody gift to you. And should I fall, raise me again as a vengeful wedangr to haunt these vermin forever."

He stood up with a faint smile at the thought of his "offering", but then it wavered. There was silence.

Impossible. Here the thunder and lightning never stop…

A bad omen?

No. Absurd. But just to be sure…

"Witch, I have a question-" Grisca took one look at her face and felt a chill down his spine. The volva was frowning.

"…silence. Hm." She immediately cast runes into her bowl.

Grisca quickly paced over to her, cursing himself at the same time.

I am Grisca. I am the Butcher. I care nothing for this nonsense.

"Well?" He snapped at her. "What does it mean!?"

"My Prince…" She ran her hand through the bowl. "These things are imprecise. A mystery. An omen in one place can mean something else in another."

Grisca snarled. "That's a long way of saying you don't know, witch. That Heresyd has any patience for you is the real mystery."

He watched her shrink a little at the mention of his strange half-brother. Heresyd was handsome, mighty, and coupled with this broken freak. What's more she knew her unworthiness of him, thus providing a nice chink in the armour to slide a knife in.

You've taught me well, Harotr. Twisted and sick creature that you are.

The thought of his younger brother, of Harotr mind breaker, Harotr the blue, the most terrible of Thrymwald's sons, caused his stomach to quickly squirm.

There are things you don't do to people. Sparing them from his hand is the one mercy I grant mankind...and it is a mercy indeed.

"Make your offerings on the battlefield, then." The volva said. "Perhaps your 'god' might hear your prayers there."

"Hergrimm is battle lord." Grisca growled. "And he favours me in every sword stroke."

An old religious quarrel that had long been gratefully buried, in his view. There had been those who did not think the general of Waldin's armies was truly divine, merely another spirit like those that lived in the streams, stones, and mountains of the world.

But warriors knew different. Hergrimm had shown himself in the crucible of war, breaking the weak and forging the strong.

"True enough, he does seem to cast his favour on you, my Prince." Grunhild said. "But his path is one of darkness, slaughter, and destruction. This is not his place. This is a place of light and life. Something the battle lord and his followers can only take from this world, not put into it-"

At that Grisca seized her by the throat and, with one hand, he lifted her off the ground.

"Oh I put light enough into the world, witch." His lip trembled. "And the humans snuffed them both out, along with the woman who birthed them."

So mighty was Grisca the Butcher that Grunhild couldn't snap back with her usual wit. Instead, she choked in his grip.

Grisca grimaced then relented. As an act of apology he didn't merely let her drop to the floor, setting her down lightly instead.

"I am not my uncle. I am not Hreki. Insult me again and die."

The volva caught her breath for a moment, back straight instead of unbowed. Grisca couldn't help but admire the inner strength of this cripple. Even blind, broken and useless, the last of those who heard the lords of Hassgard whisper bowed before none.

Not even mighty Thrymwald.

A silence held for a moment before Grisca snorted. "I suppose my omen is even worse now?" He shook his head then turned and strode away.

For tradition's sake. I truly care little for it.

"Pour over your bones with those dead eyes. Given that you can't watch me win this war in a single stroke, that might be for the best." He didn't hear her reply or go back to her runes, as he soon stormed back out into the dead forest.

Still, it niggled at him.

What if it does mean something? What if I've just made my situation all the worse?

Grisca grit his teeth.

I need no God's favour save for Hergrimm's. I am Grisca. I will kill until my task is done.

He focused on his hand, flexing his fingers and forcing them to stretch out. He pictured them elongating, merging together, flesh giving way to hot, pure energy. As if his command where heeded, Grisca's forearm transformed into a terrible whip of energy; red lightning crackled around it.

The merest taste of his Ettun form, a power passed only through the Royal line, gave the Butcher a cruel smile.

All who've died by my hand have done so in terrible pain. You will be no different, Evangelium Unit 01.

When was it that he'd developed a thirst for blood? Some believed it a consequence of his difficult upbringing, but Grisca had felt the urge for as long as he could remember.

