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It was always the same morning: bright, humid, a little on the late side. Misato Katsuragi glanced at her clock. Definitely late, she thought to herself. The neon red numbers bore harshly into her eyes at a dismal nine am. The girl had already missed her first classes, but that too was as routine as the sunrise beyond her window.
Misato sat upright in her bed, a blanket attached sleepily to her hair. Her room was small, an afterthought in the corner of her sensei’s apartment, more of a back closet, she often thought, than any place to live. Oh, it had some personality — a few mountains of clothes lying about, school papers, the occasional book…
Misato yawned. She glanced at a few trays of leftover sushi stacked against the wall.
“…man. Teacher’s gonna scold me if things stay like this.”
She hesitated. She didn’t see any flies.
“Aw, that hag wouldn’t care anyhow,” Misasto decided. She poked a crumpled magazine with her foot, then frowned. She acknowledged that she’d made a habit of disrespecting her sensei lately, at least inside her mind…it wasn’t right of her. The woman was fair to Misato. Emotionally resigned, perhaps, but fair. Though it was standard procedure for teachers to pick up the leftover kids scattered by Second Impact, it wasn’t necessarily standard for teachers and students to get along. By that alone Misato was lucky — she didn’t even have to share. Her sensei was widowed, her children, older. Some kids were stuck with guardians who already had mouths to feed, or otherwise harsh adults that got their kicks out of torturing poor, old foster babies…yet Misato couldn’t help but wonder if her sensei cared that she slept in this late, that her school was out to get her, that she had no hobbies to speak of…
Misato threw her covers aside. She had a faint chance of getting to her schoolhouse before lunch if she rushed. That goal alone pumped sluggish energy in her, so Misato hopped from her bed and to the ground, inching around scattered pyramids of trash as she retrieved her school things.
She approached her bedroom door and analyzed her reflection in a crooked mirror attached to it. Misato’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny. She turned around, once, twice, and sighed forlornly.
“Still too skinny…” Misato grumbled, trying to shove her breasts together with her fingers, as if that could make her boyish figure fall into a woman’s shape by the sheer strength of her will. Unfortunately, the rest of her looked about the same as always (plain, stick straight in her wrinkled, schoolgirl’s uniform), except for the growing pair of lines around her eyes that marked her on-again off-again sleep cycle.
Sleep. If only it were so simple. There were the nightmares for instance — abstract, jarring, lonely. Then there were times Misato stayed up too late, back pressed to the wall, eyes to the ceiling, thinking, thinking. What Misato liked best were dreamless sleeps; nighttime reprieves from the fits of buzzing energy she suffered in her waking hours, only because she was so bored.
Misato opened the door, pressing her skirt down with the palms of her hands, backpack over her arm.
“See ya,” Misato told her room. She shut the door.
___________________________________________________
Misato’s school was tucked into the mountainside at the top of a long, rickety country road. Her bike was her flagship - the village knew Misato Katsuragi was on her way when she blazed the rocky path, her butt swung above the seat, her torso perched across her handlebars as she pedaled. She barraged villagers with verbal warnings for her lack of a bicycle horn: “Hey! Move, you’re gonna get hit! I mean, please move out of the way! I’m sorry, alright!?”
Drat, she thought, at this rate I should have skipped the whole day, it’s hardly worth it to go. They might actually suspend me this time… To make matters worse, Misato already had a few near-crash experiences over the course of her commute, which frayed her nerves. There was the fruit peddler, the old man that moved too slowly as he crossed the street, and a single blond girl that Misato remembered best. They were so close, the handlebar could have pushed the kid right over if Misato had flicked her wrist in just the wrong way. They’d glanced at each other so fast, the stranger’s face was almost unremarkable, yet Misato clearly remembered her flying back in alarm. And when Misato looked over her shoulder to make sure the girl was okay, she saw the child stare right back at her behind a pair of too-large glasses while the rest of the villagers muttered obscenities and carried on their way. Unphased.
And then she was gone.
Tch. What’s her problem? Misato thought as she skidded past a few lopsided apartments, anticipating her school’s tiny red roof and open windows at the end of the street. When she finally arrived, tanned kids in uniform were already scattered across the courtyard with their humble, Mommy made bento boxes. A few noticed her and whistled,
“Katsuragiiii! Here at last, eh?”
“Hey, Misato-san, the principal wants to see you.”
“You can only guess why…”
Misato pulled her bike up and slid her feet against the ground. Glaring at her classmates for show, she hopped out of the seat. I’ll just be nice and apologize, she thought. That’s all anyone has to do, really. Say sorry. It’ll get better.
___________________________________________________
Misato slouched in the principal’s office chair with her bag pulled between her legs. The principal was a balding man with thin eyes and a thinner grimace. His school was fairly small, so out of necessity, the principal had to involve himself with everything. His job tripled as a counselor, and the coach for the boy’s baseball team aside all his managerial duties and errands, which Misato assumed were Very Difficult and Important.
For Misato’s infrequent class time presence and apathy, she had the fortune of meeting him only a handful of times, though she knew the principal to be a generally agreeable albeit boring man. Frankly, she didn’t care.
Misato started to pull her hair into pigtails when the principal refused to speak first.
“You wanted to see me, right?”
“Katsuragi-san,” the principal said, reaching into his desk. Misato’s eyebrows rose, her fingers pausing in her hair momentarily. “I admit, I wanted to discuss your routine tardiness with you at some point, yet I’m afraid a certain…request has interfered with this lecture.”
