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“Systems start.”

“All readings nominal.”

“Syncrograph reading 35.88%, fluctuation is minimal.”

“Pilot vitals are stable. Zero neural feedback.”

Your hands rest lightly on the control throttles inside the entry plug, the same place they’ve rested a
hundred times before. The same as any training exercise. Your eyes are closed, the soft, fluid warmth of LCL surrounds you, the womb-like thrum of the entry plug fills your ears. Your hands don’t shake, but you’re terrified.

“Alpha unit- Ethan, do you read us?” The voice was cold, impersonal, the voice of one of Perdition’s base controllers.

You exhale the nervous breath you were holding. The LCL you expel from your lungs is so thin that it feels little different than breathing air save for the dull burn in your nose. No matter how many activation tests you ran you never quite overcame that feeling. You grip the activation throttles a little tighter and will the sensation to go away.

“Roger,” you say, “Alpha copies.” Your voice sounds calm in your ears, betraying none of the fear that is worming its way through your guts. When you open your eyes you see the interior of your entry plug, but more than that you see the interior of one of Perdition’s Eva cages through the eyes of your Evangelion.

Your Evangelion, designated Alpha, isa godlike weapon of war. A biomechanical avatar brought to life by human hands and human minds. It is the greatest weapon in mankind’s arsenal, the only hope of defending humanity.

“We’re deploying you to the surface via the main launch tunnel,” the controller says. His voice is rendered cold by the circuits of your radio and the nature of his training. He’s as much a cog in this machine as you are. “Target has been confirmed. Blood pattern blue, an angel.”

An angel. As if it could be anything else.

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Turning your head slightly you look to the picture-in-picture display on your entry plug monitors. It shows a remote camera view from the surface, outside the base. A grotesque, humanoid shape slouches through the black waters of the bay adjacent to the base, waves lapping at its sides. There’s something about seeing such a strange form against the natural backdrop of Alaska’s rolling, forested hills that makes you feel sick. Of course, that could also be fear.

Angels. The would-be destroyers of humanity. The scourge visited on this planet seventeen years ago when a giant of light exploded in Antarctica, vaporizing the ice sheets and starting a chain of events that ultimately resulted in a global holocaust that reduced the planet’s population by 50%. An event called Second Impact.

The view of the angel bobs slightly, the camera shaking as the VTOL gunship providing the video feed changes positions, flitting closer to the angel while remaining at what the pilot clearly perceived as a safe distance.

The angel stops. Its bowed shoulders twist unnaturally as it turns to look at the aircraft. It has no head, nothing like facial features either. Only three misshapen holes gouged in the protrusion that served as its face. These apertures flash once with unearthly energy and the video cuts to hard, white, static.

“Your target is the Fifth angel,” the base controller says. “Command has officially designated it ‘Ansiel’.”

A name for an entity that exists only to be destroyed. This is the moment you’ve been training years for, a moment to confront one of the destroyers of mankind. The first angel sighting in five years. Your first chance to prove yourself.

“Won’t be a problem,” you say with confidence you don’t feel.

The elevator launches upward with a force that jars you even through the shock dampening effects of the LCL. Lights race by with dizzying speed, G-forces keeping you firmly pressed into the crash couch as you and your eva race for the surface.

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A moment later the eva launch elevator emerges from the underground launch shaft and jolts to a stop. Here, atop a rocky, sparsely forested hill you have a clear view in all directions over the woods and plains of the Evangelion proving grounds. How strange that your first real battle will take place on the very ground you trained on.

“Alpha Unit deployed.” Your radio crackles with the voice of the base controller. “Progressive glaive on site.”
True to word, your weapons arrive a moment later from nearby elevator boxes, unfolding on collapsible arms, ready for the taking.

You can just make out the Angel as it trudges through the ocean, its gait bizarre, almost simian. The thing’s body is entirely black, slick, like tar, and only marred by the three uneven holes where a face might go. Humanoid in form it has three crude fingers on each hand and a spiky, protruding spine.


Its alien nature makes you wrinkle your nose in revulsion. Invader, interloper, enemy. A single look is all that it takes to recognize that it and its kind don’t belong here.

“Bravo unit deployed. Impact rifle on site.”

Some good news from command at last. Bravo unit’s pilot, Linda, had been training with you here for years. Her eva is out of visual range, over a hill to your left two kilometers distant. All the same, just knowing Linda is here makes you feel better. As your friend and only other pilot in Perdition you’ve always worked closely with her.

“Alpha, Bravo, be aware that tactical data on this angel is limited. It’s dissimilar to all previous Angel encounters and we have not yet brought conventional forces to bear on it. You’re to engage at your own recognizance.”

Linda appears in your HUD’s display. Her normally cheerful disposition is replaced with nervous apprehension but she’s otherwise the same, her auburn hair pulled into twin braids. “Affirmative.” She bites her lip anxiously and double checks her controls with a glance.

“Where is this thing heading, anyway?” you ask.

“Target is on course for the Anchorage Refugee Zone. Reason unknown.”

No surprise there, the angel’s motivations - if any - were a mystery to humanity. While mankind tried to rebuild from the cataclysm of seventeen years ago, the angels only seemed interested in destruction.

Linda looks at you in the display. “Ethan, we’d better play it safe and shadow this one for now. See how it acts.”

As Linda says this, you watch the angel make landfall. Its dark, fleshy legs lift it from the waters of the bay and onto the sandy bank, trudging uphill.


>Good idea, let's keep our distance.
>No sense delaying the inevitable. I’ll close in and attack, you cover me.
>Let’s not let it get any closer to the city. We can move in and finish it off together.
>Write in

>>4697729
TK... has returned

>>4697739
>Let’s not let it get any closer to the city. We can move in and finish it off together.

Hmm, seems ok so far but I can already tell this is no Animorphs Quest.
>Let’s not let it get any closer to the city. We can move in and finish it off together.

>>4697739
>Let’s not let it get any closer to the city. We can move in and finish it off together.

>>4697739
>No sense delaying the inevitable. I’ll close in and attack, you cover me.

>>4697739
>Let’s not let it get any closer to the city. We can move in and finish it off together.

>>4697739
>No sense delaying the inevitable. I’ll close in and attack, you cover me.
Can't let it get to the city, but let's not put all our eggs in one basket and approach together

Who wants to bet this is just a VR training exercise

>>4698079
Fuck this website, I don't know why my trip came back

>>4697729
>The Same as it ever was
Same as it ever was.
Same as it ever was.
Same as it ever was.
Same as it ever was.

Blah blah blah, days gone by, and I forget the words.
Once in a lifetime I, again forgot the words.

It's a song, anons.

>>4697739
>Let’s not let it get any closer to the city. We can move in and finish it off together.

>Let’s not let it get any closer to the city. We can move in and finish it off together.
>>4697753
>>4697769
>>4697800
>>4697969
>>4698466

Writing.

>>4697749
I live . . . Again


>>4697769
>this is no Animorphs Quest.
The late 90s are back in a big way!

>>4698109
Well . . . how did I get here?

File: Episode 1.jpg (106 KB, 900x675)

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“The 217th Armored Cavalry is en route. Expected arrival time is forty five minutes,” control says.

Too late. Far too late. Not that conventional weaponry would have any real effect on the angel.

“Linda, let’s not let it get any closer to the city,” you say. A picture-in-picture map of the region flashes up on your display. Taking it in with a glance, you calculate the best path for both evas to intercept. “We can move in and finish it off together. UN ground forces are too far out.” You project a confidence you don’t feel, your voice cool and firm.

With an idle thought you depress the evangelion’s control throttles, activating the nerve-link and melding your will with the eva’s. Alpha’s arms move as naturally as your own, seizing the weapons from their deployment cradles. The progressive glaive goes to an electromagnetic holster on your back, latching on with a dull thud that vibrates through your plug.

“Ethan? You’re sure?” Linda asks.

You mentally recall the footage you’ve seen of the angels of the past. No two were the same, their motivations and capabilities utterly unknown until they decided to strike. The most recent angel - until now - had been a monolithic crawling pillar excavated from the thawing Siberian permafrost. Its destruction had cost the lives of two pilots. Seventeen years after the first angel and still humanity was no closer to understanding them.

“I’m sure,” you say, suppressing any other thoughts.

With another impulse, you set Alpha moving. Titanic strides clear the tops of scrubby pines and cross streams. The forest green paint scheme of Alpha seems to blend in with the woodland around it, thought that was hardly the point. Like the angels, no two evas are alike. Alpha sports three red lensed eyes, symmetrically arranged and centered on its face while Bravo was a mono eye design.

As your eva jogs down the sloping hillside, you drag behind you a gargantuan power cable that trails back to an armored coupling. Perhaps the one weakness of the evangelion is its ravenous appetite for energy, more than any battery system can reliably keep up with. It has enough slack to get you to your combat site though.

Within minutes you catch site of Linda’s dull-orange Bravo unit mirroring your movements on the opposite hillside, the angel between you.

“It doesn’t seem to care we’re here,” Linda says. “Do you think it’s after the pipeline?”

“I don’t think Angels care about that kinda shit,” you say.

“It has to want something doesn’t it?” Linda asks.

You’re not sure you can answer that. A glance at your map shows that the angel is on course for Anchorage, plodding along with mechanical certainty. The situation wasn’t about to change any time soon. No time like the present. “Let’s finish this. Engage it with the impact rifle after I’ve gotten into position,” you say. “I’m moving closer to it.”

(1/2)

“Be careful,” she says, the deep concern in her voice unmistakable.

“Affirmative.” Bravo halts dead in its tracks, feet gouging trenches in the earth. It shoulders the heavy impact rifle, a weapon of ungainly length. The impact rifle’s its rocket-assisted shells were designed to pierce virtually any sort of armor mankind was capable of making.

You will your eva down the rocky slope toward the bottom of the valley the angel moved across. While virtually nothing on earth had a reasonable chance of stopping an impact shell, the angels were like nothing else. Their bodies are protected by an unnatural energy field which is capable of blocking any conventional weapon short of a nuclear device. This field is named for the feelings it evoked in the scientific team that discovered its existence. Absolute Terror.

The angel’s special weapon was not unique however. Evangelions are likewise capable of generating - and therefore neutralizing - AT fields. You’ll have to get closer to the angel’s AT field to give Linda a better chance with that rifle.

A sharp warning trills from your console and your head snaps up in surprise. The angel is staring back at you with those three rubbery voids.

“Ethan!” Linda calls. Her shout is accompanied by a shot. The impact rifle bangs, the muzzle flash igniting dry evergreens around it. The shell streaks out and smashes flat against a shimmering hexagonal pattern in the air. The field hasn’t been neutralized yet.

“Alpha unit, evade!” Control demands.

A brilliant, glowing halo coalesces over the Angel’s torso and its body lifts suddenly and violently into the air. Once levitated, the angel is thrown feet first toward you, a swifter attack than you thought it was capable of making.

With an involuntary cry of panic, you throw your Eva to the side and sweep with the glaive. It’s a clumsy and rushed strike, but it connects all the same. The blade of your glaive rebounds off of the angel’s AT field with a shower of sparks. The force of the impact lurches you back, and the two of you rock back from one another.