It is my father's blood. It takes a disease of the soul to wet your blade in the blood of family so…enthusiastically. And illness can be passed from parent to child…

No more than twenty paces away, a twig snapped. His pointed ears twitched, honed by millennia of combat.

The Butcher looked in its direction and tilted his head.

Waendel wouldn't even bother sneaking up on me, and I wouldn't hear Cynerid until it was too late. So who…

Grisca sighed.

Of course.

"You're quick, little brother. But you must quieter if you are to be a hunter."

Gingerly, Vargun slinked out from between the trees. A bow was slung over his shoulder, quiver full of arrows at his belt.

"Cynerid had me do a sweep of the forest. She'd left trails-"

"And one of them happened to bring you here?" Grisca cuffed him round the ears, but not nearly as hard as he could. "Your curiosity will be the death of you, brother."

The younger Erafir chuckled sheepishly. "Maybe."

Grisca rolled his eyes. "Given that you're here, you might as well walk with me." He strode on, beckoning for his youngest brother to follow. Vargun hesitated for a moment, then jogged to catch up.

"Your training goes well?" Grisca asked.

"Yes…I think." Vargun mumbled.

"You think?"

"Well I'm actually hitting the target now, and Cynerid can't hear me from the other side of the forest. Earith is still better than me."

"Come now, it can't be that bad."

"When I loosed my first shaft, I hit Hugi."

Grisca whistled.

Cynerid must have been furious. My sister's always had a temper like a storm, even when it doesn't come to that fucking bird.

His side of the family had always been angrier, hadn't it? For his uncle's brood, Harotr took up the majority of the cruelty, but Bjorn skin changer could turn nasty all too quickly. Still, their wrath didn't really compare with him or Ragnar. That was to be expected of course, as their blood was cursed.

Their father's name, Eivar Kinslayer, was one hated far more than Thrymwald the Conqueror ever could be. Ever synonymous with treachery, Grisca felt all the dirtier by thinking about it.

Monster. What he did to grandfather, to uncle, to…to mother.

Eivar, a usurper who'd slain everyone in his way on his path to the throne, had seen Aerid as a prize, a baby machine to secure the future of his dynasty. Nothing more.

But to Grisca and his full blooded siblings she was their mother. And when Eivar had forced them to choose between him and her, he payed for his folly with his life.

It wasn't enough. He. Took. Her. Eye. Just for speaking against him! We should have done something sooner…anything…

"Is something wrong?" Vargun tilted his head. "You seem sad."

Ah, perceptive like mother.

"It is nothing." Grisca put an end to that line of enquiry, his voice dyed in a tone that said "no more."

Yet his mind still dwelt.

Oh little brother, how could you think yourself cursed? It was not in your power to protect mother, but it was in mine. He frowned. If my death is foretold, then perhaps that is the price the Gods have ordained for my existence. It is fair.

The two walked a little further together through the woods. Grisca observed the teenager without looking at him, a talent only a warrior could possess. Vargun seemed to shy away and try to get closer at the same time.

He fears for me, as he mourns for Ierfr. I miss him too, Vargun.

Suddenly, a cold dread tugged at the Butcher's heart.

If I should fall…what would they think I thought of them?

Even Ragnar, bitter former heir to the throne, had shown more open affection for those that replaced him. Grisca had struggled to do that with his own full blooded siblings, let alone the children of Thrymwald.

What would they think of him?

"…Vargun." He said and stopped abruptly, catching the younger Inheritor by surprise.

"Yes, brother?" Vargun said, curiosity in his tone.

"I…I am a fell creature, Vargun. A hething." Grisca raised his hand to stifle any complaint. "Don't argue. You know my sagas. You know what I've done. You likely know that I enjoyed them."

He then gently placed his hand onto Vargun's shoulder. His youngest brother's sharp eyes almost seemed to pop out of his head at the sight.

"I am a monster, little brother." Grisca smiled a rare, sad, smile. "But I do love you. You, uncle, the entire band of oafs I share blood with."