“I…what?” Misato blinked. In the principal’s hand was a large folder, across it, in red type, the words NERV and CLASSIFIED marred the paper. The principal handed it to Misato. NERV…
Her father’s organization.
Something sharp in her stomach lurched like a challenge.
“Look,” Misato said. “This is wrong. My father would have sent this to my sensei.”
But they had moved a year and a half ago, the hag, her sensei, she wanted to be closer to where her real children lived. The only explanation was…her father had forgotten that she moved. Misato’s brain worked quickly — the packet must have been passed from her old school district to her new one. He hadn’t bothered to check, or pay attention. It was so typical of her father and his longing to avoid, she wanted to laugh.
And cry. It was too pitiful.
Her principal rolled his shoulders.
“I’m sorry. I’m an outsider in this. I’m not even permitted to read the note he gave you. Though I was informed that you will be switching to a school district in Tokyo III, Katsuragi-san. I can only infer that that is your father’s wish.”
The impenetrable city? Misato had not been there since a school vacation, years ago. She distantly remembered long, silver buildings, lightning fast trains, crowds of strong willed people with important jobs…would she really live there? It was such a new city, so clean, devoid of culture…in the time she spent there, she could not recall a single child.
Misato stood up and pushed the chair back. “Okay. I understand.”
“K-Kasturagi-san! Wait-“
Misato closed the door behind her and started for the hallway. It was already old to her, despite the years she spent in and out of classrooms. But Misato didn’t have to be here anymore. There was a kernel of hope in her heart that had started to blossom, previously nonexistent. Her father; was he trying to reach out to her? She couldn’t reason it. It was unlike him to be so forthright.
Misato snuck out of the building through the back, only so that she wouldn’t be questioned as her mind raced. Her father’s resigned ways was the main reason why her mother - and eventually Misato herself - came to hate him. The man known as Doctor Katsuragi was weak, incapable of love…
Why? It was all she could think about, even that night as Misato read the bland files over and over, splayed across her bedroom floor. Her father’s’ documents could not answer her questions. There was no personality in the doctor’s words; merely a description of the school she was to attend, the time of her train, the approximate neighborhood in which she would reside…nothing but basics. The only information that deserved the folder’s “classified” title was the fact that it came from NERV in the first place.
“Stupid science,” Misato said aloud, resting the folder on her stomach. “Stupid scientists. Stupid secret experiments-“
Misato hesitated. She realized there was something in the papers — a tiny blue note, nearly unnoticeable among the large, unnecessary files. Misato sat up, letting the papers fall into her lap. She fished for it, plucking it out with her fingers, and read:
Katsuragi-san,
Hello. I apologize for how abrupt this letter must appear beside all the other materials you’ve read. I simply wanted to let you know that I will be your escort to NERV’s facilities when you arrive to Tokyo III, in place of your father. I hope this isn’t a disappointment. When you arrive, please call the following number at any telephone booth, and I’ll pick you up as soon as I can! Sincerely, Shinji Ikari.
PS. I’ve attached a picture so that you are able to recognize me when we meet.
Misato held the picture up. This Shinji Ikari wasn’t bad looking. His hair had grown out a little, and there was a stern look in his blue eyes that offset the rest of his neutral face. Since when did the Japanese have naturally blue eyes? Misato certainly didn’t, though she wanted them once. Unusual eye colors - purple, yellow, even red - were splayed all across the latest fashion magazines. She thought blue would be an excellent compromise between her and her sensei, who didn’t disapprove so much as she never bothered to entertain the idea. Still…this Shinji Ikari, with his rigid posture and slight smile, gave the impression of someone trying very hard for something that Misato couldn’t discern. It was charming. In a way.
“You’re not the scientist type, Ikari,” she told the picture as she flipped it to the back. The man’s phone number was written neatly across it in a thin, careful script.
Misato sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. It was all so sudden, yet the change in her life inspired such unexpected excitement…she couldn’t quite say she was looking forward to it, but she appreciated that there was change at all. Misato supposed she should have been happy, but her lethargic attitude had pervaded too many aspects of her personality in these last couple years. She didn’t care about anything anymore. And her father…how was she supposed to meet him? Talk to him?
Misato stared at the number again.
Quickly, she dropped to her knees and fidgeted for her blue telephone, the polka dotted one she’d had since childhood. She began to dial the numbers, and with two hands, she pressed the phone to her ear.What am I doing? she asked herself. It’s late, he’s asleep…no. I’m curious.
After a few rings, the phone clicked.
“Ah. An unusual number at an unusual hour. How wonderfully mysterious.”
The voice at the end of the line was lithe, musical. Misato’s skin crawled. She thought she heard a rustling in the background.
“…sorry!” she found herself blurting. “I shouldn’t have-“
“So you called for a specific reason?”
She swallowed, nervously tugging the telephone cord.
“I-I’m…Misato Katsuragi…you’re Ikari-san, right? I’m sorry, I’m not in Tokyo III yet. I…wanted to talk. I have questions. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.”
Was that a chuckle?
“I’m afraid Shinji is otherwise occupied.”
Misato frowned. She checked the clock on the wall again. So it wasn’t Shinji, it was late at night, this man, a stranger…why did he have Shinji’s cellphone?
“You have every reason to worry, Misato, but I assure you, when you arrive, your story will fall into place. It always does.”
“I…”
“Shall I inform Shinji that you wished to contact him? I’m sure he would be receptive.”
“No! I mean, no. Thank you,” Misato said. Her last words tasted bitter in her mouth. Who was this stranger, who dared to speak with her so familiarly?
“In that case…I look forward to meeting you again, Misato. Please take care of yourself.”