The angel lands in a hunched, animal-like crouch.

Your eva staggers awkwardly a moment before you find your footing.

“Ethan!?”

“Fine,” you say. The bone-shattering crash of that attack would have killed anyone without the benefits of automatic LCL pressurization. That was all that saved your body from the sudden G-shock,

“Alpha, use the progressive glaive and drive the angel back. Neutralize its AT field and let Bravo take the shot.” Control’s voice is a little more frantic. They know that their fates hang on the success of two teenage pilots.

“Affirmative!” you snarl through gritted teeth. Your eva adjusts its grip on the glaive and you look for a weak spot with your opponent.

The angels stares back, as blank as a stopped clock.

“Attacking!” you shout and lunge in.

***

Roll 1d6. I need 3 rolls total.

Rolled 2 (1d6)

>>4698555

Rolled 2 (1d6)

>>4698555

Rolled 5 (1d6)

>>4698555

>>4698565
>>4698567
>>4698588

>2
>2
>5

Writing

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You leap forward with a graceful downward strike. The blade cleaves through the angel’s AT field like cutting a sheet of paper. A trail of glowing sparks follows the cut, your heart soars. You can beat it after all.

“Target’s AT field has been neutralized!” your radio buzzes.

You smash backward in your crash couch as the angel drives its arm into your Eva’s face, knocking you off balance. With a twirl of your wrist you manage to hack off the angel’s hand at the elbow, avoiding a follow up blow. It’s fast.

The angel advances relentlessly at you, grabbing your glaive by the shaft and holding it firm, denying you more attacks. Muscles bulge grotesquely in its remaining arm and you’re overpowered, driven first to your knees and then your back.

Alarms squeal and warnings flash in your cockpit. Your ears ring with the sound. You’re staring up into the hollow face-holes of the Angel and listening to a persistent buzzing. It takes you a moment to realize you’re hearing your own screams.

Voices echo through your radio, shouting for action, demanding you get up and fight back.

Clamping your mouth shut, you haul back on your command throttles, trying to wrest your glaive free. The effort is futile.

The angel looms over you, its eyes filling with that white, sourceless light. You recognize it as the precursor to a powerful energy blast.

“Bravo Unit, firing!” Linda shouted.

A trio of rounds punch through the angel, rocket motors burning. Black ichor splashes out its back as each one fully penetrates the angel, tearing through its rubber flesh before burrowing into the hillside behind you. The rocket motors drive them into the hillside where they detonated with enough force to start a small rockslide.

The angel turns its body to look back up the hill to where Linda stands in Bravo. It’s apparently unphased by these hits. With a jolt, the angel releases your glaive, turns, and starts up the hill toward Linda with surprising speed.


“No!” Linda shouts. “No! Stay away!” Her words are punctuated by more gunshots. One of them clips the thing’s thick, amorphous shoulder before careening away into the air and exploding.

Struggling against gravity and inertia, you force your eva back to its feet. Loose, rocky earth slides around underneath you. Your glaive splits in half, the shaft smoking where the angel grabbed it. Acid corrosion runs in thick lines down the remaining pole. You drop the weapon and deploy your progressive knife, hurrying up the hill after it.

The angel falls upon Linda with an unearthly shriek. It’s body is twisting and distorting, revealing itself to be more malleable than you’d seen at first. An ebon pseudopod forms from its back and batts away her impact rifle a moment before it crashes into her. The angel’s body is melting and oozing like tar as it slams her down, distorting to envelope her eva in a sticky, hissing tangle.

(1/2)

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Linda’s panicked cries twist into agonized screaming as the angel’s acid eats into her eva. Thick, black prys at armor plating and burns through flesh as it seeks to get at and into the eva.

“Mental contamination rising! The angel is interfacing with the Eva!” a controller says.

“Cut connections, sever all feedback!”

“Impossible, the control circuit is being overridden!”

“Eject the plug, now.”

“I can’t!”

As Perdition’s command staff frantically seek an answer, you find your own footing on surer ground and race to the rescue. With a thought, you power on the sonic knife, setting the blade blurring with intense vibration.

“Ethan!” Linda screams. “Help! Someone help me, please!”

“Contamination is spreading out of control, 32% and climbing! We’re reaching the pilot’s mental threshold!”

“It’s inside me! I can’t see anything! Ethan! Where are you?”

“Alpha-” control began.

“I see it!” you retort, lunging up the hill, your eva’s power cable trailing along behind you.

A flash of black movement catches your eye a moment before a pseudopod lashes out from the angel’s back and strikes your eva in the ribs.

With a grunt and a cry of pain, you rock as the impact resonates through the eva and then your own body. Nerves flare and burn as residual sensation from the eva overwhelms the feedback filters.

“Contamination is at 78%!”


>Attack the angel with the knife, drive it off Linda
>Fall back so that it pursues you
>Retrieve Linda’s rifle and blast it off her
>Write in

>>4698622
>Attack the angel with the knife, drive it off Linda

>>4698622
>Attack the angel with the knife, drive it off Linda

>>4698622
>Retrieve Linda’s rifle and blast it off her

>>4698622
>>Attack the angel with the knife, drive it off Linda

>>4698622
>Attack the angel with the knife, drive it off Linda
Don't have time for anything else, we just have to hope for good rolls

>>4698622

>Attack the angel with the knife, drive it off Linda

>>4698533
Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down.

Letting the days go by, water flowing underground.

Into the blue again after the money's gone.

Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground.

Same as it ever was! (ad nausem)

>Attack the angel with the knife, drive it off Linda

Writing

You don’t have time for clever plans or cunning tactics. You only feel an overwhelming drive to save Linda. Panic is rising within you as her time runs out, matching the crescendo of her screams. With a feral cry, you lunge again.

The half-formed angel turns its lumpy head toward you with a snap.

This time you’re ready for the angel’s counter attack. Parrying with your knife, you cleave it with a swift, upward stroke, severing the proto-limb and sending more foul, black, blood painting the rocky hillside. Thick gore drips in clots from the trees.

Linda’s scream of horror becomes one of agony, mirroring the damage you deal to the angel.

There’s no time to delay, daring in close you plunge the vibrating knife into the angel’s body, the blade sinking in and blood bubbling and spurting out. The ichor is churned to gray foam by the vibration of your knife before it drips down across Linda’s collapsed Evangelion. You tear the knife free and hack at the angel, carving it away chunk by chunk. Linda’s screaming leaves your ears ringing.

The cries of pain pause with a shuddering gasp, “Ethan, stop! You’re killing me!”

You freeze, knife held high for a plunging strike. Killing her?

The pause is all the angel needs to strike. A thick tendril lashes out and strikes your Eva in the chest with enough force to cave in armor plates. An eye blast follows a second later, vaporizing trees and rocks.

Only a swift sideways roll saved you from that devastating blow. The victory is bitter sweet though. A harsh electronic tone trills.

“Alpha Unit umbilical cable severed, battery backup engaged,” control says.

With the power cable severed, you’re down to mere minutes of activity before total shutdown.

Linda’s screams fade with exhaustion, dissolving into static distortion. You only make out one final word. A plea. Ethan.

“Contamination is . . . Alpha unit . . .”

“Ethan, attack and destroy the angel at once!”

The gelatinous angel is coiled tightly around the smoldering ruin of Bravo Unit, its armor scorched and distorted. Skeletal limbs protrude, stripped for flesh, leaving only blackened bones. Through this nest of carnage you can faintly make out a white capsule. Her entry plug.

You have one chance to save her.

“Alpha, you’re to withdraw at once, draw back to the base to-”

You jam the throttles forward and leap toward the angel.

***

Roll 1d6. I need 3 rolls total.

Rolled 2 (1d6)

>>4699172
Watch THIS

Rolled 2 (1d6)

>>4699173
oh boy

Rolled 1 (1d6)

>>4699172

>these rolls
Rip Linda I guess

>>4699173
>>4699219
>>4699225

>2
>2
>1

Writing

File: despairing duck.png (37 KB, 216x205)

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>>4699229
Trama time!


>6 rolls
>4 2s

Your knife tears through the Angel’s flesh with sickening ease. You carve a path through its constant assaults to get close to Bravo Unit even as it's reduced down to its skeleton.

“Linda!”

You see your opening, a gap in its attacks. Heedless of danger, you throw yourself forward and reach for the core. You see your eva’s hand as your own reaching out, further, further. But too far away. The mass begins to constrict around the plug, its white-armored form starts to crumple.

“Linda!”

A savage blow sends your Eva tumbling away, landing hard on your back.

The angel coalesces back into its humanoid form, drawing in its separate appendages and releasing Bravo Unit form its tar-like embrace. A desiccated, humanoid husk falls smoking from the Angel. All that remains of Bravo unit. All that’s left of . . .

The eva’s empty eye socket stares blankly at the sky. Its jaw is cranked open, smoke wafting over charred teeth. The black skull is locked in a silent death cry. And with it . . .

“Linda . . .” You whisper, tears blurring your vision. “Linda?”

“Alpha, respond! Alpha, retreat immediately!”

“Pilot exhibiting shock response, syncrograph is falling, 22% and-”

The Angel explodes toward you. Its solid body becomes a wave of thick goo that streams over your eva’s armor, eating its way into the crevices and gaps, burning its way into your mind. Your world becomes one of piercing agony. And then blackness.

File: Sun.jpg (153 KB, 1600x1067)

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Warm sunlight bathes you. You close your eyes and drink it in. The refreshingly chill breeze blowing in from the bay invigorates you. The eternal summer of the northern hemisphere hit Alaska as hard as anywhere, but sometimes the weather can be downright pleasant.

“Hey, boss!” Linda says, approaching you.

You’re sitting on a cement barrier at the edge of the base looking down on the bay near Anchorage. It’s the day before and none of this has happened yet.

Linda sits beside you and delivers a lopsided smile.

She’s close, hip-to hip with you. Close enough to make you uncomfortable. It’s not that you don’t like her. Linda is . . . well you and her are close. But that closeness brings with it a sense of risk. What would you jeopardize your only friendship for? Why should you want to upset what you have?

You don’t share her playfulness today. You’re tired. Tired of the endless drilling and training. Tired of the nervous apprehension that any day could be your last. “We’re not on duty, Linda,” you say, “You don’t need to call me ‘boss’.”

“Acknowledged, boss,” She doesn’t miss a beat, her smile unbroken. “Wow,” she says. “Beautiful. Not like home at all.”

Home. A word without meaning for you. Home is where you lay your head. Home is where you’re sent.

Linda prods your side with an elbow. “Why so down, sunshine?”

You fail to restrain a smile. No gloom can resist that brightness. Unwilling to be dragged from your melancholy, you turn to stare at the horizon twice as hard as before. “Just thinking.”

Linda lays her head on your shoulder. Soft, reddish-brown hair spills over you. She loops a hand around your arm, holding you close.

“Wh- Linda?” You stammer, caught off guard. You’re totally unsure of how to react or what to say. You don’t dare move or shift her or do anything that might disrupt this one fragile moment.