"I am no fool, Grisca." Vargun returned the smile. "I know you care. We all do."

He hasn't objected to my calling myself a monster. Grisca noted.

It was then, so lost in this rare moment, that the two realised they'd reached the outskirts of the forest. Grisca's road led back to the Royal Hall and final preparations, whilst Vargun needed to turn back to the forest, lest he wanted to face Cynerid's wrath.

Here they had to part.

"Goodbye, Vargun." Grisca squeezed Vargun's shoulder. "If things go badly, I'll send Ierfr your regards."

Vargun forced a smile. "You can both knock back a few for me in Slagnhal."

Grisca laughed at that, genuinely. "I'll be sure to keep the bench warm for whenever you join me. Ensure you have plenty of stories as I'll be long bored of Ierfr's boasting by then."

Vargun laughed with him.

"Now. Off with you before my sister catches you." Grisca nodded in the direction of the forest. The teenager gave a last warm smile before doing as bid.

The Butcher watched Vargun go with a faint smile. It was true he was closer to his full blooded siblings than those of Thrymwald, but they all ultimately came from the same mother. In Vargun's eyes he saw the intelligence, patience and warmth of Aerid.

Ah mother. Even after all I've done you still loved me. His shoulders sagged. I am evil. Why was I not struck down that day on the ice? Did the Allfather need your counsel so desperately?

Grisca thought back to that day of hammering snow and human thunder weapons. Of his mother's lifeless corpse in slowly blued snow, the shrieking of the gale only interrupted by the wails of an infant Vargun.

His fist clenched.

He'd killed many humans that day. The gore of man had turned even the ice itself that strange crimson. Although it was but the beginning, it had been a beautiful sight.

The screams of battle, his ecstasy, gently lapped at his mind like a calm sea. The joy of war called.

Mankind would regret the day they'd wronged the children of Waldin, the Inheritors of all the Gods had left behind. And it would be by Sgeiran hand, that of the greatest kingdom of them all, the endless dominion of Thrymwald the Conqueror, that retribution would be delivered.

He would not die. He would triumph. And when the Felngard was their's again, he would forge a bond anew with his family.

A hideous grin spread across his features. There'd be room enough for killing, but what he'd do to this "Eva" and the City it protected would become legend.

Prepare yourself, "Nerv." Grisca the Butcher comes for you. Your skin shall be the parchment of my new saga; your blood my ink; your screams my verse.

---

Author's note:

So you might have noticed some new words/word changes from the more "Norse" sounding words that have been used previously. That's because those were sort of placeholders till I came up with something a smidgen better. For example, "Midgard", our world, is now "Felngard." Feln means field in their language.

Valhalla has been replaced with Slagnhal, "Hall of the slain."

Snormaug is new and is the Erafir version of Nastrond/Hell

Wedangr, "one who rages", is their equivalent of a draugr, the restless dead too angry to truly pass on.

Hassir are their "Aesir", and Hassgard is their realm.

Ettun is their version of a Jotun/Giant

Hething means villain

Anywho, it has actually been five sodding months hasn't it? God give me strength, I'm useless. See you next time, hopefully a little sooner.

Oh, and Happy Easter you ludicrously patient buggers. I don't deserve you.

 

[Lord Sovereign]

"There's nothing I love more than a fool. They can tell the greatest lie in the world but their faces can't hide their guilt." Major General Taira of the Kenpeitai, overseer of Nakisawame, 2015

XXIX​

Shinji rubbed his tired eyes as he stepped outside the apartment block. Humidity wrapped around him like an unwanted cloak, as the mirage effect wafted off the concrete and tarmac under the morning sun's glare.

The sky was blue, the sun's rays a glorious golden orange, and he felt miserable.

Shinji adjusted the strap on his bag as he walked a little way to the nearby bus stop. Normally he'd have had a quick conversation with Misato that cheered him up, but she'd had to head off a few hours before him today.

"Early call in. See you this afternoon. Help yourself to whatever's in the fridge. X" The note left on the kitchen mantelpiece had said.

