Disclaimer and Foreword:

I must recommend Archangel38's 'A Century Apart', found at .net/s/6102321/1/NGE_A_Century_Apart. It's a good read, and I owe the fellow the idea of 'Evangelion in the past'. Sadly, only his (her?) latest chapter approaches my standards of unnecessarily flowery language. It's a fair bit more action-packed than this series, though: expect a lot of sitting around and talking, standing around and talking and (shock! awe!) sitting down, then standing up - to talk, of course. I would like to think things pick up a bit after about chapter... oh, seven, but a lot of it's still just people hanging around and talking as of chapter ten. So! You have been warned.

Gainax owns Evangelion, in case anyone's been living in a foxhole in the Philippines since the war ended, occasionally shooting farmers and policemen that try to get them to surrender. (Oblique and overly, nigh-clumsily-direct) References to real people, living and dead, are almost certainly intentional.

Reviews are more than welcome, of course.

It is a cloudy day in New Edo.

The grey water laps weakly at the exposed rock of the former hillside. A light easterly breeze rustles the wild grass and scraggly bushes that are all that grow here. Once, you could observe the slums of Tokyo from these hills. And breathe in the smog, for that matter. Now you could go fishing here, if you wanted.

Not that you would catch anything.

Today the waters' edge bustles with activity. An American destroyer is moored a few hundred metres offshore, and more ships are visible on the horizon. One can just make out a cargo ship from the top of the hill here; it sticks to the deeper waters southeast of the city and is no doubt making its way to the city's artificial harbour. Another convoy of lorries rumbles down the coast road. They are towing guns – artillery. It's a curious sight. The trucks are a Japanese make; they bear the white-and-red flag of the rising sun, but the guns themselves are Soviet made. The self-propelled artillery pieces waiting for them by the shore are also Soviet models.

The trio of attack helicopters flying by them are American, and they are but one formation of many crowding the sky. The faint scream of jet engines is audible as the aeroplanes circle overhead.

The centrepiece of the action is a surprisingly human figure. 'Surprisingly' on account of its size. It is a hundred metres tall, perhaps. It crouches on one knee, hands planted firmly on – no, into – the ground, facing northeast and out to sea. The dim light of the morning sun gleams ever so faintly off the unpainted metal of its gauntlets, its helmet, and myriad other pieces of armour. It looks like something from the times of Nobunaga or Cao Cao. A cable trails from its spine to the strange vehicle which occupies the pair of railway tracks behind it. A train-spotter, anorak or no, might notice that the gauge of the rails is wider than one would expect in Japan. The design bureau or the construction team could tell you that building the damn thing was more than just a simple question of packing earth and laying tracks, though that was part of it.

A pair of trains screeches to a halt behind the twin-engine curiosity which sits at the end of the tracks. Their cargoes look very queer indeed, but their purpose becomes clear when the figure stands up, walks over to them, and picks them up. Once seen in the hands of the humanoid figure, they take on the form of a rifle, a pistol, ammunition, and magazines. The figure loads the pistol and clips it into a slot on the front of its carapace. It checks the rifle for faults before loading it and firing a single round into the water nearby. The water is shallow, however, and the round detonates. The artillerymen are impressed. The figure fits magazines into various places and settles down to wait with its miniature brethren.

They do not have to wait long.

A little way in from the destroyer, a darker patch of water becomes apparent as it swiftly advances upon the shore. The foamy trails of torpedoes are visible as the destroyer launches a withering salvo at it. A hundred metres from land, one makes contact in a muted plume of water.

The shadow keeps advancing as the other torpedoes detonate against the rock of the seashore. It slows to a stop only metres from dry land.

That is when the entity rises out of the water to reveal itself as a roughly humanoid figure. It has what are recognisable as a pair of legs and a pair of arms.

That is where the similarities end.

Everyone is too stunned to do anything as it takes its first tottering steps on dry land. Its empty, vaguely avian sockets stop their scan mid-sweep and it turns its whole body to face the waiting figure of black and grey.

Everything is very, very still for a moment.