The line closed.
Misato lowered the phone. It clattered weakly against the receiver as her hands balled into tiny fists.
___________________________________________________
I look forward to meeting you again, Misato.
These were the words that floated into her mind like pollen as she stood within one of Tokyo III’s industrial telephone booths. The stranger’s tone was pervasive, all knowing. It creeped Misato to her core. She wasn’t sure she approved of the people this Shinji Ikari associated with, so by extension, Misato found herself disapproving of Shinji himself. But it probably wasn’t anything Misato had to worry about in the short term — she had other problems. For instance, there wasn’t a soul in Japan’s so-called iridescent capital. It was as if she had stumbled upon one of the sets of a cheesy, post Second Impact film. Empty, thoroughly apocalyptic, the story’s hero at a loss.
Misato tapped her foot. She had wasted several coins trying to get Shinji to pick up his lousy cell phone. At this rate, if the inside of her pockets was any indication, her funds were going to drain out.
“Guess I’m gonna have to track you down, huh Ikari?”
Misato lifted the phone from her ear, scowling. “Hey bastard! I swear, if you’re standing me up again for that creepy boyfriend of yours, I’m going to-“
“Due to the special emergency, all lines are currently unavailable.”
…huh?
“No way! What am I supposed to do, stand around?” Misato exclaimed, disbelieving. She let the phone drop when voice began repeating itself. She picked up her backpack, a tinge of desperation clouding her priorities. What was the emergency? Did she need to go to the nearest public facility? But where…?
Crash.
Certainly Misato had noticed that when she arrived - the humming of distant aircrafts in cacophony with a busier, duller sound. How could she not? The noise of large footsteps lingered in the air, heavy, but Misato assumed it was a construction project, or a festival. No this latest crash, it was like thunder, except far too close…a terrorist attack? Misato bobbed backward from the telephone booth, when she saw it…a whole building, crumbling to the ground by the hand of a…a…
It was black and huge and Misato didn’t have time to considers details because it was the strangest thing she’d seen in her entire life and she knew, if it was destroying buildings and United Nations helicopters, she had to run for it. The face haunted her mind as her sneakers beat the pavement, sweat sapping the back of her shirt. Broken stone and rocks and god knew what else clattered behind her like rain. The dry wind blew dust into her eyes, and she breathed heavy, because damn it all, Misato only arrived minutes ago, she wasn’t supposed to die yet.
“Katsuragi-san!”
Her neck jerked back to spot a man, hanging halfway out of a moving car’s window, one hand pressed to the top of his wheel. She had barely heard his voice, muffled by the motor of the car and the beast, but with the way the guy looked, so out of air, he was probably shouting for a while now. The car was black, sleek, expensive…the passenger door, pulled open in expectation of her.
Misato stopped. She held her knees, panting as the monster roared, too close. A bright red energy pulsed in its hand…
“Katsuragi, please get in the car!”
When the car came to a drift beside her shadow, Misato leapt, nearly crashing into the stranger’s side. She scrambled to her knees, the door beside her still ajar as the vehicle flew from the sidewalk. The stranger’s hand was glued to the car’s stick shift, his foot pumping the pedal on her right side as if it simply wasn’t fast enough, his movements anxious. Behind them, a bright yellow light shook the city as a tall foot slammed into the road, nearly knocking their vehicle off course had it not been for the man’s driving - wary and panicked all at once.
At last, the man reclined. He reached for his head, his short brown hair sticking up in tufts as he tried to rub away what appeared to be a massive headache.
“Looks like we’re safe for now. I’m so sorry I was late Katsu-“
“Ha…after all that, call me Misato, okay?” Misato replied, her voice caught in a hitch as she tried to let her lungs reclaim air.
“Anyway, it’s nice to finally meet you, Shinji.”
Shinji Ikari glanced at Misato worriedly, fingers stretching around the wheel over and over. A nervous tic? Misato wondered, settling in her seat. She stretched her legs out, hands latched over her bag. A silence passed.
“Um…” she began to say.
“…Misato-sa - Misato, you should probably put on a seatbelt,” Shinji answered, his tone shy.
“Really?” Misato looked at him. “That’s all you’ve gotta say?”
The man’s face tinged pink. His posture dropped into an abashed hunch. “I’m driving fast!”
“Not that,” Misato groaned. “How about you start with the emergency, that alien? Because I have no idea what’s going on.”
Misato clung to her seat with a squeal as Shinji turned a sharp corner, the windows of buildings flying by. Maybe that seat belt wasn’t a bad idea after all. As she reached for it, the man looked over, his voice raised a few octaves:
“Eh? Your father didn’t…he didn’t tell you anything?”
“No. Is that bad?”
Another sharp corner. The tires cried in frustration as the city began to thin away at their backs. Shinji’s car descended into the far-off hills at that same rapid speed. Thin lethargic trees had begun to accent the highway side, the only witnesses to their little road race. It was utterly peaceful, if it weren’t for their situation.
“Angels,” Shinji said. “They’re called Angels. And my job - your Father’s job - is to take them on.”
Misato considered this information, disbelieving. “Ooookay.” But Dad would never work for something that risky. ”So you’re with the government, right? Have these Angels always been around? How’re you going to kill them?” she asked, each question tinged with a little more persistence.
Shinji gave Misato a tiny smile. ”Yeah, you could say we’re government. Except we have more autonomy than the typical bureaucracy, and well…where those Angels are from is a long story. It all started when-”
The car lurched to a startling halt at a cliffside. Misato swung back in her chair.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, noticing Shinji’s furrowed brow. He gave Misato a sheepish apology in his dimples. ”Hang on, I think I saw something.” Shinji began to murmur as he rolled Misato’s car window down and stretched over her.