Thoughts of his beautiful house mate soon intermingled with her uncharacteristic whimpers from the previous night.

Shinji frowned as he reached the bus stop, surprised at how much it bothered him.

There must be something I can do. I don't care about the reasons, she's been kind.

The high pitched whine of a bus's M-Engine came closer. Shinji sighed.

Nothing I can do. I'd just make a mess of it anyway. Besides, she's got that bird to keep an eye on her. At that he gently laughed.

The bus coasted to a stop and he got onboard. He asked for a ticket to Sengokuhara High, at which the glum driver numbly mumbled a price which Shinji paid. The engine hummed back into life and the bus jolted forward as Shinji made his way to its rear. Roughly a quarter of the seats were already filled, mostly by students in the same navy blue uniform as him, but there was a salaryman or two, head buried in the Nikkei or catching a quick nap.

Public transport was never quiet, but it was quieter in the morning, hence why he could find a nice seat.

Shinji plopped himself down at the very back of the bus, hidden away in his own little corner. But as he leaned back, his stomach shot into his shoes.

He gasped and doubled over, wondering if he was sick, only for the pain to depart as soon as it had come. Panting, Shinji straightened and caught the strange looks some passengers shot at him. He shied away, but massaged his stomach all the same.

What the…did I sit down too hard…No. That felt like something just yanked me…The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

Indeed, it were as if razor sharp talon had just cut into his gut and dragged it in a southwards direction.

…southwwards? Was there something in my cereal this morning?

Shinji shook his head.

My stupid brain playing tricks on me.

The bus gently glided its way into the centre of Nakisawame, where whatever empty seats remained would soon be filled up. He put his bag on the seat next to him as always, a desperate attempt to keep that quiet corner to himself and his thoughts.

For what good it does.

In contrast to him, a fair few students sat next to each other. As friends both inside and outside school, they talked and laughed. He imagined them meeting up to do whatever normal children and their friends did.

The closest Shinji had to that was Misato and Pen-pen drunkenly watching television. And that was new enough for him.

One day, that woman is going to vomit up what's left of her liver. Good grief…

None of the other students on the bus said hello. Most of them probably recognised him now. They saw him as the silent loner type, some even jokingly calling him "school shooter."

That suited him to an extent. As nice as it would have been to make friends, Shinji knew he wouldn't be there long enough to enjoy them anyway.

At one stop, a boy and a girl came aboard. Perhaps two years older than him, they sat together just a few rows ahead. The girl, pretty, her hair long and brown, rested her head on the boy's shoulder and they talked quietly to each other. A hollow longing tugged at Shinji's heart and he forced himself to look away.

I…I wish…He looked up at the sky to distract himself. Against that blue eternity, a flock of birds silently swooped overhead, unperturbed by the vast FCVs that hovered high above them.

Yet it was not enough.

What must it be like to be in love?

He snatched a quick glimpse of the couple just in front of him.

It must be nice.

The two of them kissed. Shinji forced down a growl and turned away.

Don't live vicariously through the normals for fuck's sake. You're enough of a weirdo as it is.

Hideyoshi square, a beating heart of Nakisawame, passed into view. Progress had slowed to a crawl thanks to early morning traffic. The recent exodus had done pitifully little to thin the ranks. Thousands upon thousands of people were crushed together in a chaos thicker than any mob he'd ever seen in Kure or even Camp Atami.

Shinji observed it all with a frown.

He was meant to be fighting for this, a place he didn't know, and filled with people he knew even less. People who might as well have come from a different world.

What am I fighting for?

An ant swarm of everyone from all walks of life, from school children to salarymen, bustled past. There were so many that it seemed as if the world would split apart under their weight.

Those he'd asked had told him that any pre-Eruption city was much the same. They were an unending hubbub too, illuminated by huge screens and their colourful consumerism.

But it was a lie to say they were exactly the same.

Shinji looked up to see the massed artillery and AA batteries dug into the city's larger hills, lords of ordinance sitting atop their concrete thrones.

