Number: 42 Title: THE FINAL MISTAKE Type: Fan Fiction ---------- Scenes: ---------- ------------------------------------------------------------------------ WARNING: As you would expect from myself, this story holds absolutely nothing back. READER DESCRETION IS ADVISED. DISCLAIMER: Fanfic... yadda yadda... don't sue... yadda yadda... ABSOLUTELY NOT FOR PROFIT... yadda yadda.... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ In a cold, wet hole in what civilized man called Hell, he waited. For three days he had been locked in here, trapped in a cell designed with something less than good creature comforts in mind. The floor was solid concrete; uneaven and unforgiving. The prison cell was a cold, wet block of hollowed-out concrete. Concrete floor, wooden shelf for a bed. Four walls, a ceiling, and a dirty floor that invited rats in during the night. The heat from the surface, scortched by the sun for fouteen hours every day did not reach into his cell. Light was a foreign thing, though he had been without such luxuries for only two days. He kept company in his cell by listening to the screams that echoed down the concrete hallways, carried to his ears by walls dirtier than even his soul. It was a prison that was designed to keep political criminals out of the public eye--no exceptions allowed. Every last one of the twenty-eight guards which manned his wing were JSSDF soldiers. None of them were quite as smart as he, but for now they held the keys; they were the gatekeepers, and without their word, he would not pass onto the outside world. ---------- His eyes were cold. Not cold in the way you'd think of a meat freezer cold, when walking inside qualified you for an instant case of goosebumps, but cold like an arctic blizzard in January. Cold like the way people think of liquid nitrogen as being deadly cold. They held a flinty hardness in them, still sharp, yet worn from the years upon his shoulders. He was only fifteen, but felt like a million. His prison-issue outfit was dirty blue. The JSSDF soldiers had denied him even clean clothes to wear. It was on account of his Korean eyes, perhaps, but more likely because he'd killed more of their ranks then he cared to count and it was all they could do to keep from marching into his cell and summarily executing him. He was kind of waiting for the execution. He'd been here only two days, and had not a thing to eat until this morning. outside world. His presence was not a trivial thing. Though he rarely spoke and didn't follow conversation or activity with his eyes--unless such activity was extremely interesting and directed at him--his presence spoke volumes of his frame of mind. If he was upset, no words needed to be spoken. All communication was of an animal nature. The chains that set his arms together were strong enough to stop anything living. The cyanide capsule injection on his neck had left a tell-tale mark, a clean spot among the dirt and grim that coated his body like a layer of oil over a newly minted hand wrench. The JSSDF officer that held his personal remote-kill device was a devious looking man with a sharp nose and hard brown eyes. The eyes of a man accustomed to watching murders and criminals of all sorts a hundred times worse; a man not accustomed to losing the game so many of these smart psychopaths insisted on playing with him. The officer that was to speak with him today had a ranking in the JSSDF. A Captain, she had said. Impressive. He didn't know the JSSDF was recruiting women. And what a woman. Long, sexy legs that went ALL the way up. Long luscious black hair that concealed and tempted, a figure that would draw tears from even his eyes. There was a hardness there too, a veneer--a costume--that she putting on to deal with people like him. "Hello?" He didn't answer her. He never spoke first in any case. The foolish would tell him everything without him ever having to utter a word. She had nothing of interest to tell him. His evaluation of her rose a notch at this. "Do you need a translator? Hello! TRANSLATOR? Do you speak Japanese?!" She had yelled, her face growing red with the strain of sustained shouting and the heat of her anger. "Yes. I do." He had answered, his voice level. "You act like you're deaf or something." She insisted. Silence. "Hmph. Well, if you can speak Japanese you had better be able to understand it." Silence. "Well, I need to ask you a few questions." Silence. She sighed. "First, have you ever met anyone with the name Shinji Ikari?" "Yes." "Can you tell me where he is?" Eyes swept the cell from side to side. "No." "Where did you last see him?" Flat voice. "Paris-2." She snorted out a laugh. "You're joking." Silence. More seriously