She pulls tighter to you without speaking, watching the sun dip lower over the mountains. “It’s cold,” she says after a moment. “I’m cold.”

You feel a blush, strange warmth in your cheeks. Her skin is warm on your arm. You think about telling her that it’s warmer in the base but you stop short. She feels nice, whatever this is.

Linda wiggles in place, caressing her own cheek with your shoulder.

“I’m not much warmer,” you say.

“That’s not true. You’re not cold like this place.” Her fingers close over your hand and she holds tight. Her hand entwined with yours.

(Cont.)

The silence is broken only by a fresh gust of wind that draws a shiver from Linda.

“Linda, you know that I . . . we-”

“I know,” she says, “It doesn't have to do anything. Just chase the cold away. I want to feel warm for a minute. Just a minute."

“Linda,” you try again. This can only end badly.

“Ethan.” She continues to stare out at the sun.

You’re too tired to resist this. You give in.

She puts both arms around you, her face against your chest. “We don’t have to be alone,” she says.

You don’t say anything. You know the two of you are alone no matter what you pretend. You came into this world alone and you’ll go out the same way. You know that even this moment of weakness she showed would only hurt her later. For now, you’ll let her pretend. Let her pretend that everything can be fine.

“When all this is over,” Linda says, “maybe . . .”

She doesn’t need to finish the thought.

You sit together as the sun sinks lower on the horizon. You don’t move. You don’t kiss. There’s no romance in this moment, just mutual human weakness. Mutual fear of the future.

“It’s funny,” Linda says, her head poking up.

“Funny?”

Linda blinks her eyes. “Doesn’t it kind of look like the sun is rising?”

You scream as the Angel bores into you. It tears past the nerve filters, through the armor of your Eva and into your mind. Your memories cook away into water vapor as the thing drills deeper. Your soul is torn apart.

The Angel's tentacles entwine your body, burning through your armor and your flesh alike. Alarms bleat in your ears and warning lights flash. Your throat is raw from screaming. Voices are saying something to you on the radio but you can't make them out, all you can do is focus on holding onto yourself. Your mind is eroding like sand in the tide, you feel yourself being drawn into it.

You look up, past the static filling your monitors and see the angel’s empty-eyed face staring down at you. It’s an empty and pitiless gaze. It’s a gaze that fills you with raw, untamed rage.

With every scrap of will you have left, you stab your progressive knife into its face. Ichor spurts across Alpha’s eyes, blinding you.

You feel your pain and the angel’s pain all at once. The same. As one. The LCL boils around you as your body is wracked with torment.

“Finish it, Ethan.”

You reach across your cockpit and grab the heavy red ejection handle.

“Finish it!”

With all your strength you pull. You think of the sunset as you do.

Your world goes white. Your mind untethers and you slip away.

(Continued soon)

File: Aalyiah's card.jpg (126 KB, 1154x762)

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You were a teenager when the world fell apart.

Second Impact. The name carries different weight for different people. Everyone lost something, but some most more than others. You don’t generally like to dwell on it. Few do.

Seventeen years ago the world was dragged into hell and brought you with it. It’s taken nearly that entire time for what remained of humanity to pull itself out of the yawning abyss and restore something approaching normalcy.

You’re Aalyiah Sayid and your life experience has left you equipped with skills and talents that make you uniquely suited for your current position as a special agent of Nerv. You’re a jack of all trades. Leadership, administrative duties, firearms, hand-to-hand combat, espionage, infiltration, you can do them all.

Only the best of the best find employment in Nerv’s elite tactical branch.

As a young girl in Dubai, you’d grown up dodging roving gangs in the flooded city. Avoiding the depredations of sick men in the dark. Occasionally hiding from the ragtag militias that vied for control of the small nation’s vast oil supply as the world fell apart. Before the UN came and took control of everything.

A lifetime of fear and hiding hardened you into a woman ready to fight. But for what reason do you fight?


>Revenge
-The Angels took everything from you and so many others. You won’t rest until you pay them back.

>Brighter future
-Your childhood was awful, a struggle just to survive. You’ll do anything to save others this fate.

>Love of the fight
-Life is but a dream. You know you can’t choose the story, but you might as well enjoy it.

>Write in

File: hope.jpg (46 KB, 508x741)

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>>4699311
>Brighter future

>>4699311
>Revenge
-The Angels took everything from you and so many others. You won’t rest until you pay them back.

GOTTA MAKE THE MOTHER OF ALL OMELETS JACK

>>4699311
>Brighter future

The complete less of an EVA? So early? Wow, NERV is doing worse than usual.

>>4699294
>You sit together as the sun sinks lower on the horizon. You don’t move. You don’t kiss. There’s no romance in this moment, just mutual human weakness. Mutual fear of the future.
Thank you for this.

>Female MC
That's not usually my thing, but you've got a solid hook here. I'm willing to see where this goes.

>Revenge
>-The Angels took everything from you and so many others. You won’t rest until you pay them back.

You write well, Killer. Color me interested.

>>4699433
>The complete less of an EVA? So early? Wow, NERV is doing worse than usual.

Just know that this isn't the first Eva Nerv has lost so far

>Well
Thanks!

Welcome to the party pal

>>4699311
>Brighter Furure

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I don't know what just happened, but I look forward to the next installment.

>>4699311
>Brighter future

>>4699311
>Brighter future
Pragmatic Idealist go

>Brighter future

Writing

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Despite everything. Despite everything that happened: humans live on. A new generation was born in the aftermath of Second Impact. It’s a tenuous hold on the future, a generation that grew up under the comforting shadow of the Valentine's Peace Accords. A generation that hasn’t known anything other than total UN hegemony.

In the wake of Second Impact, when the nations of the world turned on one another to squabble over the remaining land and resources, a billion more people died. It was only when the nations of the world set aside their differences and came together as one that the violence ended.

The elevator dings and the doors crawl open.

Any outsider would be forgiven for thinking it was a standard civilian office place. It's mostly cubicles, desks, and ringing phones.

A few co-workers nod and smile as you pass. You return the gesture and throw in a word of greeting here or there. In your time here they’ve become something like family though you’ve always tried to keep them at arm's length.

You quickly adjust the fit of your suit and step off the elevator and into the quiet bustle of office noise. The Portland branch of Nerv is small, cozy almost. It’s been your home for the past few years now

The city is swollen with refugees from nearby Seattle and other coastal towns and as such rapidly grew in importance, eventually becoming the administrative capital of north western North America.

At the end of the hall you reach your office. It’s a step up from a closet, but it has a window so you can’t complain too much. Pausing at your desk, you note a flashing red light on your phone. You have no illusions about what it could be. It would be the same as the one that set you up with your new life in Portland. As such, it could wait for now.

(Cont.)

Outside, the city hums with activity. A million lives going on heedless of the state of the world. A drizzling rain falls from a gauzy, grey sky.

It's a far cry from hot, dry Dubai. Nothing remains of that city of course. Cataclysmic tidal activity buried nearly all of it, drawing down the city of your youth as well as your family. The following war over resources consumed what was left as neighboring Arab countries and global superpowers attacked and counter attacked to secure the oil wells.

You find it’s best not to dwell on what’s been lost. Yesterday is lost to us, but tomorrow is ripe for the taking.

“Sayid?” You section chief pokes his head into your office, yanking you from your thoughts.

“What’s up, chief?” you ask, circling the desk to sit behind it.

The chief holds out a thin, white envelope. “Marching orders.”

No doubt it was what the phone call was about too.

You take the letter carefully from his hands. It’s stamped with the official Nerv apple logo. For now, you maintain appearances though you have an inkling of what it says. “Orders? What did I do this time?” A cocky grin mixed with just the right amount of uncertainty.

“Looks like a promotion,” the chief says.

You pulled the letter out, eyes running quickly over the page, absorbing everything.

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“Wow!” You say with feigned enthusiasm. “New Tampa?”

“The big leagues,” the chief agrees, almost wistfully. A bureaucrat like him would plateau in a place like Portland. New Tampa was a fresh frontier to make a name for yourself.

You look up from the letter. “Does this have something to do with the angel attack?”

The chief sighs and shakes his head sadly. “First one in five years, Sayid. Just when you think you’re done with em . . . hell, who knows what goes on in the council. Could be. Nerv 03 is deep into the Evangelion project.”

“Do we know the final damage tally?” you ask.

“Officially?” the chief raises an eyebrow. “No. Unofficially . . .”

You bat your eyes innocently.

“They say they lost two evas.”

You let out a low whistle. You’re not supposed to know details about Nerv’s defense arrangements, but given the nature of your job, you do. If Perdition lost both of its evas then that was serious. “The pilots?”

He shrugs. “I know one is being treated for injuries. That’s all they tell me.”

“Some help you are,” you tease.

“Yeah,” he snorts. “Listen, the other guys in the office, we’re going to put together a little goodbye party. Jenna is bringing a cake, so don’t slip out early.”

You beam, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Your smile fades when the chief leaves your office. Casting the letter to your desk you hit play on the voicemail.

“This is Michael calling from the Anselm company. I’m calling for Agent Sayid. I have someone you’ll want to speak with. He’ll be waiting for you at Memorial Square.” The voicemail ends.

It’s a lie of course. There is no such Anselm company. This is a call from your bosses. Your real bosses in the UN. No doubt wanting to let you know the true reason for your sudden transfer.

Officially you work as a special agent for Nerv, doing their dirty work weather that be bureaucratic or tactical. In actuality you take your orders from the UN Intelligence committee. Put more simply, you’re a spy.

You stay in the office just long enough for it to look productive - well, productive enough for someone on their apparent last day. Once you’re satisfied you take the elevator back to the ground floor. Memorial Square is only a short walk from your office.

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You walk the busy streets, heedless of the rainfall until you arrive at Memorial Square. Like so many other monuments to the lost of Second Impact it is tasteless and morbid. The steps surrounding the square are covered with engravings of names. Not names of people, names of towns and cities lost in the cataclysm.

The steady rain begins to let up enough for you to raise your head, taking in the park. Beads of water drip from the tips of your short, dark hair. You sweep it back with a hand and start looking for your contact. The weight of your sidearm in its shoulder holster is reassuring though you know if you need to use it things will be beyond bad. You've never fired it in anger, but you're always prepared to.

You see your man a moment later. A twenty-something bike courier on break, sitting on a bench and sipping from a sports bottle.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” you ask.

The man looks up at you, his eyes hard. Any illusion that he’s just an enterprising young man evaporates in that moment. You recognize the eyes of a killer. You’ve seen them countless times before. “It won’t bother me if the rain doesn’t bother you.”

“The rain never bothers me,” you say, completing the code phrase.

You sit and the courier slides a messenger bag to you without looking. You draw out a thick manila envelope. Unmarked.

“My orders?” you ask, voice low, careful not to look at him.

“The Intelligence Committee is sending you to New Tampa. It’s been arranged as a work transfer.”

“I was just told,” you say. You open the envelope a crack and look inside. You see dozens of grainy, black and white surveillance photos of Nerv personnel as well as a thick stack of personnel files. “Keeping me busy?”

“This won’t be an easy assignment. New Tampa is a fortress. Nerv keeps a tight check on their personnel. The committee needs someone on the inside.”