The silence is broken by a shot. It's a small thing, probably a pistol. Neither of the giant figures notices, but many of the artillerymen look around dumbly for the firer. In the fearful quiet, there is the distinctive sound of a mortar being fired and then another. An artillery piece fires and, in the next few seconds, the figure on the beach is the centre of a whirlwind of sound, light, and smoke. The kneeling figure fires off a few rounds experimentally.

The firing comes to an abrupt halt, as everyone waits for the last of the smoke to clear. Seconds later the alien figure is revealed to be unharmed, though they cannot help but read a certain degree of taken-aback-ness in its guarded poise. The giant on the hill raises its weapon and resumes firing, the soldiers scrambling to follow suit.

The rumble of the guns was ever-present as the jeep made its way down the deserted northern highway. They faint but distinctive roar of jet engines had been an ever-present accompaniment to the increasingly sporadic report of the artillery, but they could be heard no longer.

The jeep was green and emblazoned with the flag of the rising sun. It had four wheels, five seats and was wholly unremarkable in itself. The windshield was up, but not the flimsy hood. In it were three people; all natives, and all in uniform: a girl in khaki, a woman in black, and a boy in black-and-white.

Strangely, the woman sat in the back with the kid.

Stranger still, she was practically sitting in his lap.

As one might expect, he appeared extremely uncomfortable.

She seemed to find his discomfort very amusing.

The driver was doing her best to ignore the both of them, but she snuck in a peek every once in a while. They were going too fast for her to hear them properly, but she was pretty sure that the officer was doing most of the talking. One thing was for sure, though; she envied that kid. Just look at him, sitting there with a Captain fawning all over him...

'Why can't I ever get some of that?'

The line of thought took a turn for the serious as she noted a road sign. Not too long before they would be at the station now. Couple of minutes, tops.

'Regulations, of course. Then there's competition...' she pretended to examine another road sign as they zoomed past so she could give the young couple another quick assessment, then sighed at the conclusion. The both of them were prettier than she was. Which formed the basis of the third point. 'Demand.' Everyone loves a man in uniform. An officer's uniform, that is. It's probably right there in the constitution. Which was funny because the constitution was very clear on the subject of military officers – there weren't supposed to be any. 'But what have we here?' She grinned to herself. Ha-de-frickin' grin faded as she noticed that something was missing.

Her brows furrowed in concentration, then went slack as she paled.

The guns had stopped. Not just... muted or paused or whatever. They'd stopped entirely.

She felt sick all of a sudden. Ill-at-ease, having a bad feeling about this, that sort of thing. There was a whole division out there! Foreigners, too!

As her brain worked the matter further, she felt more uneasy still. The jeep had a radio, but they hadn't given her a channel to use, which was bloody typical. There were still jets and helos around though. You could hear them just fine. She scanned the sky for them with one eye on the road.

The planes she could see were flying away from the action.

The Captain noticed her looking around, and they exchanged a significant glance. She stopped teasing the kid and produced a pair of binoculars from somewhere, starting her own scan.

They couldn't be more than a minute from the station now, surely.

"Stop the car."

She did. Too quickly, if anything; the kid ended up sprawled over her shoulders but that didn't matter because they had togetout. The two of them practically threw him out before rushing him into the drainage ditch at the side of the road. It was the only cover for maybe half a mile.

"Keep your fingers in your ears and your eyes closed. Don't stop until I tell you to. Got it?"

He nodded, but questions were evident in his eyes and he opened his mouth to "– just do it."

He obeyed and curled up into a ball. The sky lit up like… like something very bright and the last thing she saw in the split second before she did the same as the kid was the Captain throwing herself on top of him, fingers in her ears. She couldn't help but be amused at how silly she looked in that moment. Her laughter was reduced to utter insignificance by the heat and sound that followed.

A clatter sounded as the receiver tumbled back into its cradle.

JSDF Chief Ishiwara let his arm fall to the table as he gripped the bridge of his nose firmly between his fingers. Squinting his eyes shut for a moment, he inwardly despaired.