“H-hey!” Misato exclaimed, hovering behind Shinji as he stuck his head out the window. “What is it?”
“There’s a pair of binoculars in my glove department,” Shinji said, his blue eyes still staring into the open. “Could you get them for me? I’m sorry for the trouble.”
Sorry, sorry. I’m going to get sick of his politeness real soon, Misato thought, fishing for a bulky pair of the most professional goggles she’d ever seen. She held both sides with two hands for a moment before handing it over.
“Here.”
“Ah, thank you-” Shinji said, pressing the binoculars to his eyes. “Wait…oh no, they’re going for the N2 mine?” Shinji grit his teeth. “Damn it, Misato, get down!” he ordered, pressing Misato to the car bench with his arm. The movement shrunk Misato into the far corner of the seat, nearly suffocating Misato as her face flushed, and she was about to kick him until they were jolted by a large gust of wind. Shinji’s arm clutched around her waist as Misato closed her eyes, feeling the vehicle lurch with the force of a great whiplash. The car spun away; Misato and Shinji slid down the seat like dolls as it began to turn at a ninety degree angle, creaking. She grabbed onto Shinji’s shirt as the back of her head hit the opposite car door, the plastic jarring painfully into her head, and all Misato saw were dizzied colors for several long seconds.
When she opened her eyes again again, Shinji’s car window had flipped to become the ceiling, revealing the orange explosion outside. Her ears rang, ashes flecked the air like confetti, the setting had transformed into a war zone. But at least the Angel was nowhere to be found.
Shinji picked himself up quickly, politely leaving Misato to move about on her own. “W-we’re alive! Yeah!” Shinji cheered quietly, but cleared his throat when he turned to Misato again. “Oh…I guess we have to flip the car back now, huh…”
Misato gave him a thumbs up and a strong grin. “Of course we’re alive. I mean, your driving was good. Sure you were going too fast, but we’d have died any other way.”
“Hm…” Shinji smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. “A-alright. Just get out and help me for now. I need you at NERV’s headquarters before that Angel destroys the whole world, got it?”
As if Shinji were expecting it, in the smog, the white-masked Angel withstood the United Nation’s attacks, victorious… without so much as a bruise.
___________________________________________________
NERV was amazing. Surrounded by lush woods and a pristine lakeside, the pyramid that marked NERV’s headquarters stood enduringly, a shimmering force to be reckoned with. And to think that a whole world could exist below the surface of Tokyo III so simply…after all, Misato wasn’t aware that GeoFronts were in practice these days. According to her school’s history classes, GeoFront projects were an artifact of the days when Japan’s largest concerns were the economy and overpopulation, never to be realized. Now, rather than additional bubbles for humanity to dwell in, GeoFronts could be used as refuges for generations of Second Impact survivors, fortresses in times of war. It was a thoroughly adaptable living space, perfect for an organization like NERV.
Yet far within the structure, Misato and Shinji couldn’t enjoy it. They were hopelessly lost.
“…I only got here a few days ago,” Shinji admitted sheepishly, clinging to a map as they tried a hallway Misato was pretty sure they’ve attempted already. Misato shrugged, adjusting the strap of her bag.
“It’s alright, really,” she said. She understood Shinji’s apprehension to an extent. After all, with the threat of humanity’s imminent destruction hanging in the air like a nasty odor, it wasn’t a good thing that they were clueless in NERV’s massive structure, especially if this Shinji guy was needed. Plus, as each second elapsed, Shinji’s smile fell further into Misato’s memory. Over the paper he held, the man’s fingers twitched with the energy of someone ready to shoot a gun…
At last, Shinji gave up. He massaged the bridge of his nose and told Misato that they’d wait for backup outside the elevators. Misato watched Shinji lean against the wall and sigh, glancing at a bland work phone from time to time, adjusting his shirt’s cuff links.
“You can stop worrying now,” Misato told Shinji, who looked up fast, startled. “Aren’t we getting help?”
“But-” Shinji began to say, when the elevator clicked open. Within it, a single man stood, wearing a long lab coat over what looked to be an orange turtleneck, alongside a pair of dirty hightops. Ordinarily, Misato would have giggled at his goofiness. This random character was so lackluster in his casual bearing, and yet, there was something in his looks that was suspiciously foreign, off. There was no other way Misato could describe it. It had to be the sharpness in his face, his peculiarly silver hair. There was a quality in the man that made Misato want to shrink into herself and disappear. His only normal feature were his eyes; an utterly dull, utterly misplaced brown, tucked behind a pair of thin glasses.
The stranger’s face brightened when he happened upon them. “Ah, Shinji, there you are,” the stranger remarked, and Misato finally knew. The man on the telephone…!
Misato covered her mouth to halt an expletive in its tracks. Shinji gave the man a light smile, apparently not discomforted in the least. “Hey Kaworu. Sorry I’m late. And yeah, I guess I still can’t find my way around,” Shinji admitted.
“It’s fine. NERV’s facilities can be extremely difficult to navigate. You’ll learn in time,” the man replied, approaching Shinji. The stranger leaned his shoulder against the wall, his posture close to Shinji’s side, their faces close. He never acknowledged Misato’s presence (at this she felt a twinge of anger), but for some reason, the man’s behavior didn’t appear intentional.