“What happened to the last one?” you ask.

The courier smirks a little. “You don’t miss anything do you? Our last agent is officially a missing person. Unofficially we suspect foul play. The man in charge there, Colonel Versetti is a person of interest who we need an eye kept on.”

You leaf through the half-hidden documents and see a photograph of an older, grinning man in military uniform with short-cut, white hair. “What’s his story?”

“The documents are all there,” the courier says. “Read the dossiers and destroy them. There's an encrypted radio receiver and transmitter as well. This is how you'll communicate with us. Use it sparingly. Officially you're escorting a fresh Eva pilot to the base. Her file is in there as well."

(cont.)

“They’re moving a pilot to Nerv 03?” you ask.

“They’re moving three pilots to Nerv. They’re going to have the largest concentration of Evangelions on the planet. All on Verestti’s orders.

You blink. “It sounds like he’s preparing for war. Does he know something we don’t?”

“That’s one of the mysteries we hope to answer.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“Your contact in New Tampa is codenamed Pinion. If you should need something we can arrange a meeting.”


>What’s the plan for my extraction if I’m compromised?
>What exactly is the Committee hoping to learn about Versetti?
>I guess this goodbye then
>Write in

>>4699994
>What exactly is the Committee hoping to learn about Versetti?

>>4699994
>>What exactly is the Committee hoping to learn about Versetti?
This intrigue intrigues me

>>4699994
>Write in
Any particular vice Versetti prefers partaking in?

>>4699993
>>4700543
Supporting

>>4700022
>>4700379
>>4700543

>Writing

You glance over the files again. “Versetti seems like a stand up guy. What exactly is the Committee hoping to learn?”

The courier’s façade cracks a bit with a smirk. “If I can get poetic a bit-”

You chuckle, “Why not? Be my guest.”

“Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?”

You’re a little surprised to hear classic Latin from this stone-faced spy. “Who watches the watchers,” you translate aloud.

“Versetti has been given the keys to the kingdom. Absolute authoritarian control over Nerv’s most advanced and formidable base. He’s being trusted with a lot of power. Nerv 03 controls the lion’s share of Evangelions in active use.”

“And the Committee doesn’t know if he can be trusted anymore,” you suggest.

The courier shrugs before adjusting his elbow and knee pads. “Something like that. I’ll know even less than you do after you read those documents. All I know is that Versetti’s recent efforts seem to be centered around two goals: gather more Evangelions and Eva parts for Nerv 03, and securing New Tampa against outside interference.”

“You mean against UN involvement.”

“Bingo.”

“So he’s building an army and he’s turning New Tampa into his own personal kingdom.”

“That’s for you to figure out.” The courier stands, stretches, and mounts his bike.

“What else can you tell me about this guy?” you ask. “Any known vices?”

“It’s all in the dossiers. Good luck.” The courier stands and pedals with practiced ease, weaving through the crowd. In a moment he’s gone, out of sight like he never existed.

You stare after him a minute before looking back at the plain envelope in your hand. It’s heavy with possibilities. The weight is foreboding. In any case, you have a party to get to and then, tomorrow, a plane to catch. Plenty of time to review these files and prepare yourself for the mission ahead.

You are Ethan Chandler and you’re standing on a rainy tarmac watching an enormous UN ultra-heavy lifter taxi down the runway toward you. Its white hull paint looks gray as water beads and drips off of it.

The sky blue UN logo is faintly visible. Just below it you can see grey Cyrillic lettering. It's come a long way from the Russian Pacific coast to get here.

No one bothered to tell you what happened to Linda. In the days following the attack as you recovered in the hospital you had plenty of time to replay the moment in your head. You'd gone over it again and again, watching that tiny, white capsule crushed by the malleable bulk of the angel. You heard Linda's screams die. You-

The roar of jet engines fades as the flying wing turns to park nearby. A long boarding ramp extends to meet the craft and you're ushered forward by security personnel.

The hand over is swift and professional. It is conducted like a cargo transfer. And with the sign of a form you become someone else's responsibility.

You march up the steps, mindful of your injured arm in its sling. Your body aches all over from your ejection. The subsequent explosion of your eva's core was powerful enough to vaporize the angel and what was left of Bravo Unit. It also ate a crater into the side of the mountain large enough to be a new lake.

The doctors had said you were lucky to be alive. It was funny in a way. You don't feel lucky.

The interior of the ship is strangely comfortable. Despite it's military exterior it has a roomy passenger cabin like would be found on any civilian airliner, only this one is near totally deserted.

You navigate down the empty aisle toward the only other passengers on the plane. With a bit of effort you manage to wedge your lone duffel bag into an overhead bin. As you struggle to load it, you take a glance at the others.

There are two, an adult man and a girl your age. The man has dark, slicked back hair and wears a cheap suit. He catches your eye a moment and then looks away, suddenly preoccupied with his tray table latch. He has the look of Nerv security about him. He also seems intent on not helping you with your bag. You can just make out the grip of a handgun holstered under his armpit, half-hidden by his suit jacket.

The girl never looks up. Her clothes are casual, plain enough to not seem flashy but somehow nice enough to be obviously expensive. Long, platinum blonde hair is held in place by a simple cat-ear headband. Her eyes are cool and vacant, fixed on the flashing screen of a Sega Nomad III. From this angle they look like dark mirrors, revealing only the glowing rectangle of the monitor.

Neither says anything.

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You pick a seat at random across the aisle from them and stare out the window. You're near enough to the girl that you can hear the rapid plastic tapping of the game console's buttons. You look out the window and watch the green countryside as the plane takes off minutes later. In a short time the rolling Alaskan countryside is lost beneath a sea of rain-heavy clouds. New Tampa is many hours away..

You're still not really sad to go. Home is where you lay your head. The only thing keeping you tied to Anchorage and Perdition was Linda but-

Finish it, Ethan.

You shake your head. Linda's voice has been playing in your mind since you woke up in that hospital bed. She'd encouraged you, helped you with that last, desperate act but . . . It couldn't have been her. She was dead by then. It seemed like maybe your memory of her outlived her body.

An hour into the flight, the spooky-looking agent gets up from his seat and adjusts his tie.

You can't help but look at him and again make eye contact. The look he gives you isn't friendly. He says something in Russian to the girl.

She responds with a curt "Da.

The agent leaves for the rear of the plane, leaving the two of you alone.

The latching of the lavatory door sounds like a gunshot in the relative stillness of the cabin. Then the only sound is the hum of jet engines and the electronic sounds from the Nomad.

The girl mutters something in Russian, that sounds like a swear. You hear the game reboot and start again.

You don't feel much like socializing. You don't feel like much of anything. Your heart feels like a block of ice in your chest. You don't feel pain as much as numbness. You'd always known since you became a pilot that you were a soldier and that this is a war. You’d told yourself that you might die, that your friends might die. You thought you were prepared for that.


You glance over at the girl again. The only reasonable explanation is that she is an eva pilot just like you.


>Spend the trip trying to clear your head
>Ask about the game the girl is playing
>Ask the girl if she is an Eva pilot
>Write in

>>4700653
>Write in
>Take a nap for the duration of the flight, this has been a very awful week.

>>4700653
>Office lady is a spy for the global hegemony
Welp.

>>Spend the trip trying to clear your head
We don't feel like talking, and she pretty clearly isn't interested either.

>>4700670
Support

>>4700653
>Spend the trip trying to clear your head

>>4700653
Actually changing my vote >>4700969 to this >>4700670

It'll be good to be well rested when we arrive, and I'm curious to see what, if anything, we dream about

>>4700653
>nap time

>>4700670
>>4700763
>>4700878
>>4700969
>>4700971
>>4701277

>Sleep

Writing

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You turn over in your seat, bunching up your jacket underneath your head as a makeshift pillow. You’re no stranger to stealing snatches of sleep when you can. A climate-controlled airplane cabin would work as well as anywhere. Pulling the shade over your window to shut out the daylight, you close your eyes and steady your breathing.

In. Out.
In. Out.
In.

Like the lapping of the tide on the beach. Each crystal-blue wave rushes over the sugar-white sand and toppled cement blocks. The tops foam white with the impact and spray stings your cheeks. The sun is low on the horizon over the ocean, gold and vibrant.

You sit on a falling concrete piling and savor the breeze.

In. Out.

You hear humming nearby. It’s a tune you can almost recognize. Something so familiar that it nags the edges of your mind. Soothing, but lively. That song-

A hand touches your cheek.

“Ethan.”

***

Your eyes snap open and the hum of muffled jet engines returns.

The PA system crackles a moment. “Passengers and crew, please be advised. We are now beginning final descent toward Snelson Air Force Base in New Tampa. We expect to be on the ground in less than fifteen minutes.” The announcement was then repeated in Russian.

You exhale.

Looking to your right, you see the girl and man are both in their seats. She’s put her Nomad away and is staring out the window, chin resting on a hand.

The man brushes off his suit, checks his watch, and then looks at her for a few moments before looking away.

You’re here.

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You’re Agent Aaliyah Sayid and you’re southbound on an airliner, traveling from Portland to Nerv-2. Outwardly you’re idling the time away. Inwardly you’re mentally reviewing the dossier. You’d studied and memorized everything all last night. You’d read as you smoked and after finishing each page you’d burned it with your lighter. Letting the blackened remains drip down into an ashtray.

It didn’t exactly add up. The situation made your head ache in a way that made you long for another cigarette.

The man in charge of Nerv 03, Colonel Mathias Versetti is career military. US Special Forces before Second Impact, transferred into the United Nations after the Valentine’s Treaty. His file doesn’t have much on his service. He participated in leading stabilization efforts of the American Gulf coast when the flooding hit. He’d demonstrated a penchant for leadership and improvisation. By all accounts a good and loyal officer.

Versetti apparently had connections as well within the upper echelons of UN leadership. Bold, charismatic, and enigmatic, he’d been a key figure in the chaos following Second Impact.

In 2001 Versetti had been in Buenos Aires when the Second Angel had attacked. While that combat record is still sealed, you know it was the first angel defeated in battle, and the only one handled purely with conventional weapons. That battle was the reason Buenos Aires wasn’t on the map anymore.

The colonel had made a name for himself there, eventually being placed in charge of the construction and development of the New Tampa reclamation zone.

You drum your fingers on the seat rest in agitation.

The man was clean. Or at least no one knew the dirty parts yet. Versetti doesn’t drink, smoke, or even fraternize much outside of work.

His closest associate is another military type, a man named Holiday. Major Brent Holiday was special forces like Versetti, his record much the same. He primarily handled ill-fated search and rescue missions on the Venezuelan coast following Second Impact. Despite what having a name like ‘Major Holiday’ would imply, he seems in many ways the opposite of Versetti. Quiet, withdrawn. He’s scowling in virtually every one of his photos.

Of note is his daughter, Captain Rose Holiday, the current head of operations in Nerv 03. Rose has the unusual distinction of being the first Evangelion pilot to see combat. Retired now, she saw action in 2004 where she destroyed the 3rd Angel outside of New Tampa. A hero by all accounts.

So what the hell was the Committee worried about?

(Cont.)