Nakisawame was a fortress, regardless of Seraphim. Intermittent stairs could be made out between the crowd, ones that lead to the city's vast concrete and steel shelters. Kure had them as well, and more than one drill had put him down there.

All it would take was that haunting siren and people would bolt for those possible coffins. It had been bad enough back home but in Nakisawame, with a population far greater, Shinji wondered how often people got crushed to death.

The bus stopped and the flood gates opened. This time there were a few genuine commuters among the mass of teenagers. He was about to pay it no mind and reluctantly prepared to move his bag, until a pair of brown eyes fixed on him.

A cold tingle ran up Shinji's spine.

Toji's piercing, undoubtedly hostile, gaze fixed on him, like a silverback gorilla sizing up a threat to be crushed. The other boy, Kensuke, stood at his side and shot curious, worried glances at both Shinji and Toji.

Don't sit here. Please don't sit here.

For once his prayers were answered. Toji didn't take a seat. He didn't even look at him too long. He gripped one of the rails and stayed far away from him.

Shinji sighed with some relief and relaxed. The pin had been kept in the grenade for the moment.

Besides, he might suspect but he can't prove it. And in a few weeks it won't matter if he does.

As the bus rolled away on the last stretch of his journey, Shinji tried to melt into his seat as much as the fabric would allow. He heard a commotion at one spot and looked up to see two brown shirted Kenpei board. They paced up and down, and barked for identification.

Oh shit.

Like a laser guided missile, Shinji's hand shot to his Nerv Card, the one thing that kept the military police at arm's length. A lifetime in Kure and random ID checks had taught him the methodology of quickly procuring a card, and it was the same for a fair few there. With practised calm the older commuters reached into their bags and coat pockets, unafraid of the Marhsal's hounds.

The rest meanwhile, aside from a few wise teenagers, flailed in a panic. Shinji wasn't sure why. Youngsters never usually got it that hard from the Kenpeitai, perhaps a slap on the wrist at most. He himself had just been unlucky that one time, where his own daydreaming had brought him firmly under the fury of the military police, and an inexperienced Kenpei at that.

It was not the norm.

It's not like a Shisengumi death squad just came aboard.

He felt any tension float away upon realising one of the Kenpei was an older man with a calm expression.

Ex-policeman. Might even have his notebook on him.

The two brown shirted men roughly filtered through the crowd aboard the bus. Some of the students made a noise or two of annoyance, at which Shinji winced. The younger Kenpei's lip quivered.

Don't provoke him. For heaven's sake, don't give him an excuse.

"Hey, what's the idea?" The girl next to her boyfriend a few rows down snapped, and got smacked in the face for her trouble. Her boyfriend tried to speak up, to stand up, only to get a similar treatment

Shinji hid how flabbergasted he was. Are they rich or something? Old nobility? You don't talk back to Kenpei unless you're the Emperor himself. The routine checks must not be as routine here.

Soon enough his turn came and he held out his card. The younger Kenpei all but flinched. Shinji couldn't help but enjoy the slight power he held over the situation.

"Is there a problem, officer?" He quietly asked.

The younger Kenpei shot a glare, whilst the elder nodded. "There's been a terror attack in Koriyama. Insurgents may be in this city."

"A terrorist attack? I hadn't heard about that."

"There'll be an official press release this afternoon." The Kenpei said dismissively. "Enjoy your day, citizen."

The two brown shirts finished their sweep then left as quickly as they'd come. The bus calmly glided on and everyone settled down again, but the news troubled Shinji.

Koriyama? That close?

Two hundred miles away, Koriyama was one of Japan's greatest cities. Much like the other hubs of Motoyama, Hita, Moriyoka, Asahikawa and so forth, she'd grown from a town to a city via influx of refugees and distance from the ravaging floods.

Now, with a population well over a million, an attack in Koriyama was all but the same as one in Kure.

Shinji already had a good idea as to who was responsible.

Fucking Enenra. Who else could it be?