this time. "You're _not_ joking." "Ahem.... _When_ did you see him?" "About two in the afternoon." Probing. "Could you give me a date?" He answered flatly. "Forty-five days ago." "Okay, that's something." She consulted a tiny computer that fit into the palm of her hand. "What were you doing at that time?" "I was eating lunch." Skeptical. "Oh really? Lunch with Shinji?" "No." "Dammit!" She cursed. "This doesn't have to be like pulling teeth you little asshole." "Cigarette?" "What?" "Tabacco product, wrapped in thin paper, about this long..." He began with appropriate hand gestures. The woman just stared at him. "Offer me, a cigarette." He said slowly. "You can't smoke!" She exclaimed. "Why?" He asked. The Captain's jaw worked silently for several seconds, then, as if she had suddenly remembered it was moving, she consciously closed it, and answered his question. "You're too young, that's why." "Lady," he said with a look that held the ghost of a smile. "How old do I look?" "About fifteen... maybe sixteen." She answered. "Everyone says that." He said with a rueful sigh. The Captain shook her head. "Look, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. You've obviously chosen the hard way, but if you cooperate, I can... I can get you a cigarette." There was the feeling of a smile in the room, but his face didn't so much as twitch. "Good. The last time I saw Shinji Ikari, things were not well, he was nervous, and refused to eat lunch with me." He paused. The Captain waved to guard outside. "Bring one cigarette in here please, a lit one." "Ma'am?" "Just do it." She commanded. Again, that feeling of a smile. "I think I'm beginning to like you." He said. "That's the first human thing I've heard you said." She countered. "Good. You're listening." This time the Captain didn't know what to think. ---------- A hundred miles away and a day later, away from the grey metal walls of the military prison, Captain Misato Katsuragi was delivering her report. Her only audience was the Supreme Commander of NERV, one Gendo Ikari. The Commander was currently speaking. "You understand, Captain, that this is quite a thorny situation. We are without a viable pilot, _and_ we have a major international incident to deal with, one that the government does not have the slightest interest in helping us with. Merely keeping the JSSDF on him is costing us a small fortune. Need I remind you that of the one hundred and twenty-nine soldiers and covert agents the JSSDF and several governments sent after this boy, only two are alive. One will never walk again. The other is in a coma." The Captain nodded vigorously through the whole speech. The kid emitted danger in waves, like the sun emitted light. She didn't need a safety lecture from the Commander, even if his points were valid. "I understand completely commander. He was very brief with me, but was amiable to answering my questions. I have all the information you requested." If the Commander was pleased, or displeased, it didn't show. "Very good Captain. The summary of your report?" "We have a unique problem here Commander. It is possible," Misato's voice caught. "That Shinji Ikari is alive. The other students, Miko Kurasawa and Xian Weng Fu, are fine, psychically. Sir, it would take a team of experts years to pick apart his brain." "Continue, Captain. Time is short." The Commander ordered. "Well, they basically went on a joy-ride. They robbed a few casinos, dined in the most expensive restaurants they could get inside. Seikai even tried to teach them skeet shooting at one point, if he is to be believed." "Your opinion of him?" "I don't know if I can make an opinion of him sir." She swallowed her discomfort. "He's the kind of thing we don't even talk about here, sir." ---------- He wasn't impressed in the least at Gendo's office, offering the decor not even a curious glance. His gaze was solely reserved for the thin, severe man seated behind the room's immense black desk. "You are Hiro Seikai." Gendo's voice was deep and grating. "I was advised by the Captain who interrogated you earlier to keep my comments to myself, to treat you fairly, to be honest as I can, and to offer you a concession on part before we begin. Is there anything you would like to make yourself more comfortable?" "The guards leave, except for the two by the door. My bonds can remain." The Commander was seething, it was clear in his eyes, even though they were hidden behind his intentionally darkened prescription lenses. "Very well. You two, stay. The rest of you may wait outside." The guards looked very unhappy. It did not make sense to have sixteen MPs soldier wheel in this one prisoner, then leave only two on guard. The