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Before it drives you too insane, you mentally close the book on it. You’ll be there soon enough after all. Instead, you take out the documents you’re legally meant to have. The personnel report on the pilot you’re picking up. The document is hardly flattering in the portrait it paints.

The pilot, a girl, age 17. Korine McIntosh, American. She has a colorful history of emotional problems that span back to her upbringing in a state orphanage. In her official photo, paperclipped to the top of the stack she looks markedly unhappy. Her oil-black hair is cut short and erratic. Her eyes are circled with thick, dark rings of makeup.

You sigh and turn the page.

After some genetic information and an uninteresting stack of training stats you thumb through her psych evaluations. Korine has a noted lack of enthusiasm for her work. The words ‘clinical depression’ and ‘social disconnect’ get thrown around a lot. There’s some suggestion that these problems are genetic, stemming back to her mother, but it’s all speculative.

As with Versetti, you suppose you’ll see soon enough.

(Cont.)

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As the airliner descends below the clouds the base comes into view. Once one of the most secretive facilities in the world, the Groom Lake base was converted to house a large scale Nerv facility. You see Evangelion production buildings and the usual collection of military vehicles and personnel.

The plane touches down and you debark into dry, whipping wind. It’s oppressively hot but it reminds you of a childhood left far behind.

Stepping off the plane, you button your suit jacket and put on sunglasses. The horizon is a dull tan. Dusty and destroyed by rising heat waves in all directions. You descend the boarding ramp and approach a group of Nerv personnel standing nearby looking miserable in their dark suits.

“Agent Sayid?” one of them asks.

Before answering, you glance at the outlier in the midst of the group, Korine. She wears a scowl and all black. You’re surprised she hasn’t melted in this heat.

Behind them all is a massive cargo plane with an Evangelion being loaded onto it. Your next ride.

“I’m Agent Carver,” the woman who spoke continues, stepping forward to offer her hand.

“Aaliyah,” you introduce yourself and shake her hand. “This must be Korine,” you say, indicating the young girl.

Carver looks back at her with thinly-veiled contempt. “This is her. You’ll be taking custody at this point and bringing her the rest of the way to Nerv 03.”

You look at Korine again who is looking everywhere but at you. “Pleasure to meet you,” you say, offering a hand.

Korine finally looks at you, eyes hard with hate. “Charmed.” She says. She doesn’t shake but does briefly rest her hand lightly in yours.

“You've got a tight schedule to keep Agent Sayid,” Carver says. “That-” she points back at the massive super-heavy lifter. “Will take the both of you the rest of the way to New Tampa.”

Korine starts walking for the plane without being prompted.

“Let’s get going then,” you say and follow after her.

You and Korine are the only passengers on this particular fleet, an entire passenger cabin completely empty.

Korine unloops a small bag from her back and throws it into a seat before plopping down beside it and staring out the window, waiting for take off.


>Things might be easier if we try to get to know each other a bit
>I don’t want to do this any more than you do. If you cooperate with me I’ll make things easy for you.
>Leave her alone
>Write in

>>4701368
>I don’t want to do this any more than you do. If you cooperate with me I’ll make things easy for you.

>>4701368
>Leave her alone

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>>4701368
>I don’t want to do this any more than you do. If you cooperate with me I’ll make things easy for you.

>>4701364
>Versetti apparently had connections as well within the upper echelons of UN leadership
Seele
>In 2001 Versetti had been in Buenos Aires when the Second Angel had attacked. While that combat record is still sealed, you know it was the first angel defeated in battle, and the only one handled purely with conventional weapons. That battle was the reason Buenos Aires wasn’t on the map anymore.
pic related

>>4701368
Wow, she's got even more problems than most EVA pilots. I've sure when our nature as a spy is eventually revealed, it won't give her even more psychosis.

>>Leave her alone
Give her a bit of space before trying to be friendly.
Desired or not, she is our cover; we need to at least try to keep up appearances.

>I don’t want to do this any more than you do. If you cooperate with me I’ll make things easy for you.
>>4701681
>>4701844

>Leave her alone
>>4701711
>>4702005


Tied. Holding for 15 minutes and then I am breaking it with a dice roll.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>1 I don’t want to do this any more than you do
>2 Leave her alone

Rolling and writing

You linger a moment, looking down at Korine.

“Listen,” you say, pulling off your sunglasses. “I don’t want to do this any more than you do.”

Korine turns and looks up at you. Her smudgy, dark eyes simmering with disdain and apathy in equal measures.

“I mean, look at me.” You hold your arms out. “I’m not exactly the baby sitting type, right?”

The pilot looks you over and shrugs.

“So if you just play along with me and cooperate, I’ll make things easy for you. Sound good?”

She shrugs again. “Whatever.” Korine turns to look out the window. “Just dump me off on someone else when we get to Tampa or wherever.”

You never had the luxury she has. You never had the luxury to be a petulant teenager. At her age you were just fighting to survive. You want to be pissed off. You want to see this kid as a parasite on society. But still, you can’t help but see something beautiful. A promise of tomorrow. You weren’t like her as a teenager because you couldn’t afford to be. Civilization allows weakness because civilization is meant to protect the weak.

“I’m not dumping you off on anyone,” you protest. “I’m not exactly cut out for it but I’m going to do what I can, okay?”

She looks back at you again. “Your name is Said right?”

“Sayid,” you correct. “But you can call me Aaliyah."

“Aaliyah,” she says, “I’ve heard it all before. You guys are all the same to me, okay? Suits, sunglasses, guns, business. I get it. My job is to pilot the Eva, and your job is to make sure I do mine, right?”

You smirk at her assessment, “Something like that.”

Korine fishes in her bag and produces a pair of headphones and audio player. “I’ll keep doing my job.” She says the words softly, almost under her breath. “So you don’t have to worry.” She snugs the earphones in place and hits play.

You turn away with a silent sigh and sit nearby. As if you didn’t have enough on your plate. Now you have to be the guardian of a kid. You can’t wait to see what your new higher ups at New Tampa assign you on top of this.

At some point you doze off during the flight but wake up during final approach. Gravity and inertia compete for control over your body as the massive flying wing circles and descends toward the city.

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New Tampa. An engineering marvel and technological citadel. A fortress city built in the midst of the loss of Second Impact. The city is a manmade island surrounded by a shallow sea, what used to be Florida.

As the plane circles in you see waves breaking along the massive cement dyke that encircles the city. Rising up from within this concrete ring are row on row of glittering towers of steel and glass. The highest points in the city are dotted with gently turning wind turbines. The roofs of the buildings are covered in solar panels that flash and glint in the sun. The city sits on land dredged up from the bay around it, the sea kept out with fortifications fit to stop an army.

Even Korine seems impressed, unable to look away, face glued to the window.

On the final loop you can see the ruins of old Tampa to the east. They rise from the water like jagged bones. Steel frames are stained brown with rust. Vines climb their exteriors and clumps of mangroves rise from the shallow water around them. Strange ecosystems seemed to have formed in the skeletal remains of human civilization. A painful reminder that even in the face of man’s majesty, nature remains unbowed.

Your flight descends to make touch down at the northern tip of the city, Snelson air force base. The base itself is unremarkable. It’s just like any of a dozen other military facilities you’ve seen in your time. Noteworthy only for the broad expanses of open space in an otherwise densely packed urban island.

You debark the plane minutes later, Korine following behind you. Your first impression is the damp in the air. Thick, tropical humidity clings to everything, made worse by the rain evaporating off the pavement. Thunder rolls distantly, distinct from the shriek and roar of jet aircraft taking off and landing. A storm has just recently passed through here, spiking the moisture of an already humid environment.

A wide-windowed terminal building is nearby. You and Korine cross a short stretch of wet tarmac and enter. As a military facility it is largely without frills, purely functional. It is also conspicuously deserted save for a gaggle of personnel with Nerv ID cards pinned to their chests. Your welcoming committee. Unlike Carver at Nerv 02, at least they look pleased to see you.

“You’re Sayid?” a woman in her early thirties asks, stepping forward from the rest of the group. Her blonde hair is shot through with pink highlights that seemed entirely out of step with the rest of her appearance. She wears a black, silk eyepatch that covers her right eye. A pair of dark, parallel scars run up from the patch, over her forehead and across her temple. Where the scars pass through her hairline her skin is laid bare.

Her distinct appearance makes her easily identifiable to you. This is Rose Holiday, former Eva pilot and daughter of Major Brent Holiday who is Versetti's second in command. The scars are a product of a fight against an Angel. Her only battle, one that saved this city years ago. The same ones that ended her short-lived career.

You meet her halfway and shake her hand. “Aaliyah,” you say. “And you’re Captain Holiday. Head of operations and the tactical division.”

She smiles, almost embarrassed. “Oh, I don’t like to be so formal. Rose is fine. And this must be Korine.”

Korine hangs her headphones around her neck and gives a sarcastic half wave. “Yo.”

Rose beams at the two of you. “Welcome to New Tampa, the bastion city. Up for a tour?”

“Absolutely,” you reply. Free intel is free intel.

“Um, can you like, drop me off somewhere?” Korine asks. “I’ll pilot but I don’t need the whole tour thing.”

Rose replies with a tight-lipped smile. “I’m afraid I must insist.”

Korine sighs loudly enough to be heard.

“This way,” Rose says, gesturing you toward a nearby parking deck. "How was the flight?" she asks you.

“When you fly for free, you can’t complain,” you say, stretching your arms overhead as you walk. “Plenty of leg room too.”

Rose chuckles.

You exit the terminal and enter a parking garage. Rose leads you to a nearby sedan where she gets in the driver's seat. You take shotgun and Korine gets in the back.

"You've been with Nerv a while, is that right Aaliyah?” Rose asks and starts the car with the hum of an electric engine.

“A couple years,” you say.

“And you never made it out to New Tampa?”

“As I understand it, this is a pretty exclusive posting,” you return.

“Is it? Maybe I’m out of the loop. Been here since the beginning. I grew up here as you probably know.” She pulls out of the garage and into the sunlit city. "You'll like it here. Newest city on earth, and that's saying something."

File: New Tampa Street.jpg (1.41 MB, 2020x1476)

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As the car pulls onto street level you notice that everything seems to be sparkling. Beaded water droplets trace glittering lines down the glass fronts of buildings. Water-slick roads flash in the sun and crystal pools gather in drainage recesses.

“Big storm?” you ask.

“Oh,” Rose says, merging into modest traffic. “You'll get used to that. Thirty minute thunderstorms. Old Tampa was the lightning capital of the world and Second Impact didn’t do as any favors so we see a lot"

“That so?” you muse.

Everything in the city seems fresh and clean. Pavement is smooth and unblemished, the buildings are shining and spotless. You notice also that the streets are mostly clear for a city of this size. Lots of foot traffic.

“How many people live here?” you ask.

"Over a million," Rose says proudly. "A million more waiting to move in when we finish the outlying suburban districts. The dredging boats run all day. 24/7. You two will see them from your place."

Most other traffic on the road appears to be tied to the government in some way, army vehicles, police, service and maintenance crews, with most people apparently traveling on foot or via monorail.