It was a prudent question. Colonial troubles were contained overseas, and insurgents, be they Australian, Indonesian, Chinese, or Philippine, were far more interested in killing Japanese soldiers on patrol. Only the Communists, those who refused to accept the judgement of the Battle of Nara those sixteen long years before, fought on.

Whenever another one of their compounds was found and crushed, people would think "that's it this time!"

They were always wrong.

Those traitors do go quiet for a few years at a time though. Shinji found a twinge of white hot anger worming its way through him. Nara, the War, bastards will never get the message. We don't want them.

The anger turned into a tingle of discomfort. Shinji knew he was being watched and instinctively knew who was watching. Toji eyed him up like a meal now.

My card. Shit.

Shinji didn't meet his gaze and dropped his own. He pictured Toji as his teacher or a Kenpei. No eye contact meant no challenge, and no challenge meant no excuse. Hopefully it didn't worsen Toji's suspicions, although Shinji did ponder how it could be worse.

Toji knew he was part of the organisation that nearly crushed his little sister to death, an important part at that, and Shinji couldn't have hid his guilt any worse.

All he needs is to see me piloting Unit 01 itself, and that's a fucking possibility at this rate. Shinji watched the school slowly come into view with a heavy heart. Come on. It's a couple more weeks. You can at least keep your head down for today.

The bus coasted to a stop and Shinji carefully slung his bag over his shoulder. Pretending to fill in a last bit of phantom homework, he let everyone else file off before him. He planned to take a less obvious route, preferably round the back through the sports field. Once he was in the classroom, all would be well.

Decided, he got off the bus and put on as normal a face he could. But almost immediately he realised it was futile.

Toji and the bespectacled boy stood at the entrance, waiting for him.

Shinji's poker face evaporated, his legs turned to solid rock, and the blood drained from his cheeks.

---

Author's note

Now I'm no mathematical savant, but I do believe five days is a touch shorter than five months. Don't quote me on that though!

 

[Lord Sovereign]

"It's often been said that a lie can travel halfway across the world before the truth has had time to put its boots on. A wise saying, to be sure, but compared to a rumour, or suspicion with a grain of truth? Now that can get to the moon and back before lie or truth know what's happening." Gendo Ikari.

XXX​

Toji's huge arms were folded and tensed, his eyes narrowed into slits. Kensuke would shoot semi-hostile glances as well, although he swayed and fidgeted incessantly.

They've blocked the main entrance. Shit.

Shinji cursed that these two were smarter than most Kenpei he'd avoided, but gulped and walked forward all the same, putting on his best smile.

"G-good morning." He said, as his blood drained from his cheeks, only now understanding just how massive Toji Suzuhara was.

I've seen Marine Sergeants skinnier than him.

Shinji gave a polite bow and tried to walk on through the gates. Toji stepped in front of him.

"Start talking, newbie." He said, his voice devoid of the easy warmth from yesterday.

Well now what?

"W-w-what do you mean?" Shinji lied, his eyes looking around for anyone else; save for a handful that milled at the edge, the courtyard was silent.

"Don't get smart with me." Toji slowly reached out and grabbed the collar of Shinji's uniform. There was no mad snap, only dreadful certainty. "Or I'll kill you."

Sweat trickled down the back of Shinji's neck. "I-I really don't-"

Toji slammed his fist into Shinji's stomach and drove the wind out of him. Shinji doubled over, only get steady by Toji's iron grip.

"Let's try this again." Toji leaned so close that Shinji could smell his hot breath. "Start. Talking."

"Easy, Toji…" Kensuke stepped a little closer.

"Stay out of this, Ken." Toji snarled. "This is between me and him."

Shinji's mouth turned dryer than the Australian desert. "What do you want to talk about?"

"You work for Nerv." Toji said. "Don't deny it. After Saito chewed you out, and that card you waved around earlier, you can't hide it. And I don't know how, or why, but you had something to do with what happened to Sakura..." His voice broke for a moment.