'A whole division... There's no way I'm not losing my position for this. But what choice did I have? How was I to know that bastard's fucking...invincible? And him... millions of dollars, thousands of our top personnel... and he has the balls to say he doesn't even have a single bloody machine good to go the minute someone actually needs him in his petty little nobody's life.'

The little nonce was trying to make him look bad, he just knew it.

Major General Petrenko, liasion to the Peoples' Far Eastern Station Expeditionary Force, reached across and stubbed out another gold-rimmed cigarette in the ashtray. This was not a good day for him either. The Americans and their 6th Fleet had gotten off relatively lightly, but...

'...but we can't have lost less than half a division, and all our armour.'

He glanced sideways at the 6th Fleet representative, who was now talking at length into his phone with his hand cupped over the receiver. Petrenko rolled his eyes. 'It's tapped... idiot.'

With any luck he would be talking about alternatives. Final solutions. Nuclear Weapons. The Peoples' Expeditionary Forces had their own of course, but now was certainly not the time to reveal they had them. Well. Not when other options were still available. He glanced down to the silent duo on the balcony below. His gaze fixed itself on the back of the seated man who he was willing to bet was the object of the JSDF Chief's silent indignation. It was curious, really, the timing of it all. There was no real need for him to stick around, but it wasn't like he had anywhere better to be, so he might as well be sitting in a comfy chair, smoking and enjoying the show...

Rear Admiral Casey replaced the phone and held his hand there for a moment, taking the time to compose himself; cracking his knuckles under the table while wondering just how to break it to his comrades-in-arms.

'Comrades.'

A loaded word. Once upon a time, that word could have meant raised eyebrows and maybe a surreptitious memo to the OSS—no, the CIA. They'd come a long way since then. Now, they were all 'Comrades in Arms', 'Working Together for a Better Tomorrow' and, simply, 'Friends'. He recalled the 'Friends' poster, with the hand-shaking and smiling people working together for a better tomorrow... more than that, he remembered the newspaper cartoon version of it. The one with the bear tentatively offering a single claw up to an eagle hovering over its head, which in turn extended a single claw back down its way. Anyway.

He cleared his throat and found the Jap looking at him with an expectant look. There was another change. Having him and the Russkie around, that is. A Jap and a Commie. Shifty-looking, the both of them. The socialist was giving him a smug look, the creepy little bastard. At least the oriental was keeping respectfully humble.

"Gentlemen," he announced. "The Secretary of Defense has authorised the use of the United States Navy's nuclear arsenal in this engagement. We will be using an enhanced-radiation nuclear weapon to take down the... Angel. We will deploy the weapon in five minutes."

Ishiwara did not look pleased, to say the least. His mask of calm cracked and contorted into a scowl as he opened his mouth... and paused, having drawn the gaze of both his superiors. The thought suddenly dawned on him that he couldn't be fired anymore than he was already. Well, he had no intention of being fired, but the moment he was out of here he was renouncing his retirement. It was just a question of jumping with as much dignity as possible before he was pushed at this point. Still, might as well let them have it.

"Five minutes? Five minutes?"

Ah. He'd said that aloud. The standing man on the balcony below had turned his head a little to look at him from the corner of his eye, and a few technicians were looking right at him, but he really didn't care, not anymore. He was going to say whatever the hell he wanted, and these people were not going to ignore him. Oh no, they could not, theywould not, he would not let them! The damned arrogant foreign bastards."My people are out there. They have no transport and no cover and this is what you propose? No. NO! This is not your country, and this is not your decision alone to make! This is unacceptable! I cannot allow you to do this!"

The standing man's gaze lingered a second longer, and then he turned to face the screens again. Ishiwara stood over the Admiral, glaring daggers into the foreigner's dull blue eyes. Eyes which remained wide and unblinking as Casey glared right back at him. A slight, dark half-smirk crossed the foreigner's lips. Ishiwara broke the eye contact for a moment to take it in, and the room grew a little colder as his renewed gaze hardened even as the intensity behind it lost steam. Casey's own glare had softened to something like a muted or indifferent look of slight sympathy as he pressed his lips into a thin line. His brow settled further as his face darkened. All traces of amusement at the little man's outburst were gone. "Five minutes. Secretary McNamara has already spoken with the Japanese delegation to the UN and your Prime Minister. It's happening, whether you like it or not."