“The city is fairly compact,” Rose says, “We make do with public transit when and where we can. Busses, metro, monorail. The city is broken into districts which are each sectioned off with interior seawalls in case of a major breach. The idea is any one section can survive independent of the others. Snelson air base -- where you two landed -- provides tactical support and we also have a mechanized brigade and static defenses in the sea wall. All to supplement the Evangelions."


>Why build a fortress city in the middle of the sea like this?
>This is all so amazing! Growing up here must have been incredible
>Tell me more about the city’s defensive capabilities
>Write in

>>4702443
>>Tell me more about the city’s defensive capabilities

>>4702443
>Why build a fortress city in the middle of the sea like this?
Looks like angels really love attacking shore cities (Anchorage (5th), Buenos Aires (2nd), New Tampa (3rd)). But there's no defense in depth plan for this place, is there?

Also we're missing the story of the 4th angel.

>>4702646
>Also we're missing the story of the 4th angel.
There was a short blurb about it earlier.

>>4698554
>The most recent angel - until now - had been a monolithic crawling pillar excavated from the thawing Siberian permafrost. Its destruction had cost the lives of two pilots

>>4702652
Oops, sorry. Tried to find it by direct mention.

>>4702443
>>Tell me more about the city’s defensive capabilities

>>4702653
No worries! I had a moment of inward panic that I skipped something.

>>4702443
>Why build a fortress city in the middle of the sea like this?
>Tell me more about the city’s defensive capabilities

>>4702443
>>Why build a fortress city in the middle of the sea like this?
Angels almost always come from the sea, no? why on Earth would you go to all the effort to build a new city on an artificial island?

>Tell me more about the city’s defensive capabilities
>Why build a fortress city in the middle of the sea like this?

>>4703611
>Tell me more about the city’s defensive capabilities
>Why build a fortress city in the middle of the sea like this?
Writing

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“I wanted to ask about that,” you say. “Why build a fortress city in the middle of the sea like this?”

Rose spares a second to smile at you. “Because we can.”

You can’t help but smile back at her flippancy. “I’m no strategist, but that seems a flimsy reason to spend billions of dollars.”

“No, you’re right of course,” Rose says. “There’s more to it than that. New Tampa is a lot of things, but one of the most important is ‘a symbol’.”

“A symbol?”

She nods, eyes on the road. “A symbol of the future to come. If we can reclaim this then there’s nothing we can’t do. A city almost utterly erased by Second Impact reborn again but better. It is also well situated to act as a staging point between North and South America and can handle commercial traffic from Europe and Africa.”

“But given what we’ve seen, three of the last five angels have attacked by sea. This city itself was a target.”

“All the more reason to build an island fortress then, wouldn’t you say?” Rose asks.

You’re not sure you agree.

“We know so very little about the Angels,” Rose says. “They’re as alien to us now as they were at the turn of the millennium. But it’s really no surprise the angels come from the ocean. Three quarters of this planet was covered by water even before the deluge. It’s an unknown frontier. What better place for the Angels to gestate or grow?”

“Assuming they even do anything like that,” you counter.

Rose smiles faintly. “I wish I could answer your question better. Really. Colonel Versetti would be a better person to ask, though I’m not sure you’d get a clearer answer.”

“Or your father,” you suggest, prodding for a reaction.

Her expression doesn’t change. Not obviously anyway, but you note a subtle tensing of her jaw muscles. “The major might know.” She does not elaborate.

“What about the city’s defensive capabilities?” you ask. “I know you mentioned conventional air units and armored brigades.

“Nerv 03 operates four Eva units currently,” Rose says. “They are our main line of defense. Everything else is supplemental. The seawall is armed with a variety of weapons, the airbase has nuclear capabilities. All vital infrastructure is hardened against megaton yield explosions. But we’re not a purely military camp,” she adds quickly. “There are plenty of things to do. Parks, restaurants, arcades, malls." She looks at Korine in the rear view mirror. "You like the mall right, right Korine?"

“Sure,” Korine says from the back seat. “Love it.” It’s impossible to know if that was sarcasm or sarcastic sarcasm.

“Doesn’t it seem ill-conceived to mix military and civilian like that?” you ask.

“One day this is all going to end,” Rose says. The levity in her voice is gone, replaced with a cool determination. “One day we’ll defeat the angels once and for all, and then we can start to undo the damage they’ve done to us and our planet. When that day comes, we won’t need bombs and shells, or even Evas. We’ll need families. Children. We’ll need engineers and architects, students and teachers. New Tampa is a promise of that future.”

Behind you, Korine sighs and puts her headphones back on. A moment later you can hear the dull pound of music.

“Has she been like this since you got here?” Rose asks, voice low.

“Pretty much.” You glance at Korine in the rearview mirror but she’s looking at the buildings as they pass. Her chin rests dejectedly on a hand. “I only met her earlier today though.”

“It’s a tough job,” Rose says. “Especially for kids.” Her boisterousness is gone, giving you a look at the military professionalism you imagine she shows at work. “We ask a lot of them and it can be hard to process all that. Mentally. Emotionally.” She glances at you. “Let me know if you have trouble with her, maybe I can help.”


>You were a pilot too, weren’t you?
>I appreciate the effort, thank you.
>I’m not sure you or I can help her
>Write in

>>4703659
>I’m not sure you or I can help her

>>4703659
>I’m not sure you or I can help her
They have her over a barrel, and they know it. There really isn't much she can do, It's not like they would let her run away, or leave at this point; and things are only going to get worse.

>>4703659
>I’m not sure you or I can help her

>>4703659
>You were a pilot too, weren’t you?
>I appreciate the effort, thank you.
Keep digging for information. Hopefully she won't get suspicious

>>4703659
>four EVAs
That's quite a few, considering how limited pilots are, and how expensive they are to build and maintain.

>>I appreciate the offer, but I’m not sure you or I can help her.
She wasn't in a good place even before becoming a pilot, and has only gotten worse since.

>>4703659
>>4703751

>>4703658
>>I’m not sure you or I can help her
we've asked enough that kinda pushed the line. wait until later to keep at it, and don't try to let the disturbed kid get pestered by Rose

>I’m not sure you or I can help her

Writing

You look back at Korine one more time. Her eyes are troubled, face sullen. Dappled sunlight plays across her as the car passes through a row of palm trees.

“I’m not sure you or I can help her,” you say. “She wasn't in a good place even before becoming a pilot and it’s only gotten worse.”

Rose nods understandingly. “We’re going to need her soon enough I’m afraid. Right now we only have one other pilot and . . . well he can be a bit much.”

“Only two pilots?” you ask.

She nods. “Renton has been stationed here for years, but now we’re increased our compliment to four evas. We’re pulling in two other pilots as well, but for now it’s just Korine and Renton. Oh!” she exclaims. “I almost forgot.”

She reaches past you to open the glove compartment while keeping her eyes on the road. There is a packet in there. "Your new Nerv security card and Korines. There’s also some orientation material, maps, et cetera."

“Thank you,” you say.

“Of course!”

Rose’s tour of the city helps get you better acquainted with your new home. The city isn’t much different from anywhere else you’ve been. It’s more modern and newer, but it’s a city all the same. The fact that it’s built atop an artificial island seems almost secondary.

As Rose said, each district is blocked off with an interior seawall. Grey cement walls cut between high rises to cordon off certain areas. Rose takes a few quick turns through the winding city streets before passing through an armored gate set into the bottom of one of the massive seawalls.

"Let’s swing by and take a look at your accommodations, shall we?”

“Let’s,” you agree.

“You’ll be staying in the third district which has the best view. I think you’ll like it.”

She parks beside a tall residential building that sits near what must be the external seawall. "Dolphin plaza," she indicates the building and gets out of the car. The apartment building before you is, like the rest of the city, fully modern, an obelisk of reflective, photovoltaic glass.

You and Korine follow and enter the building together. Rose shows you how to swipe the keycard to get inside and use the elevator.

The ground floor of the building is open and has a small generic fast food place, a little convenience mart, and a laundromat. There is also a stairwell that leads to the metro system which runs beneath the building.

You board the elevator and take it up. "The whole building is secure," Rose explains, "We house a lot of VIPs here."

"Other pilots?" Korine asks, taking off her headphones.

"Just you so far,” Rose says. “But I expect the others to join us soon.”

You glance up at the camera in the corner of the elevator car. It's easy to spot. The harder one to see is the one behind the glass panel displaying the floor you are on. You haven't seen any guards but this place is almost certainly watched closely by Nerv security.

“And I’ll be staying here too?” you ask.

“That’s the plan. We want you close to Korine for convenience sake.”

“Do you live here as well?”

Rose gives you a polite smile. “I’m afraid not. I have my own place.”

Seems like they want to keep an eye on you as well.

The elevator stops and you follow Rose down the hall. The place feels more like a high end hotel than an apartment building. Everything is sleek, minimalist, and new. "This is yours," she taps on a door and looks at you, "And this one across the hall Is yours, Korine."

Korine looks indifferent.

Rose smiles politely again. "Private suites for each of you." She opens the door to Korine’s room.

File: Apartment.jpg (242 KB, 856x658)

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You all step into a small entry hall connected to a comfy living space. There is a simple couch, chair, and coffee table, while the entire exterior walls are taken up by a floor to ceiling window that peers over the seawall and out to the shallow sea. You can see the distant waves flashing in the midday sun, sparkling and blue.

There are doors off the entry hall that presumably lead to a bedroom and bathroom as well as an open-concept kitchen that similarly looks out to sea. It's fancy and modern.

Korine walks in and starts looking around, dropping her bag to the floor.

"Yours is identical," Rose tells you.

Entering the living room, you’re fixated by the view which - as Rose said - is remarkable. This room is high enough up to peer directly over the seawall beneath you. Sure enough you see distant dredging ships spraying wet sand up in piles to form artificial islands not far off. Even further away you can faintly see grassy, islands dotted with white windmills. It’s hard for you to imagine that all of this was dry land twenty years ago.

Korine patrols the place poking at things and examining her furniture.

“Aaliyah, are you ready to see Operations?” Rose asks.

“Sure. Korine, why don’t you stay here?” you suggest.

Korine flops down onto a couch, looks at you, then puts her headphones back on.

You and Rose return to the car. “So where exactly is the base?” you ask. Back at Snelson?”

Rose chuckles. “No, it’s actually here beneath our feet. Nerv 03 runs throughout the city. You’ll be given detailed information about elevators and access tunnels once you’re formally briefed.”

Moments later, she drives over a section of road marked with broad, white letters. EVA ACCESS DANGER.

“You weren’t kidding when you said this place is a fortress city,” you say.

The car reaches a checkpoint and Rose provides her ID to the armed guard who waves you through. The car enters a tunnel which becomes a ramp going down. “We can’t be too careful. No expense was spared in building this place.”

“Right,” you say, “You said it’s like a show case. An indication of what could be.”

“That’s right!” Rose agrees.

After winding down through a subterranean parking garage and another security checkpoint, Rose parks the car on a massive two-tiered freight elevator full of spats for cars. After a warning chime, the doors close and the elevator begins to descend.