prisoner was so thoroughly and tightly bound in a maze of manicles and chains, that surely he could not escape. And who would want to anyway? Within the largest government installation ever built, overflowing with ex-military personnel and containing a security system that surely rivaled anything at his previous quarters--he would have to be simply insane to try to escape. The guards' final analysis was telling: Gendo Ikari was probably insane. The boy might a perfect match for him. ---------- "What do you mean we're letting him go?!" Misato shouted. "He was in that prison for a reason! The Commander's son is still missing, hundreds of people are--" "QUIET!" Ritsuko commanded. The stacks of overdue reports piled in her office like the spires of Babylon were threatening to come down around the two women. The doctor took a deep breath before she answered. "I don't know _why_, only that we have no other choice. Hiro said to me, 'honesty is the best policy.' Commander Ikari doesn't agree, and that prick is playing by his rules. So, Misato, the word is, there is no word. He walks. End of story." "This is fucking crazy." Misato said. Ritsuko, comfortable behind her desk in the usual white lab coat, leveled at glare at her old friend. "I am aware of that, but those are the facts; no way around them." ---------- "What are you? Someone's idea of the perfect sex toy?" The girl with red eyes an inhumanly pale skin looked at him, unblinking. When she spoke, her voice was so soft it almost wasn't there at all. "Identify yourself." Eyes narrowed. "You my call me Hiro Seikai." "Rei Ayanami." She walked away without saying another word. The door closed behind her. In the empty hallway, Hiro stood thinking to himself for a moment. "She's awfully familiar... I _know_ her from somewhere." ---------- [Seikai coming home; his related contacts, the faceless bar, the Yakuza and Barakumin; social comments, Seikai's entrance, his clothing; greeting, short reflection on Gendo's willingness to trade for information; shopping (rough fit). Then, the real dialogue.] Seikai returned to his haunts in the city. He had spent some time in the city called Tokyo-3, a garish place full of the new world, too clean for the likes of him, but still corruptible by his ilk. He had first come to Tokyo-3 by accident, but some months ago the sterile concrete fortress had become his safe haven. It started innocuously at a small bar that had changed it's name a dozen times while he frequented the place. A glance at the sign told him it was now called "The Fish." They had been serving the Japanese equivilant of fast food here; the not home-cooked, over processed food he had come to detest in America. The small operations, run by one or two people that had ran their own restaurant for years, those were the places to go for decent food. The Fish, however, was one of the few places he could get something besides sake without flashing his ID. Here he had friends. The bar was on the bottom floor of a small commercial space. Only two blocks from a set of train tracks, it held the image of a seedy establishment where Yakuza and Burakumin hung out. The image was an accurate portrayal of reality. With his Korean looks and slight Indian accent laid over his fluent Japanese, at least he would not looked down upon. Here you could practically eat off the streets. but it still amazed him that despite all the shiny new buildings and new outlook on life throughout the world, you could still find No one of statue visited this place unless their meeting concerned money. No bums around. A real upscale place he couldn't at all relate to. Once inside the bar he waved to the owner. "Touga-san!" "Seikai-san. A pleasure as always." Touga bowed to him. Hiro returned the favor with a small smirk. "An ounce of your finest?" He said, taking a seat. The plce had not yet begun to fill up, and the only other customer was an elderly man in a dark blue suit. Hiro deliberately sat right next to the man, grinning like an idiot. Touga was quick with the drink, a small cup of sake to whet Hiro's pallet. It was lunchtime, after all, and the boy was not interested in going hungry. He took the strong liquor in a single gulp, and set the tiny cup back on the bar softly. "All right. I'll take something with lots of fish in it." "Any particular kind of fish, sir?" Hiro thought about this for a moment. "Someone recommended something, but I can't remember what. Just surprise me, Touga-san." "Understood, Seikai-san." The suit stared at him. He wasn't as old as he first appeared, maybe late forties, Japanese. *Of course.