Petrenko chose to ignore the heated atmosphere at the moment, secure behind his own mask of complacency, he settled for a feeling akin to relief. He settled back in his chair and reached around in the too-small carton in his coat-pocket for another cigarette and picked up his lighter from the table. He preferred a match, but that required asking for one andthatwould've drawn attention to him. Best keep it between the two of them.

'Ah, nuclear weapons...' Petrenko sighed, lighting up and reaching for his telephone. Dialing the operator, he reaffirmed to himself that there really was nothing else to be done, not with certain people—his eyes flitted across to Ikari's back—being strangely reticent. He hunched forward over the table, propping his arm on it. He kept his gaze upon Ikari's back, and his eyes narrowed to probing slits. 'Why?' he wondered, simply. He glanced to the JSDF Chief hugging himself in his chair before returning his gaze to the sitting man's back. The Ikari he liked to think he knew could be callous. He could understand callousness. A certain degree of it was necessary for holding high office. So, callous, certainly. But, petty?

"Nice to meet you too, uh, Miss Katsuragi, Ma'am." The transport corps driver bowed low and briskly to the uniformed passenger—or rather, the other passenger in military uniform—before turning to the altogether smaller figure of the second passenger.

"Now, I'm a-hopin' you are a Mister Shinji Ikari, right?"

The driver offered a hand to the schoolboy. The kid hesitated, staring at the proffered hand as if he'd never evenheardof a handshake before. The moment dragged out as the kid just stood there with an unreadable expression on his face. The boy's lips pursed a little and he took the hand, looking up and into the driver's eyes. His eyes were so deep.

'He shakes like a dead fish... he's so shy—and pretty! ' she coughed, dispelling inappropriate thoughts. "Well, uh, it's nice to meet you, young man."

The boy smiled a little. "Nice to meet you too, Mister. How do you do?"

The helmeted figure grinned, only to have the gesture assume a slightly vacant air as something registered in her head.

'Mister...? Leave it just get on with it.'

"I'm very well, thank you. You're not hurt or anything now, are ya?"

Ikari shook his head. They were still holding hands.

'Oops.' There were things that needed doing. This was a very important run.

"Uh...good. Now, yes, this here jeep ain't gonna right herself, and she ain't light, so if I could get a hand from y'all...?"

"Report. What is the condition of the target?"

There was a pregnant pause.

"Still standing, sir."

Casey cast an aside glance at his comrades' faces. Petrenko's darkened a fraction; his pencil snapped in his hand, unnoticed. Ishiwara seemed to collapse in on himself further, if that was possible. For his part, Casey raised his spare hand to his forehead and propped his head up on the table. If there was one thing two decades of experience had taught him, it was that as far as the immediate tactical situation went, nukes solved everything...

After a few moments Ishiwara glanced to take in the Russian's reaction. He reclined in his chair while chewing his cigarette thoughtfully. He glanced at the microphone, then to his comrades, and back to the microphone. He leaned forward, cautiously.

"Thank you. That will be all," he said.

He thumbed it off, and paused there for a moment, then put his head in his hands and clutched at his scalp. His fingernails forced strands of his thinning hair into his skin. He felt tired all of a sudden. So very tired.

"What now?" wondered Casey aloud.

"Welcome to Nerv?"

The Captain wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, and turned around in her too-small seat to face him. Then she noted the name of the pamphlet. Ah.

"Yup. We're a clandestine paramilitary organisation that answers to the U.N." He didn't look up. He just unclasped the immaculate folder and began to leaf through it, paying her no mind.

"You sure are quiet."

'Sector 52' flashed past. The dull, white, roman characters were brought into sharp relief by the drab grey of the badly-lit tunnel walls. Some conversation this was...

"I'm sure a lot of young men in your position would be asking a lot of questions right now, like 'what the hell was that thing?' and 'where are we going?' You know, natural questions in a situation like this."

His eyes further avoided her searching gaze, darting downwards and to the left. "I guess...I, I mean, it's probably classified and, you probably wouldn't tell me the truth..."