"W-what?" Shinji's heart hammered as he tried to weasel his way out of this one. "I don't understand-"

Toji hit him again.

"Don't. Lie. To. Me." Toji's tone had turned acidic. "What did you do?"

Shinji swallowed. "I can't-"

Toji hit him again.

"What did you do?"

"It's classified!" Shinji wheezed.

Toji's fist buried itself into his stomach and drove up into his diaphragm. Bile bit at the back of Shinji's throat.

"What. Did. You. Do?"

"I…I'm the pilot of Unit 01!" The words tumbled out. Due to guilt or pain, he didn't know, but Shinji knew then he may have made the last mistake of his life.

Silence hung in the air.

Kensuke nervously laugh.

"Yeah, and I'm the Tsar of Russia. Don't bullshit us, Ikari-san."

Toji didn't laugh. His lip quivered and his gaze narrowed further.

I'm going to die.

Toji's grip slackened on Shinji's collar then clamped around his throat. The next blow lifted him off the ground.

Shinji gasped.

Toji didn't let go. He dragged Shinji that bit closer and cracked his fist into the smaller boy's jaw. Then again, and again, and again. Kensuke's concern quickly turned to panic as he reached for his friend.

But Toji's gaze had become glazed over. He wasn't there anymore.

Shinji knew the look. It was shared by men who threw themselves at others, shattered bottle in hand, even in the presence of Kenpeitai. It was that empty void totally surmounted by an animalistic urge.

Toji was going to do him harm, and he didn't care about the consequences.

Shinji did nothing to stop it.

I deserve it. I always deserve it.

Memory of this boy on the verge of tears over his sister, a story of a little girl crippled by his own incompetence, tugged at his mind and heart.

And she was the lucky one. I killed three hundred people. My fault. My stupid fault.

Shinji's vision became blurrier, his mind hazy. Hot liquid that tasted of iron gushed from ruined gums and split lips.

So this it, huh? See you soon, mother.

"Toji, enough." Kensuke had put a hand on Toji's shoulder.

The blows continued to fall.

"He's had enough! Toji!" Kensuke tried to grab his friend's arm, but Toji hammered away regardless.

Warm, hot, liquid streamed from Shinji's nose and mouth as he tasted a metallic taste he knew all too well.

His ears twitched at other, dull noises from a little way off. Shouts and shoes scraped against gravel with a few feminine screams mixed in.

"Suzuhara-san! Stop!"

The beating abruptly stopped and Shinji crashed to the floor. His world swam in that familiar manner, so he let himself vomit and stayed on the gravel until it passed. The sounds of a struggle became clearer with each passing second.

The dizziness passed and Shinji blearily looked up. Crimson gushed from mouth and nose which he gingerly wiped with his hand.

Toji had been dragged off him by two teachers, Kensuke, and someone else. Upon further thought, to his surprise, Shinji recognised him as the class bully. The adults shouted and strained, their expressions mixtures of horror and surprise. A pair of girls, old enough to be in their last year, stood by the main doors with hands clasped over their mouths.

Toji still had that absent, feral, look in his eyes.

It wouldn't have mattered if a Kenpei had drawn his pistol and screamed at him to stop. Toji would have carried on up to and beyond Shinji's skull caving in.

Just someone else who hates me. What's one more to the fucking list?

Strong arms lifted him to his feet and he was gently brought inside. The corridors fuzzily flew by, some students gasping as they saw him. Shinji let his head hang limply as he put one foot in front of another, not forcing his mind to clear. It would sort that out on its own.

He was hauled into on office, which he recognised as their history teacher Mr Sisata's. Set down on a nice chair, some of Shinji's blood dribbled on it for which he apologised, but Sisata dismissed it. Not a minute later the school nurse hurried in and half shrieked at his injuries. She furiously wiped over his cuts with anti-sceptic sheets and applied ice packs to his bruises, but he weirdly didn't feel so awful. Just as it was with that barrage of fists at the hands of the Kenpeitai, or the routine wrath of his deceased teacher, it felt like a dull throbbing.