“I often find myself lost,” the man continued. “Granted, wandering can be enjoyable. After all, it gives me the opportunity to meet various members of NERV’s staff at random, who are kind in assisting me.” The man relaxed, resting his hands in his pockets. “Except sometimes I travel too far and am unable to meet another human for a very long time, especially when I venture into the outside perimeter. NERV rarely takes full advantage of the GeoFront — it’s a shame.”
Shinji laughed. “That’s a little scary. Someday you’ll get lost in the woods and we’ll have to track you down by camera, half starved to death.”
The man’s eyes twinkled. “You would be wise to give me more credit, Shinji. I am very capable of surviving difficult circumstances.”
“Then you’ll live off weird mushrooms, build a treehouse, and turn into a hermit.”
“Oh, I would strive to come back,” the man’s face softened. “As much as I admire this world’s natural terrain, I enjoy human civilization. Besides, I’d miss you terribly.”
“Tch. Forget about me. This organization would fall to pieces without you,” Shinji said. As a new thought attracted his attention, Shinji pulled at his collar nervously. “I probably made the worst impression, didn’t I?”
The white haired man blinked. “Shinji, you’re not as late as you think you are. That notwithstanding, no one in NERV doubts your ability. The impression they have of you is excellent, I’ve ensured it.”
Shinji chuckled, shifting past the man to click the elevator button. “Oh…you didn’t have to do that for me. I mean, at this rate, I’ll screw up and we’ll both look bad,” he said, somewhat remorsefully.
The stranger hesitated before extending his hand to Shinji’s shoulder, squeezing the top of it as he leaned in closer. “You’ll lead them well. I have the utmost faith in your ability.”
Shinji’s cheeks grew red as he looked away. “Kaworu…when you say things like that…I don’t want to disappoint you.”
The man withdrew, only slightly, his touch lingering. “You could never disappoint me,” he said, like fact.
The elevator doors opened. Shinji glanced around, distraught. “A-anyway, Misato! Aren’t you coming?”
Misato snapped out of her watchful glower and indignantly raised her chin, marching between the strangers as they entered the shaft. Once inside, Shinji reached over Misato’s head to shut the elevator doors, and they began to move. Misato’s eyes darted between the adults - Shinji, scratching the side of his face in a fit of anxiety, his looks still pink, the silver haired man, oddly happy. Having watched the two interest, she had her fair share of ideas as to the true context of their relationship, but she was surprised that she had no interest in guessing it aloud. Maybe the circumstances were too jarring. Maybe she was bored of their talk.
Shinji cleared his throat. “So…” Shinji directed his hand toward the stranger. “I’m sorry that I didn’t say this right away, but Misato, this is Doctor Kaworu Nagisa. He’s NERV’s leading scientist, so you’ll see him often enough. And Kaworu, you probably knew this already, but Misato’s the Third Child according to the Marduk Reports.”
Doctor Nagisa nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he replied, his voice oddly genuine, cheerful. He gave the impression that meeting Misato was the most exciting part of his day, or week…it was that same, odd kindness Misato couldn’t tolerate…
Her eye twitched.
“A pleasure to meet you?” she echoed. She could sense Shinji shift on his feet beside her, restless. No matter. Doctor Nagisa’s eyebrows leapt in question. “Then what about that little conversation we had, huh?” Misato demanded. “You said you looked forward to seeing me again. What does that evenmean?”
To her complete rage, Doctor Nagisa’s smile widened.
“Oh. I see now,” the Doctor mused.
“H-hey!” Misato thought she was losing some footing. The muscles in her body felt alive with electric anger. “I deserve an explanation!”
Shinji stepped between them, his forehead lined with concern. “This was probably a misunderstanding, Misat-”
Doctor Nagisa’s hand rose, his fingers lean and sparse like exposed bone. “It’s quite alright.”
Shinji wavered in his response. Flexed his fingers again. “Kaworu, what’s this about?”
“…the truth is, I conversed with Misato-san some nights ago. She had wanted to speak with you, but eventually gave up, and asked me not to convey the fact that she called you in the first place. Please forgive me, Shinji.” Doctor Nagisa’s gaze returned to Misato. “And Misato-san, I had no intention of disturbing you, or revealing your secret, so please forgive me as well. I only betrayed this information because it was necessary in easing Shinji’s conscious.”
“Kaworu…” Shinji began to say, yet the warning in his voice had no effect on the stranger’s actions. Doctor Nagisa leaned forward to meet Misato’s height with ease. Misato clenched her teeth, stepping away from the overwhelmingly eerie aura this man radiated. He was evaluating her, she was sure of it.
“Human beings say curious things for no reason at all, don’t they?” Doctor Nagisa answered, his voice gentle. “And I simply wanted to subside your nerves.”
The elevator door snapped open with a shrill beep.
“Regardless, I must have misspoke. We’ve obviously never met,” Doctor Nagisa concluded with a playful shrug. “Shall we?”
Misato shot the scientist a hateful glare. She trotted ahead of the two despite the fact that she knew nothing of her surroundings. She just had to escape the fading voices behind her, if only for a little while.
___________________________________________________
“Ah…and here I hoped you would like each other…”
“The fault is all mine. I promise that I will try to amend matters later. I would hate for my mistakes to impede any venture of yours, Shinji. However, I do believe that Misato-san’s absence is the more important situation at hand.”
“What — d-damn it!”
“How unusual. She’ll meet Unit 01 before we arrive at this rate.”
“You…you distract me too much!”
“I’m sorry, Shinji. I’ll try to be less distracting in the future.”
“Is that supposed to be a joke?”
“Perhaps it’s a slight one.”