* The suit wasn't an excellent cut; perhaps the guy had lost twenty pounds recently. The navy blue cloth was new, but the face wasn't. Worn and sickly, brown eyes watching his like two specks of hardened flint. "What?" Seikai asked casually. "Aren't you a little young for drinks?" The man asked. Seikai nabbed a cigarette from the pack in his jacket and lit it with a hundred yen lighter. "Of course, but Touga-san doesn't mind. And the cops... well, I don't worry about the cops." "That is true." Touga commented from behind the grill. The bar had a pair of hot plates with two chunks of plate steel suspended over the magical electric stoves. A domed lid came with each plate, for slowly heating items. So much for style. Hiro's fish was roasting in a plastic bag on one of the plates. "Your name sounds familiar, kid. Does your family life around here?" "Don't have a family." Hiro answered. The man made "I'm contemplating this" sound in his throat and rubbed his chin in a thoughtful manner. It was Touga who came to the boy's rescue. "Hiro Seikai-san is a new enforcer here for oyabun." Eyes slitted with suspicion, the old man regarded the younger. Touga's eyes mirrored barely-concealed fear. He turned back to his work, preparing Hiro's food. Hiro matched the suited man's stare perfectly, like a lion sure of its terroritory and ready to defend his place with his life. Finally, the old man shook his head and smiled. "Oyabun said you were young, really young. I didn't think you were really him." "Korean kid, young, funny face?" Hiro supplied with a sly grin. "Yeah." The man offered. "Beady black eyes. Not to be trusted." There was mirth in his voice, zest, a flavor no unpleasant in conversation. As salt in cooking, simple amusements were almost universal in conversation. Hiro picked up the man's cue. "Fan of that hated American whiskey. Chain- smokin', gun-flingin' madman." The man chuckled. "Look for him, yeah, that's what I was told. I'm ---------- "I say God damn!" Hiro said, slamming his shot glass against the bar. Shinji muttered something incoherent, his face buried in his folded arms, hanging onto the edge of the bar as if he were grasping at life itself. He looked more than a little green around the gills when he lifted his head to stare at Hiro. "Drink, man." Hiro said, pouring them both around round of whiskey and sliding one of the shots of liquid fire towards the pale Evangelion pilot. Shinji clutched the shot glass, but did not lift it from the bar's surface. "Is this supposed to make me feel better?" "No." Hiro said. "It's supposed to help... not that I know what that means." "Why do you do it?" "Be more specific, man." "Drink." "Oh, I was thinkin' you were gonna ask why I just murdered seventeen people in cold blood." Shinji grunted. "I do it because it's not allowed, and because it's better to get trashed than get bored or get thrown in jail." Hiro said in his rambling manner of 'explaining' things. ---------- "If you think about it, this all started out rather simply." He said, the gun held at his side with he same care and precision that one might hold back a blood-thirsty pitbull. Shinji's eyes tracked its movement out of habit, his ears catching every word Hiro had to say. "You see, for a long time I didn't want anything. Time and time again, all the jewels of the world were brought before me until there was, at last, something I truly desired. When the old men found what I lusted after, that was it; that was the one thing I could never have." The young Eva pilot didn't test his bonds. He knew they would be impossible to break out of. Hiro didn't leave things to chance. Turning his head to the side as far as it would go, he could just see the unconscious, nude form of Rei Ayanami out of hte corner of his eye. He didn't care to hear what Hiro thought of the subject, but right now there was nothing he could do but listen. "Perhaps it was fate that chose our paths. On the other hand, maybe it was all one terrible game the old men had to play, one last round, because they didn't know how to play anything else. What do you think, Shinji?" Shinji's eyes watched the gun. They watched Hiro stop walking, the short Korean boy staring him down even though his eyes lay outisde of Shinji's vision. He didn't dare say a word. "I'm sorry, I couldn't hear that." Hiro came closer, the wet slap of his cheap sneaker in the LCL like little gunshots. He pressed the business end of the gun into Shinji's face. "Say that again." "You're still cheating." The Eva pilot said, the words ground through his teeth. Hiro pulled the gun back, spinning the pistol in his hands like an old west gunfighter. "This didn't start with the bus, you know. It started with your father." Said Hiro quietly. "These things seem to." Shinji agreed. ----------