As the elevator climbs downward, you marvel at just how expansive this facility must be. Nerv-03 is situated at least a few hundred meters underground. The freight car ride is short, stopping a minute later. The doors roll open and Rose pulls her car out and into a massive underground garage. She pulls into an empty spot, parks, and exits the vehicle.

The two of you pass through another security check and enter through a set of automatic doors into the base proper.

File: NERV03.jpg (852 KB, 1122x1174)

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"Nerv-03 has Eva maintenance cages and launch elevators and tunnels all throughout this complex which runs beneath the city and beyond,” Rose says. She talks as you walk. The twisting and branching passageways and tunnels all look identical to you but she seems to find her way easily.

“All of the major infrastructure is hardened and redundant. Theoretically New Tampa can operate totally cut off from the outside world almost indefinitely. Our power comes from wind, solar, and tidal generation as well as an array of backup nuclear generators and battery banks. Our food is produced by surrounding farmsteads, local fishing, aquaculture, and vertical hydroponic groweries."

You pass through a series of heavy automatic doors.

"We also house a set of Magi supercomputers,” Rose says. “The originals reside in the MIT campus of course but our copies are identical in every way. They provide the computing power for all of this."

“Very impressive,” you say. You pass through a warren of tunnels and emerge into the control center.

"This is central control," Rose says. You see displays showing reams of data, fixed camera positions, satellite imagery, video from patrolling aircraft, weather patterns, etc. Any tactical data you might need, not just for New Tampa, but for much of the North Atlantic region. “"From here we can dispatch and monitor the Evangelions.”

“The epicenter of human progress!”

You and Rose both turn automatically at the voice to see the man himself. Colonel Versetti.

He stands in the open mouth of a nearby elevator, hands clasped behind his back, smiling at each of you. There is a knowing quality to that smile, something almost fatherly.

“Colonel,” Rose says, “This is our newest tactical branch operative. Agent Aaliyah Sayid.”

Versetti approaches you, a smile fixed on his face. His face is weathered, lined. Older than you think it ought to be given his age. Behind him is another officer, this one dark, sullen, quiet. Rose’s father.

“Agent Sayid,” Versetti extends a welcoming hand to you and you shake it.

Your face betrays nothing but you have to wonder if he knows who you are. If somehow he can sense you’re the one sent to watch him. “Colonel, your reputation precedes you.”

“And yet it pales in the face of what we’ve accomplished here together. The human race I mean. This-” he gestures around you at the control center. “This is the mind that controls the wonder we call New Tampa. This is the front line of the fight to control our future. Our destiny.”

“Destiny?” you ask the question automatically.

Versetti gives you that quizzical grin. “To tame this planet, Agent Sayid. To harness the power left here for the taking. To re-master our destiny and become the lords of all we survey.”


>I’ll settle for just defeating the angels, sir
>That’s quite a lofty goal. Is that why we’ve gathered so many Evas here?
>Captain Holiday has shown me the first steps in that journey. It’s quite impressive.
>Write in

>>4704824
>Captain Holiday has shown me the first steps in that journey. It’s quite impressive.
That feels much more like a statement of fact, then a good opening to ask questions, it's probably best to just move on.

>>4704813
EVAs aren't much good without pilots. With how much of a logistics tail EVAs have, it seems extremely odd pilots weren't lined up for them before they were completed.

>I’ll settle for just defeating the angels, sir
It's great to have dreams and goals, but I have a creeping suspicion the reason this place has 4 EVAs, despite not being able to use all of them, is because of its proximity to the ocean, and the resulting vulnerability. There are a plenty of places where a single EVA would go a long way, but this place is shiny and new and vulnerable, so it gets priority.

>>4704824
>>Captain Holiday has shown me the first steps in that journey. It’s quite impressive.
>>4704868

>>4704824
>I’ll settle for just defeating the angels, sir

>>4704824
>I’ll settle for just defeating the angels, sir

>I’ll settle for just defeating the angels, sir
>>4704912
>>4705117
>>4705788

Writing

You return a polite smile. "I'll settle for just defeating the angels, sir."

"Then you've found yourself in the right place. This base will be able to provide strike capability for half the hemisphere. With a little luck and a little skill, Agent Sayid, you'll be a part of the effort."

"I look forward to it."

Versetti looks back to the Major behind him, nods, and then smiles at you. "Welcome aboard, Agent Sayid." With that, the two men proceed on, exiting the control center.

"Interesting guy," you say.

"Colonel Versetti is . . . he can be a little enthusiastic at times. You get used to him."

"Enthusiasm isn't a problem," you say. "Or eccentricity, as long as he gets results."

"I think you and the Colonel will get along well," Rose says. "Let me take you to operations, show you the team you'll be working with."

Just behind the main control center, through a narrow concrete corridor you come to a small office setting. It's a single, open room with a handful of cluttered desks and a large computer display on the far wall. Two other people are here, skinny, a pale, tired looking white guy in a gaudy Hawaiian shirt and a tightly muscled black guy in a loose dress shirt and khaki slacks.

"Our division office," Rose says. "And your desk-" She indicates a clean desk. A single computer terminal sits on it, powered off. "And your new co-workers. Agent Max Goldberg-" she indicates the white guy. "And Agent Ken Mbaru."

"Hey," Max says, he's shuffling through the mountains of paperwork on his desk, apparently looking at something.

Ken says nothing, but regards you silently before returning back to work.

Max finds what he's looking for in his pile and slaps it on top before coming over to shake your hand. "I heard they got you too."

"Got me?" you ask.

He grins mischievously, "Bet you didn't think you'd be babysitting after all this time. Max."

You can't help but smile back. "Aaliyah Sayid. It wasn't high on my list of expectations."

"Pass Nerv tactical training, get high marks. Prove your technical ability, and then get saddled with a kid to raise."

"You're a guardian also?" you ask.

"First and only till you showed up. Renton's mine."

"Renton. That's the other pilot here?"

Max nods, "Yup. Fox Renton. You'll meet him sooner rather than later. I'm sure he'll be excited. You and I are gonna have to grab a drink sometime and share notes on being single parents." He grins to show he's kidding.

File: Garage.png (514 KB, 550x413)

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"I'll consider that, Max" you say.

"You'll meet Renton," Rose says, sounding not excited about it.

You glance at Mbaru who is filling out some kind of form.

Max follows your eyes, "Ah, don't mind him. Quiet guy, he'll warm up to you. His bed doesn't have a 'right' side."

Mbaru gives Max a quick glare before returning to work.

"Unless you have any questions," Rose says. "I figure I can show you the ins and outs of work here."

"I think I'll pick it up quick," you say. "I'm just curious about my role here. What exactly will I be doing?"

"Dirty work," Max teases.

Rose gives him a look. "Whatever arises honestly. Guardian and bodyguard work for Korine, administrative duties, paperwork, readiness training. In the event of Angel attack then the tactical division assumes command. We'll be in charge of the city and its defenses, most especially in coordinating the Evas."

The rest of the time you spend in the office is spent learning systems, procedure, and the ins and outs of your work. Mostly what you do is administrative. A glorified secretary. Some of it is more in your alley though, security arrangements for the pilots and personnel. It's simple enough, not so different from what you did in Portland. Once you are shown the ropes things go smoothly for the next few hours until you manage to finish up your starting tasks and the others are getting ready to leave for the day.

"Ken, you've got night watch tonight, right?" Max asks, getting up from his desk.

"Yes."

You walk with Max out of the office. "Night watch?"

"It rotates," Max explains. He draws a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lights it. "Sorry, do you mind?"

You shake your head.

He smokes as he walks. "You'll get there soon enough. The Angels aren't 9-5 so neither are we. Normal working hours apply but we always have someone watching the fort, you know?"

"I assumed as much."

"Can I ask where you're from, Sayid?"

You return a tight smile, "What makes you think I'm from somewhere?"

He laughs, "This is New Tampa, everyone is from somewhere else. New York for me."

"Your home?"

"Was," he says. The smile seems a little strained.

"I'm the same. Dubai. Nothing left there either. Can I bother you for a spare smoke?"

"Yeah, no sweat." Max draws you a cigarette and hands it over. He flicks his lighter and holds it out for you. It's a battered novelty lighter with I <3 NY printed on the side.

"Thanks."

He walks with you out of the offices and the two of you return to the car park. "This one's yours," he indicates a black sedan, identical to Rose's. "Don't get it mixed up."

"Right," you say, taking the keys from him.

"So, free tonight? How about that drink?"

You're a little surprised that the invitation was serious. Max's body language is open, casual. It seems to be just a friendly invite, but you can't be too careful.


>Go for drinks with Max
>Explore New Tampa/Nerv 03
>Go home to check on Korine
>Write in

>>4706195
>Write in
Any friendly psychiatrists you can grab for those drinks?

...they do have at least one here, right?

>>4706258
For clarity, are you trying to invite a hypothetical psychiatrist along or are you telling him to get a drink with a psychiatrist?

>>4706286
My bad. Get one to tag along, we're gonna need them sooner or later.

>>4706195
>Sorry, I had a long flight and I should probably get myself settled in tonight. Maybe another time
>Explore New Tampa/Nerv 03
>Go home early to check on Korine

If it was getting to know the team, then sure, but this is just us and Max. I think he has some ulterior motive.

>>4706312
No worries, just wanted to make sure I didn't grossly misunderstand

>>4706195
>>Go for drinks with Max
He seems cool, and it'll be nice to have a friend in a new town, for however long that lasts.

>>4706195
>>Explore New Tampa/Nerv 03

>>4706195
>Go for drinks with Max

>>4706195
>Go for drinks with Max

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>>4706195
>Go for drinks with Max
Then see if we can nudge him towards
>Explore New Tampa/Nerv 03

>Explore New Tampa/Nerv 03
>Go for drinks with Max

Going to hybridize this.

>>4706258
>>4706359
>>4706690
>>4706752
>>4707228
>>4707270
>>4707361

writing

"Drinks?" You look at Max curiously.

"Yeah," he says. "I know a place. I know a lot of places." he laughs. "You in?"

"I was really hoping to get to see a bit more of the city," you say. "I like to get to know an area before I settle in."

Max nods understandingly, "Sure, makes sense. You can go wandering around if you want. But maybe you'd rather have a tour."

You laugh, "Drinking buddy and tour guide?"

"Babysitter and bodyguard," Max adds. "Seriously, I'll show you around if you want. But if you'd rather-"

"No, it's fine. I'm up for a drink."

"Then let's get moving." Max and you get into his car and start on your way back out.

"How long have you been stationed here?" you ask.

"Coming up on four years," Max says. "Long enough for me to start thinking of this place as home. It's changed a lot just in the last year."

"How so?"

He shrugs. "Eh. Less business, more pleasure. People who aren't soldiers started to move in. Bureaucrats and their families. The city kinda came to life, you know?"

"It's amazing," you say. "How fast this place sprang up I mean."

Max nods. "Versetti is a ballbreaker when he wants to be. This place is his dream."

He pulls the car into the cargo elevator and waits as it fills with other waiting vehicles to get shuttled to the surface.

"People here seem to have a lot of respect for the Colonel."