“W-well forget that for now. We’ve got to catch up…”
___________________________________________________
Workers in orange jumpsuits climbed through the immediate area, tools in hand. All of them stared at Misato with wide eyes and hung jaws. Misato scowled in response, if only as a defense mechanism before she quickly averted her gaze. The staff’s confusion was understandable, this mysterious NERV was off limits to the entire population, let alone children, but they didn’t have to be so rude about it. Then again, she didn’t need to feel this alone if she didn’t want to. Shinji and his creepy Doctor were behind her, she was sure of it, but she didn’t want to see them together one iota. She let her pace increase in anticipation of her escape.
An arch at the end of the hallway appeared to give way to a larger, brighter cavity. Misato marched on, distinctly hearing a warning at her back that begged her to wait, but she wouldn’t wait, if only for her pride and stubbornness. She trespassed the entranceway and squinted in reaction to a painfully lit, bleach white room. She held her arm over her eyes and blinked several times, trying to get used to the room. As her vision blurred, she realized that she was standing on top of a rickety, metal bridge that hung precariously above an inky pool of orange liquid, miles below her feet. She looked up quickly, not enjoying the height she was at to find…a robot. Right before her nose.
The bag dropped from her arm with a dull thud. Misato staggered backward, alarmed by the awesome size of the creature, purple and green, angular in its shape, triangular in its head. The mouth reminded her of an iron muzzle, for the only mouth she could discern was crooked, sharp, and smeared across the front of the invention’s face in afterthought. Yet it was less an invention than it was a man…a gigantic creature that bore possible likeness to human form. And she could only see the topmost part of it — there was still miles to the robot’s body below the surface of the orange pool, dozens of stories high…it was amazing. It was terrifying.
“Wh-…what…”
“The Evangelion,” Shinji said, finally slowing in his run to catch up with Misato, leaning against the railing to halt his stride. Behind him, Doctor Nagisa walked steadily, his face, for the first time, grave. “Humankind’s last hope, built in secret. It’s…it’s the only thing in the world that can possibly defeat the alien we saw here today.”
Doctor Nagisa’s eyes cast to the Evangelion, and back to Shinji. He adjusted his glasses. Misato stared at her shoelaces.
“So…that’s what my father’s been up to,” Misato whispered bitterly.
“Correct.”
Misato froze. Shinji looked up, over Misato’s head. Oh, she knew who it was. She’d have recognized that voice anywhere.
“…pft,” Misato scoffed, her face hardening into a cruel, half smile as she turned around. Her father - Doctor Katsuragi - stood on a platform, high above them like a deity. He’d grown facial hair — his brown hair, which bore no likeness to Misato’s own, possessed ugly tinges of grey, while his lips pressed into a line so thin that they had become nonexistent. He bore a black vest that seemed to suggest an undeserved leadership position, at least in Misato’s opinion. He was the coward who left her, the coward who broke her mother’s heart.
“It’s been a long time, Misato,” he said.
“…it has.” Misato crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s your fault.”
“So it is.” Doctor Katsuragi turned away from her, toward Shinji and the Doctor. Of course he wouldn’t see her. Of course. “We’re moving out.”
“Eh?” Shinji exclaimed. “But…Unit 00’s still in stasis…” His eyes widened. “No, you can’t mean Unit 01! It’s failed every test we’ve assigned to it, and besides, Ritsuko Akagi’s still injured. Who’ll pilot?”
“Why Shinji,” Doctor Katsuragi replied, “You delivered the pilot yourself.”
“…forgive me, but you can’t be serious. She just got here!” Shinji protested, his motions growing more desperate as he approached the part of the bridge closest to where Doctor Katsuragi was, his face half flushed from nerves and confusion. “We don’t have a suit for her, the chance of her achieving anything is practically zero! She could die!”
“It can’t be helped,” Doctor Nagisa spoke for the first time, his words confident, his eyes distant. “This was the way it was meant to be.”
The debate was sealed. They all looked to Misato.
She remembered the last time she saw her father. She wasn’t sure why, but the memory came to her in a rush. Misato was ten. Her mother had disappeared four years ago. At that point, Misato was trying to be good. She had sat, body positioned in a small chair before a small television. The room was blank. All the decor in their house had been removed a long time ago. The pictures and home accessories had brought her father pain.
“Aren’t you going to say goodbye to me?” Oh, it was just her father again. Halfway out the door, a single suitcase in hand.
She was ten, she was about to be left, and Misato only chewed the corner of her cross necklace in response. Her mother had given it to her, though it was her father’s originally. He had given it to Misato’s mother, his one time beloved, as a birthday present. The woman had passed it on to her before she left. She told Misato she didn’t believe in Jesus anymore, so what was the use? “Think of it as a good luck charm,” her mother had said, running a single hand through her hair. She did that often, like she was trying to remove horrible thoughts from her skull with each drastic movement.
Misato dropped the necklace from the corner of her mouth. She said this to her father:
“….then don’t say goodbye. Don’t leave.”
And he left.
Four years later, Misato looked her father, her self righteous, weak hearted, asshole of a father in his steely eyes, and declared: “No. No. I have no idea how that Evan…Evangellyon works. Hell, I haven’t seen a single robot anime, and I’m no good at video games. I get too impatient for the stupid controllers,” she said, shaking her head. “How do you expect me to work a giant robot? I’m fourteen. I don’t even have a license to drive a car. It doesn’t makes sense.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t, father. I just can’t do it.”
I won’t exist for your convenience.
At that moment, a large crash erupted from the roof. Misato just barely lost her balance, and held her arms out to catch herself while Shinji clung to the rail beside her. Doctor Nagisa was the only one that remained quiet, entirely undisturbed, though he too stared at the ceiling when everyone looked up, instinctively wondering.