And with that, he had just told her he thought she was dishonest. He tried to gauge her reaction with a glance, catching a grin instead of a frown. "A pessimist, huh? You sound like one of those jaded old war vets..."

A thought occurred to her. 'Oops...'

"Have you got your Nerv pass and identification papers?"

The kid reached down and fished around in his backpack for a bit. He paused for a few seconds as the train passed through a badly lit section of the tunnel, the third so far.

'Budget cuts, huh? Like a couple of lights are really gonna make a difference. Or comfy seats?'

She shifted in her too-small seat, suddenly conscious of the way her hips spilled out over the sides. She also thought she caught Shinji sneaking a guilty glance at her chest as they hung over the too-short back of the seat, a suspicion confirmed by what she could see of his face beneath his hair as it turned an impressive shade of red and by the way his hands seemed to lose coordination for no good reason.

Misato grinned to herself. Shy, awkward, insecure, young and full of spunk...well okay, maybe not that but he was male... as in, not a flit. You know, normal. Liking women. Though she had known this one guy who... anyway, Shinji Ikari was the poster child for being-messed-with-a-bility.

He composed himself a little, pulled out a crumpled and torn sheet of paper, and handed it to her along with his papers and national identification card. He looked so young in the pictures...and upon closer inspection, the paper wasn't damaged by ordinary wear and tear, and she doubted an accident would have ripped it apart quite so thoroughly. It might be difficult to tell what the telegram had said if the message wasn't so short. It spoke volumes about the sender, her new boss, and not good ones either. 'Message for Rokubungi I and K from Ikari G.: "Come."' It was in English,at that.

She looked over the paper at the boy immersed in reading the pamphlet, which smeltof whitewash, smoke, and mirrors. Somehow.

Still, some relationship those two had...

She handed the paper back and he took it without looking up, resting the file on his lap to stuff the crumpled sheet back in his bag.

"I'm guessing you don't have the closest relationship with your father."

He didn't look up at that, but his eyes did pause mid-scan before he resumed reading at a slower pace.

"Me neither," she said, turning around and putting her hands behind her head, yawning and arching her back.

He looked up at that; he was going to meet her eyes, but...his eyes and then his head dropped back to the page. Though he was eyeballing the text again his focus was somewhere else entirely; another train, long ago; a different bag; tears. 'Father...'

"It is obvious that our weaponry is ineffective, and we are unable to deal with the target." Ishiwara choked down the bitter pill.

"We have turned control of the operation over to you and Nerv's Fourth Branch." He mustered his remaining dignity. "Don't disappoint us," he added, excusing himself.

Something in his manner suggested he wasn't coming back. The American belatedly noted that he had taken all his papers with him even as he turned to focus on the man on the balcony below—the one the JSDF Chief had been speaking to.

The formerly-sitting man stood to face them, allowing them to see his gloved hands and bearded, bespectacled face for the first time. He was a native, to Petrenko's mild and well-concealed surprise.

Everyone's eyes narrowed at the same time. 'Sunglasses...?'

"Takes all sorts." Petrenko murmured to himself.

"Only a Jap." muttered Casey.

"By the National Spirit, I hate you most of all!" Ishiwara seethed in silence.

Casey opened his mouth to peak, but Petrenko beat him to it.

"Are you sure you can kill this thing, Ikari?"

His comrades didn't bother to conceal their surprise. Those were the first words they had heard the Russian speak all evening. His usual indifference had given way to a look of mild concern. Casey's own features were grim, skepticism written all over his face.

"That is what Nerv is for, gentlemen." The man pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose with the index and middle fingers of one hand.

The three strode down another cramped and badly lit corridor. The silence was a busy one, the two women only exchanging the occasional sentence or two as Shinji trailed behind them with his nose buried in the booklet. Dim fluorescent tubes at five-metre intervals gave form to drab grey walls of cracked concrete. Dozens of pipes and wires ran the lengths of the walls and filled the grill-covered trench that ran down the centre of every corridor.