In some ways I was lucky. I didn't hit the back of my head this time.

"Does he need hospital?" Sisata said.

"I…" The nurse frowned, half appalled, half baffled. "I don't know. Ikari-san, how are you feeling?"

Shinji forced a smile. It wouldn't do to worry anyone.

"I've had worse." He lied. Toji had outdone teacher by quite a bit.

"You've had…" She shook her head, as if surprised to hear him talk at all. "Can you move?"

"He's walked a good chunk of the way here." Sisata said.

She continued to dress his wounds.

"What happened?" Sisata cut to the heart of it.

Shinji paused for a moment, then forced words out through a strangely slow moving jaw. "Had a falling out with Suzuhara-san, sir."

Sisata's grey eyebrows microscopically drew together as his hawkish face became all the more hawkish. He walked over to his desk and picked up his phone.

"I'll have to call your guardian. I think you can have the rest of the day off, Ikari-san." He said.

"You don't have to-" Shinji tried to say. This was the last thing someone as busy as Misato needed to deal with.

Sisata tilted his head. "Ikari-san, you've essentially been assaulted. If you want to press charges, Suzuhara-san would get a criminal record and he'd frankly deserve it. This is something I very much have to do."

"Assault is putting it lightly." The nurse growled, mopping up blood from Shinji's nose. "Clotting nicely thank the Gods…I don't think there's any immediate danger, but I'd get him checked out by a doctor just to be sure."

"His guardian ought to be able to deal with that." Sisata said as he dialled the number.

Off to the Nerv Medical ward again? Shinji almost laughed. Fuck, I'm almost becoming a regular there.

After the nurse had looked him over as thoroughly as she could, cleared away as much blood as possible, and given him an ice pack, she packed up her things and left. Shinji didn't know how long he sat there, holding the ice to his throbbing jaw. He heard Mr Sisata make some calls, one to whomever was dealing with Toji, and the other to his put upon guardian, but didn't pay them much mind. Instead, he sank deep into thought.

Toji and Kensuke knew. And he wasn't so naive as to think that bit of information would stay with them. It would be hushed up as best it could be, but rumour would spread like wildfire. Many would scoff at it but some would believe. Shinji's brief stint here had become much harder.

Why oh why can I not keep out of trouble?

A knock on the door brought him back to reality. The clock ticked by 9:45.

I've been here for more than half an hour? Time flies when I'm off in my own little world.

"Come." Sisata said.

The door opened and Misato walked in, dressed in her usual attire, although today she had her red Nerv jacket and beret on. No doubt that skin tight black cocktail dress drew the looks of half the boys in school. In any other situation, Shinji might have laughed.

Her eyes glinted with horror upon seeing him, but Misato betrayed nothing else. "What the hell happened?"

"Ikari-san was assaulted by another student. Neither will say why." Sisata explained.

Misato fixed Shinji with a frown, surprisingly lacking in judgement or disappointment, as if he weren't at fault but she remained curious as to what happened.

It was my fault, Katsuragi-san. Mine and mine alone.

"Thank you, Sisata-san." She said after a moment's pause. "I'm guessing the responsible party will be punished?"

"Suzuhara-san has been called to the Head Master's office. He'll be caned severely. He's lucky Ikari-san doesn't want to press charges…" Sisata sighed. "I can scarcely believe it. Suzuhara-san is a good, polite student. I've never known him to act out like this."

Misato's frown became a touch more suspicious. Shinji knew she'd already guessed he and Toji had spoken about something and it had turned nasty.

She's clever like that.

"I'll take it from here." She said. "You'd better get back to work."

"Thank you, Katsuragi-san." Sisata gave a bow of the head, which Misato returned, then left the office. In a second, Misato's frown softened and she walked over to Shinji. He didn't lift his gaze, wondering just how bad he actually looked.

"Come on." Her tone was gentle. "We'll get that looked at."

---

Now, I don't want to raise hopes too high, but I think I'm getting a bit better at this update schedule business!