“It found us,” Doctor Katsuragi muttered. Shinji’s jaw clenched.
“Misato,” Shinji began, stepping into her line of view, “Please. I understand not wanting to pilot, believe me. But…we might not live another day if someone doesn’t go out and stop that thing. The only other pilot we have is very hurt right now, so-”
“If there’s another person who can drive that thing, they should do it,” Misato responded flatly.
“You’re not listening to me,” Shinji murmured, hanging his head.
“I wouldn’t leave so soon if I were you, Third Child-chan,” crooned an unexpected voice from the rafters, siding Doctor Katsuragi’s frame. A tall, brunette woman with red glasses halfway down the bridge of her nose folded her arms across the barrier. A headset draped from her fingers, her expression oddly maniacal, oddly feline. She was full figured, appearing forty at first glance, yet when she moved and talked, she lost a few years for her juvenile mannerisms. This woman too seemed to possess a leadership position — was she Doctor Katsuragi’s partner, his vice commander?
The woman lifted the headset and spoke into it from a distance, speaking loudly. “Yes, yes, wake Ritsuko up, would you? It looks like she’s going to pilot after all. Thank you.”
Ritsuko? How is that name familiar? Misato wondered. The name left an eerie, deja vu imprint in the back of her mind, it discomforted her, though the others took no notice. Shinji looked plainly upset.
“Misato, I beg you,” he pleaded, brows knit, his blue eyes desperate. “Think this through.”
Soon after his words, the doors at the far side of the bridge flew open. A team of miscellaneous staff members wheeled in what appeared to be an extremely bedraggled, wounded girl. Her spiky blond hair was matted to her face, half concealed by a large bandage across her eye. For some reason, Misato was reminded of the girl in the village, the one she’d almost run over…but how could she be in two places at once?
The staff members left her in the middle of the bridge. The girl slowly rose from her cot, cringing as she held her side with bruised hands. Her breath caught, and she doubled over, her hair hanging in frayed strands around her face as she breathed deeply. Misato’s heart ached. No one helped the girl as her toes gingerly tried to touch the floor…
There was another crash, and this time, computer monitors erupted in warning, employees yelled as the bridge swayed. The blond girl cried out as she was tossed from the cot. Her head hit the ground and she slid across the floor, toward the edge of the guardrail over the formidable orange water. Misato, not thinking, leapt past the cot and to the girl’s side, her knees scraping painfully against the tile as she took hold of the girl by her arm. “I got you, I got you,” she said, briskly gathering the girl in her awkward arms. The blond was starting to convulse, her arms drawn tightly to her side, teeth grit, unable to move.
“I…t-this is so embarrassing…I’m sorry…” the girl whispered softly, half to herself. Misato realized that a wetness had her hand, dripping blood, from her fingers to the floor…
“God, don’t worry about that. You’re going to be fine,” Misato said, even if she wasn’t sure that this Ritsuko was going to be fine at all.
There was a noise like a crack, a gunshot. That ceiling again…except this time, it shattered to pieces. A rafter, previously hanging from the top by mere chains that snapped to the pressure of the Angel’s assault, falling, falling. Misato covered Ritsuko’s body with her own by instinct, shutting her eyes tightly, until…a shadow loomed over them. Misato didn’t feel dead yet. She opened her eyes.
It was the Evangelion’s hand. The Evangelion’s hand stretched out and protected them, protected her.
“Th-that’s…that’s impossible,” Shinji mouthed, amazed. “But…if the Evangelion was really trying to protect her…
“We could do it,” Doctor Nagisa concluded, smiling sadly.
Misato’s shoulders began to shake as she let Ritsuko go.
“…fine,” she said. Misato’s father and the woman beside him watched on, half expectant.
“I’ll do it. Just don’t make her.”
___________________________________________________
The inside of the Evangelion felt like an expanded airplane’s cockpit, except with more controls that Misato knew she would never be able to discern. The back of her legs sweat against the plastic of her seat, and she exhaled deeply as she held her cross necklace, tucked beneath her shirt. A pair of purple nerve clips in her hair itched her scalp, tugging her pigtails painfully into place like barrettes…she didn’t even like barrettes.
Kill the Angel. Just pretend you’re in a movie, she thought to herself. She could hear Shinji’s voice directing others over the intercom, a thought that made her chuckle. She’d have never thought that Shinji would be able to direct others with his personality, but she supposed that Shinji’s job at NERV was more significant than she first imagined. Misato had to acknowledge that he could step up to the challenge, though she could see none of his efforts from her position. A part of her wished they could switch places. What Misato would give for the opportunity to boss others around, to take charge, to eventually do the right thing while another fought in her place, only succeeding because of her brilliant battle strategy…!
“Misato, I’m going to fill the entry plug, so please be patient and don’t panic,” Shinji voiced over the Evangelion’s speaker system. Naturally this made Misato panic immediately as orange liquid touched her sides and began to wash over her body. She instinctively drew a large gulp and held it in her cheeks before she lost her gumption. A large bubble sapped from her lips as she coughed.
“Misato-san.” That was Doctor Nagisa. “Once the LCL fills your lungs, you will be oxygenated directly. You’ll grow accustomed to it the more you operate your Evangelion.”
“…hmph,” she retorted, wiping her mouth. “Like I’m supposed to trust-”
“Misato, don’t mind that now! You have other things to worry about!” Shinji retorted. Misato could easily imagine Shinji’s frustrated, exasperated expression - he was quite protective of his friend, wasn’t he? Misato leaned back in her chair and wiggled her toes, fitfully.