'The air down here,' he thought as he sniffed and eyed the un-mopped floor 'isn't so good.' He looked up to the adults for a moment as they talked about synchronisation and the lady in the lab coat rattled of a lot of zeroes. He stared down at the booklet again, not really reading it. He'd gone through twenty of twenty-three pages of dense text interspersed with photographs of people looking happy and it still hadn't told him what it all meant, or what the people actuallydidfor a living. Working at Nerve did sound like a good deal though; the pensions were very good. Why he should be worried about it now, he had no idea.

He glanced up at the blonde-haired woman in the white lab coat—Miss Akagi, he recalled. She was kind of intimidating. Miss Katsuragi and Miss Akagi both had such self-confidence... something he'd never really seen in women before. Well, not that he'd really been looking or even had a chance to look. His aunt had been the very traditional type and held no truck with 'Flappers' or 'Western-Wannabes'... though as for herself, apparently her responsibilities as his guardian didn't extend to her ever going out of her way to prepare meals for him, washing his clothes, helping with his schoolwork or... he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to dismiss the unproductive chain of thought. Uncle was the same.

He opened his eyes. No, he knew he had to be grateful for what he had. He was lucky they had taken him in, and they hadn't beenbadto him or anything. Lots of people had it much worse. Times were hard. Living in a small town had been a good thing in many ways—there was no rationing, for one thing—and the simple fact was that as much as he tried not to make extra work for his aunt and uncle, he was, that is, he had been, a living burden, an extra mouth to feed, even when he wasn't doing anything wrong, or being bad...

The door opened and they stepped into the silence and darkness of what had to be a very big room. Near-darkness—Shinji noted—as there was still a faint rectangle of light opposite and above them about, oh, fifty metres away. A figure stood silhouetted by the soft glow. There was a deafening 'click' and then another and another as Miss Akagi was revealed flipping a series of switches by the door. This sure was a big room.

Wait, this was a catwalk suspended above water, and…

The boy gave a small yelp and jumped backwards. The edges of Misato's mouth curled up a fraction at his reaction, and Ritsuko arched her eyebrows. It certainly was an impressive sight. He really was as jumpy as expected, which was a good start to this particular ploy.

He remained quiet for a few moments. Best let him speak first.

"What..?"

"I told you I was the Assistant-Director of Project Evangelion. This-" she gestured to the armoured face-mask" - is synthetic humanoid Evangelion Unit One, the realisation of all my work. We need an Evangelion up there," she stressed the word and gestured to the surface by way of her eyes.

She paused a moment longer to let that sink in for a moment instead of mentioning that they were all fucked if he didn't agree to do this. Well, they could use Mana, but it was far less likely to actually work that way. Obviously, otherwise they'd have done it right off the bat. "You're the pilot. Congratulations."

The kid was shocked, overawed and very, very afraid. Just as planned, really. He was literally speechless. This was kind of fun, in a cruel way. Misato looked on sympathetically as her colleague continued.

"I know it's bit of a bother," 'HA! Good one.' "but our first pilot is a tad banged up at the moment. The General Director asked for her to be brought in, actually. She... ah. See for yourself."'

The doors behind had opened to spew forth a veritable platoon of men in white coats. They slowed to a stop right in front of the boy and their ranks parted to reveal a girl on a gurney. The first thing he noticed was the blood-stained bandages on the white form-fitting jumpsuit, then her pale skin, and her baldness. She gazed up at him, and he looked down at her. Her gaze was one of impassive apathy complemented by a certain...artificial vagueness. He looked to her numerous intravenous drip-bags. The one nearest him was morphine, according to the label. His focus returned to her eye. How the hell did this happen? There was no way she was in any state to be... she shouldn't be doinganything except just lying there and resting in her condition. 'Should she even be awake?'

"Shinji..." he managed to stop himself from jumping too much as Misato drew closer and bent down to his level, glancing over to Ritsuko and staring into his eyes as he looked off into the water. "Please, look at me."

She shifted to move into his gaze and he turned his head to look away. His eyes fell upon the metal behemoth as it sat there in the water. She sighed as Ritsuko looked on with an expression she recognised as impatience. Her friend was business-like at the best of times, but sometimes she could be really...