“Point taken.”
“I’m going to launch you in a few seconds,” Shinji continued. “Just…do the best you can. Focus, stay calm. I’ll guide you.”
“Will I die?” Misato asked.
“I…”
“Misato-san, you will not die,” said Doctor Nagisa, his tone strangely emphatic. “It’s too early for that. However, we will do everything to protect you in the short term.”
That was probably the most direct answer she was going to get, if not overtly optimistic. “…okay.”
Misato sat up. She tested her feel of the various levers - careful not to jump start the robot by mistake - while she felt her Evangelion move backward. A variety of individuals spoke over the intercom, reaffirming things like synchronization, language, among other details Misato could care less for as she prepared for what was outside NERV. The masked Angel, waiting…
“On my count, Misato, prepare to launch in 3, 2, 1…go!”
Through her dashboard, in the midst of sharpness and nausea, Misato watched as her Evangelion shot up through the tunnel like a rocket until it reached the height of the dark chamber, a ceiling checkered with yellow and black marks. It opened swiftly, and she burst through it as the platform brought her to the street level, revealing the entire cityscape, each building at her height.
Misato looked around rapidly, clutching her controls.
“S-so, what am I supposed to do now?” she asked. She saw a shadow turn from the opposite side of a building...the Angel! It was beginning to approach her, its white mask and black face shifting as it considered her presence, like an insect with rotating eyes. It was so much more vile and frightening from her vantage point. Bile rose in the back of her throat - Misato had to cover her lips to keep herself from vomiting.
A red light began to pulse at the center of the Angel’s body, the same bloody energy that brought Tokyo III to its knees only hours ago.
“Misato! You have to outrun it! Try outrunning it!” Shinji shouted.
“You mean that doesn’t come natur-” Misato started to say, thrusting the controls forward. It was too fast - the entire weight of her Evangelion shifted downward, groaning with potential that lacked resolve. Each building fell from her line of sight like falling dominoes as she spiralled out of control, sinking until she crashed head first into the pavement, the arms of the Evangelion spread limply across the road.
Misato clung to her forehead, seething. “Damn it, get up!” Misato yelled. She pulled and pulled at the controls to no avail, her pigtails and necklace bobbing back and forth with her efforts. Why wouldn’t it move…!?
“Hurry, Misato, please!”
“I’m trying!” she cried, when she saw a claw reach forward and grab Misato’s Evangelion by its skull, suddenly rearing it up and through the air like a toy. Misato thought back to that blond girl and the rest of Misato’s own life as she tried to pry the controllers into action. She had to remember those things, or else…or else…
The Angel reached forward, its spindly fingers creeping around the Evangelion’s balljoint, pulling, yanking, eventually-
Misato writhed as she felt a horrible pain in tandem with the blood that spurted from the Evangelion’s side. She grabbed her shoulder as tears erupted in her eyes. “Get away from me, get away you goddamn-!” she yelled before the claw reached the top of the Evangelion’s head, the dashboard shattered, and the last noise she heard was the roar of the beast, the seething controls, and Shinji’s desperate cry of her name.
___________________________________________________
It was sometime later. The morning was humid, NERV, rather empty. Mari Makinami sat in Katsuragi’s spinning chair. He was conversing with SEELE in the basement, before a series of avatars that Katsuragi would never see. It was one of the many advantages Mari had ahead of her so called superior.
Occasionally Mari felt like she was the only one actively engaging in the game SEELE lay before her. Well, her and the Princess. Mari wasn’t sure if she was supposed to count Kaworu in the fight or not. His motives were quite obvious to anyone but SEELE itself. However, all the future actions Kaworu could take to achieve his ends was a more interesting subject of conversation, a cloudier one. Still, Maridefinitely didn’t count in Katsuragi. He was more of a puppet — intelligent of his own accord, but so weak willed, so uncharismatic. Mari had to make all the suggestions lately, even in regard to his own daughter, peacefully asleep in her cotton blue hospital bed. After what happened, he was plainclueless…it was as equally amusing as it was sad.
Mari played with her cellphone, swinging her prized kitten keychain back and forth. The phone soon hopped in her hand — a reaction Mari half expected. She flipped it open.
“Ah, Princess, you’re early.”
“The Third Pilot’s alive?”
Mari giggled. “She survived the puppy’s instructions yet. Speaking of, it looks like he escaped your prediction earlier. He did pretty well under pressure.”
“…I don’t want to talk about him.”
Mari rolled her chair back with her foot. “Why not? He was the driving force of the operation. Unless his knight in shining armor pulled a string or two, but all and all, he let the puppy do his thing. Surprising, really.”
“Knight in shining armor? Really? Kaworu deserves a better nickname.”
“It’s only because I haven’t pegged him yet; of course his nicknames are a little lackluster,” Mari lied, picking at her nails. The Princess’ll figure it out.
Mari dropped her voice for insurance. “I meant it when I said you were early. Doc’s not out of his meeting yet. Could get back any minute, could have overheard us by now…I told you, you’ve gotta try me in the morning if you want to talk details. That’s when I have off.”
Though Mari couldn’t distinguish one word from the other, the German at the end of the line was an obvious string of curses. Mari laughed in response.
“That part’s actually true,” Mari added. As if that would help, Mari knew it wouldn’t.
“Ugh, damn you Four Eyes. I need to know the details of the case!”
“Be patient, dear Princess,” Mari replied in a sing song, snapping the phone shut. How she loved to goad her dearest friend…