Misato shook her head a little to dismiss the unfavourable train of thought and turned her focus back to the boy in front of her.

"We're not expecting miracles. It's a very intuitive system. Right, Ritsuko?"

The scientist nodded an affirmative as their focus shifted to her for a brief moment. "You just need to get in and we'll do the rest."

Misato had gotten caught up in the moment again. Of course, she didn't really know what was at stake here or why they needed him, exactly, though her help was appreciated for there was an all-too-real possibility he might have refused if she wasn't here to provide a softer touch. He needed to be prodded along a little, in her humble opinion.

"That is, of course, assuming that you don't ask Mana here to do it for you."

That got Shinji's attention. He didn't say anything or even turn to look at Ritsuko, but the boy stiffened a little. 'Damnit, Ritsu.' She gave her friend a very unkind look as she tried to soften the effect of the scientist's unthinkingly blunt... well,threat.

"We don't expect you to work miracles."

Shinji consciously looked into Miss Katsuragi's eyes and was surprised at how little distance his eyes had to move to do so. He hadn't exactly been deaf to her words, after all.

"All we ask is that you try."

He quickly averted his gaze again. He worked to swallow his objections and compose his resolve. Staring at the deck, he jammed his eyes shut and clenched his fists. His knuckles whitened. He tried to recall something he'd heard somewhere—or was it something he'd read—something wise and reassuring from a shrine, but it just wouldn't come. It had been something about duty and responsibility, maybe bravery and honour, perhaps even filial piety and feudal loyalty, or honouring one's ancestors, or respecting the spirits. No, the idea of fighting powerful spirits wasn't helpful. Anyway, whatever it was it didn't come to him. He cursed himself silently.

"I'll do it!"

He startled himself with the volume of his voice as he practically shouted in Misato's face.

"Sorry..." he murmured, his voice full of embarrassment.

His next words were resolved, if not quitedetermined. Bold, they were not. But there was conviction in them, however softly they were spoken.

"I'll do it."

Ishiwara paused, rendered stunned by the implications of the sight. Outwardly, he was still careful to give no sign of any undue reaction as he lowered his binoculars and moved to the elevator. Inwardly, he was kicking himself and marinating in hate.

'I didn't ask its condition...I just assumed that...' he sighed. 'Fucking hell.' He punched the button and handed the binoculars over to his attendant. 'Ah, fuck its mother. Not so invincible after all, is it? Tch…you knew, didn't you, Ikari? That'd be just like you. I'm gone, and you're the man who's going to rescue us all at the last minute. Bastard.'Where the hell did it go? I just got up here thirty seconds ago.' He punched the button again, willing the elevator to move faster.

The anger had already subsided. He couldn't be bothered with it anymore. He just didn't care now. He was almost looking forward to retirement.

"You're somebody else's problem now," he muttered.

The bell rang, and the Chief cast one last glance over at the thing in the distance as he waited for the doors to open."Youtoo." He grinned, then gave a soft chuckle as he stepped in and jabbed the button for the subway station.

'I wonder which is worse...'

The doors closed swiftly with a soft 'whump'.

"Sorry, if you could just try to stay a bit more still? We'll just be a moment."

They had strapped him into the full-body control 'plug' suit—which was very bulky—and two technicians were now shaving his head with electric razors.

"It's for the electronic skull cap. It needs to be in contact with your skin."

A series of television screens dominated the inside of the 'cockpit.' Shinji had always thought cockpits were places where pilots sat down in front of joysticks, dials, switches, levers, and the like. Thereweresome switches, but they were beyond his reach. There were some other buttons on his...gloves? Gauntlets? But Miss Akagi had told him not to touch them just now. The 'plug suit' was kept suspended in the dead-centre of the small space by a series of elastic-material cables—they were black; did that mean they were rubber like tires?—reaching out in all directions, some (those leading above) taut, and others (those trailing down and to the sides) hanging limp. They had put him into some kind of jumpsuit like the one the injured girl had been wearing, then strapped him into a harness, then strapped even more stuff onto that, and then strapped him into even more things left hanging on the harness rig inside. It was all very complicated and he hoped they knew what they were doing because there were a lot of moving parts, and he—

"Okay, Shinji?" Miss Akagi's voice sounded in his ears.

He tried not to be startled. It was a radio headset; he'd never actually worn one before. He had a microphone. He could see it in front of his mouth.

"Yes, Miss. But, uh...how does this all work?"

"Magic, Shinji. Daemonic magic. You haven't read the Necronomicon, I take it."

"Uh..."

There was a small, almost humourless chuckle.

"It's complicated. Suffice it to say, you'll be controlling the Eva from that Input-Feedback harness. There's a slight delay in input and feedback so it'll feel a little weird. The Eva will move more or less as you do and vice versa so it should be pretty intuitive. But it's a bit funny about pressure, speed, and force exerted so you'll have to literally watch your every move using the external imagery feed."

The techs finished up as Shinji began to feel the cold. The metal of the electric nodes was icy as he felt each being plastered to his scalp.

"Be aware, though, you're going to have to watch the subtleties of your grip and how you exert strength and pressure. It may be easy to get the gist of operating the Eva, but finer points of motor control and piloting in general are going to take a lot of concentration and practice. I'll leave you in Miss Katsuragi's capable hands; she will be directing you for the duration of the operation. I will be monitoring you from here. Good luck, Shinji."

The channel cut to static before he had the chance to thank her.

When his skull was neatly covered and they had given them the once over, they fitted the cap itself over them. 'Cap?' thought Shinji. 'This is more like a helmet.'

The technicians wished him good luck and, before he had time to thank them, they had sealed the hatch behind them with a dull 'thunk.' He was on his own.

"Alright, Shinji, listen up." The low buzz of the static was cut as Miss Katsuragi spoke. "It's simple. We're going to transport you to the surface by elevator a few hundred metres from the Angel. There will be a rifle, a revolver, and ammunition on a railway carriage there—" He lurched downwards suddenly and stopped. He remembered the 'entry plug' had to be inserted into the unit before it was activated "—assume a firing position lying down on the other side of the hill from it. When you're ready, take the shot. Have you got that?"

He realised that at some point the Eva had started to tilt backwards without his noticing. He must've been parallel with the ground when the he felt a tug of acceleration as the Eva was moved head-first. 'This is it. Here we go.'

"Uh, yes, Ma'am." No, wait. Did she call it an Angel?

"Good. You're probably wondering why we're asking you to do this; well, ordinary weapons are useless against an Angel, because... do you read science fiction?"

Shinji nodded, then realised that was stupid because no-one could see him. Why, he could... he could masturbate in here and no one would ever be the wiser. He blushed an incandescent red and rapidly shook his head again to clear his immoral mind and blurted a badly enunciated sentence of affirmation. He was too flustered to really remember what he had said afterwards, but apparently it did the trick.

"Ah...good. Okay. Angels and Evas are possessed of these... fields, okay? Angels deploy theirs in response to threats, to protect them from harm. We have designed Eva to project a field to automatically erode this field when they are in close proximity. Just how close isn't clear, but if the field can be weakened the Angel is rendered vulnerable. From there, it's just a matter of firepower."

Shinji had been looking around the cockpit in the meantime. He had noticed that the television screens, colour tele-vision screens had come on and were giving him a view of lights rushing by overhead. He'd never seen so many televisions in one place before...

"We have artillery and gunships standing by, they'll be doing most of the work. All you have to do is get its attention and lure it in close, and they... and we should be able to take care of the rest."

A pause.

"Alright, Shinji, I'm leaving you in the Sergeant's hands from here on. Just do as he says, Okay? Sergeant-Major Kongo is a very capable man, he's a veteran and he knows what he's doing. Just listen to him, and you'll be fine. Alright?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good."

Another pause.

"Good luck, Shinji. We're counting on you."

There was nothing but the steady background hum and the rumble of the carriages for a good minute.

"I am Sergeant-Major Kongo. Welcome to my unit. Do you have any questions?"

"Uh..."

The moment dragged out.

"Sit tight and await my instructions."