Max nods. "He's a pretty private guy, but he's the one holding this place together. His decisions, his visions." His tone is neutral.

"Do you like him?"

Max looks at you, puzzled.

Maybe it was a question too far. "Veresetti's alright. A bit too intense for me. Talks about destiny and shit a little too much. The only destiny any of us have is that we're all gonna end up six feet under someday."

You grimace. "A little morbid don't you think?"

He shrugs, frowning a little.

The heavy elevator doors close and the car starts to ascend.

You decide to back off the questions a little bit. Something more casual to prime the pump: "Tell me about this place. Where are we going?"

Max's grin returns. "O'Malley's. It's an Irish pub, near District 04 and the docks. Great atmosphere, good people. Good place to get blitzed if you-"

His car's center console chirps.

Max glances and sighs. "Hang on a second, will ya?" The electronic chirping sounds again and Max reaches out to toggle on the car's speakerphone. "Max."

"Max, are you driving?" It's a boys voice.

"Yep. Leaving work. Renton, say 'hi' to Sayid." Max says.

"Hello Sayid, whoever you are," Renton says over the speakerphone.

"Hello," you say awkwardly.

"Max, consorting with women when on duty? For shame." The boy's accent is not American, but you find it impossible to place. It's vaguely European with a hint of Latin American.

Max sighs. "What do you want, Renton?"

"I am on my way to get dinner. Are you still on duty?"

"Nah. I'm out with Sayid. We're going for a drink," Max said.

"Ah good. I will join you," Renton says this with a flat casualness that makes it sound normal.

"The hell you will," Max says.

"Same place?" Renton asks.

"Renton," Max warns.

"Ciao, Max, Sayid."

The line drop, plunging the car into awkward silence.

Max is silent for a moment, staring fixedly at his steering wheel. "Kids."

"I think if you seriously expect wise advice about children you came to the wrong person."

Max laughs. "Oh on. The blind leading the blind. What's your pilot's name? Carmine?"

"Korine," you say.

"How's she doing?"

"Petulant," you say. "Bratty. Very very teenaged. Hard to blame her though with what we expect of them."

It's evening outside and the city is lit by street lamps. Max drives faster than you are comfortable with but the roads are mostly empty.

"Bratty? Better keep her away from Renton then unless you like dangerous combinations," Max says.

"I'm sure it won't be that bad. Teenagers are a different breed."

"Isn't that the truth?" Max says.

File: Irish Pub.jpg (472 KB, 1213x781)

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Minutes later he pulls into a parking spot outside of a small, trendy bar on the ground floor of a high rise. Despite the flashy exterior it does seem to be an Irish pub.

The two of you exit the car and enter the pub. The sounds of drinking, eating, and revelry wash over you. You find it immediately relaxing. You're struggling to remember the last time you just went out for drinks or did anything fun for yourself. It wasn't like your lifestyle really allowed for it.

You're given a booth seat. Drinks and snacks are served. It's pretty quiet here and feels private which is good.

"I dunno if Renton will show but if he does you might get to see some bad fathering on the fly," Max says. He looks a little irritated.

"Sure," you say. "Maybe it will make me feel better about my own abilities. Maybe you should dare him into a drinking contest. Establish dominance."

Max sips his beer and gives you an unamused look which only makes you grin harder. "The kid thinks he's enough of a bad ass. I don't need to show him how fucking old I've got."

You sip some beer too. The real trick is to not make it obvious that you are drinking less than your drinking partner while also staying more sober than them. It's an art.

Max thumps his stein down. ""You seen the two other pilots we got on the way?"

You shake your head.

"Nerv 08 in Vladivostok is sending Katya Skobeleva over. You know the name?"

You shake your head again. "No. Should I?"

Max smirks in a conspiratorial way. It's a gossip smirk. "People call her the 'Ice Princess'. She's the daughter of some bigtime oligarch over there. Rich, powerful. Smells like bad news to me."

"I don't know much about the wealthy," you say, "But it seems out of character to send your child into harm's way."

Max shrugs. "Who knows what kind of scheme they're cooking. It's all cloaks and daggers if you go high enough up in the command structure." He helps himself to a handful of pretzels from a bowl on your table.

An oligarch's daughter as one of the new pilots? It was an unexpected turn. Intrigue at the higher levels of government wasn't your concern however. Nerv was.

"Even here in Nerv?" you ask.

Max sips again. "Yeah, well with the trouble between Technical Branch and Science Division we're not free of problems."

"I hadn't heard."

Max looks up, surprised. "Ah. It's nothing interesting. Power struggle among the eggheads after Dr. Kaufman skipped town."

The name is unfamiliar to you. It wasn't in your briefing documents. "Kaufman?"

Max looks conflicted a moment. "It's part of an ongoing investigation. I probably shouldn't say too much. Rose might be able to fill you in better. I'd really hate to color your perspective with my opinion."


>I don't mind. Department drama is interesting.
>What do you know about pilot number 4?
>So what's next on our New Tampa tour?
>Write in

>>4707517
>I don't mind. Department drama is interesting.
I could very easily become our problem if it gets out of hand, or the pilots do something dumb.

>>4707517
>I don't mind. Department drama is interesting.

>>4707517
>What do you know about pilot number 4?
We just got told that we might be asking a few too many questions. I'm sure this will come up another time

>>4707517
>>What do you know about pilot number 4?
Don't drill too much into any one topic, it's suspicious.

I'm starting to get disappointed in the lack of the pilot MC. He's what hooked me into the quest, not this babysitter/cloak-and-dagger stuff. Will he be playing second fiddle to the spy?

>>4708038
He's coming back shortly actually. I don't mean to discourage, I just have a lot to cover. Pretty soon there will be a long Ethan stretch. He's not second fiddle either. The intent is dual main characters with possible short-stretch side characters depending on what's going on.

>>4708043
That's reasonable. I've bait-and-switched more than once, plus I don't really like the spy, which is why I asked. Thanks.

>>4707517
>What do you know about pilot number 4?

>What do you know about pilot number 4?
>>4707781
>>4708038
>>4708551

Writing

File: g0Cg.gif (1.88 MB, 480x351)

1.88 MB GIF

As much as you want to know what the situation with Science Division is . . . "What do you know about pilot number four?"

Max swirls his beer idly. "It's some hotshot pilot from Perdition base in Alaska. Rumor is he killed an angel up there. First one in five years."

"Impressive," you say.

"Maybe," Max allows. "If rumors are right it cost him his Eva. Not exactly a winning ratio."

"We're going to need all the experience we can get," you say. "I can't fault that."

"No," Max agrees. "You're right. I'm just a little dubious of these kids is all. I know they'll fight but . . . " he leaves the rest unsaid.

"You're not sure about them?" You ask, surprised.

"Are you?" he counters.

You search for words for a moment. "I was their age once. So were you. I'm sure our parents didn't think we were capable of what we did. The things we had to endure."

Max frowns a little.

"We're turning out just like them," you say with a half-grin.

"Who?"

"Our parents. Worrying about the next generation. Wondering who's going to save the world."

Max downs his drink and starts to answer before looking over your shoulder suddenly. "Ah shit."

Following his glance, you see an older teenage boy enter and flash his Nerv ID to the bartender. "Nerv business," he says looking around until he sees Max, then approaching.

"Hello Max, and Sayid."

His confidence and boldness draws a smile from you.

"Renton, what the fuck," Max says, he sounds tired.

The boy, Renton, sits. He's tanned, athletic, confident. His ethnicity is difficult to place, but right now he is smug as hell. He offers you a hand. "Renton," he introduces himself. "You must be the latest addition to the vast Nerv machine."

"That's a pretty bleak view," you say, "But yes."

He smugs harder. "Bleak does not mean untrue. What is Nerv if not a machine to serve humanity and defeat the angels, hm?"

Max sighs loudly. "You haven't had a drop to drink and you're already doing this weird shit. Sayid, meet the daily struggle I face." He indicates Renton who just shrugs.

You sip beer to hide your grin. There's something primaly satisfying about seeing someone else struggle.

"What's on the menu?" Renton asks optimistically.

Max gives you a tired look. "Renton." he rubs the bridge of his nose. "You had your fun. But unless you want this to be an official disciplinary action-"

"I got it." Renton rises to his feet. "Plenty of time for us to get acquainted later. Is that right, Sayid?"

"That's right," you agree.

"I have other haunts," Renton adds. "I'll make myself scarce."

"Straight home, Renton," Max warns.

The pilot's lips curl devilishly as he backs away. "And you'll be there to verify I go home, yes?" He leaves without waiting for a response to the taunt.

You wait until Renton is gone before looking at Max. "Does he force his way into bars often?"

"When he wants to be a pain in the ass," Max says. "Look, do me a favor? Keep that between you and me, okay? The kid is in enough trouble as it is. He doesn't need the Holidays or worse finding out."

"My secret," you promise. "Is the Captain really that much of a hard ass? She seems like a softie to me, or is that just an act?"

"Rose is a sweetheart," Max agrees. "If you're on her good side. God help you if you cross her.

He takes out a pack of cigarettes before continuing and shares one with you.

"She's got that whole 'school teacher' thing about her. But I've seen her tear Ken apart for screwing up a security detail. She can be just as ruthless as her dad when it suits her."

"Apple not far from the tree?"

Max lights up his cigarette and yours. "The Major is hard as fucking nails. Tough army type. No bullshit. Doesn't like bureaucracy. But he keeps it in check. Keeps us working." Max inhales deeply and puffs smoke out. "He's twice as hard on Rose."

"The stern type, huh?"

"Very. Saw some shit in Second Impact I guess. He was the guy on the ground doing refugee work all over South America and Africa." Max blows a stream of smoke toward the floor. "He keeps to himself. You might not ever talk to him."

"It doesn't sound like I want to," you tease.

Max laughs softly. "Jolly bunch we are." He glances at his watch. "Ah. Time grows short. Let's start that tour, shall we? We can start with the best places to grab a bite."

"Sounds good."

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You are Ethan Chandler and you're sitting in the passenger cabin of an Eva transport plane watching its cargo be unloaded. The massive mecha is in the process of being painstakingly extracted from the cargo hold and loaded onto a waiting pair of gigantic flatbed vehicles. The Eva's form was mostly covered with a tarp but you're just able to make out part of a forearm. Its armor is white with gold trim which shines in the sun.

"It must be hers," you say to yourself.

“Chandler, coming?” the question comes to you from a plainclothes Nerv operative. The voice is cold and authoritative but . . . it held a hint of sympathy. It doesn't matter to you though. You still feel cold all over. Empty. The irritating sting of failure and defeat clings to you no matter what anyone else said.

They'd told you that you saved Anchorage. What did that matter when you couldn't even save the one life that mattered to you?

Behind you, the Russian pilot and her chaperone were still gathering their bags. Since you travelled light, you exit the plane with just your duffel.

The gangway off the plane is full enclosed. Broad windows look out at the blistering Floridian heat, warded off only with thick window tinting and heavy air conditioning. This place is a far cry from Alaska.

A parked car is nearby along with two Nerv personnel.

"Ethan Chandler?" A man with ruffled blonde hair asks. He squints in the bright sun like he doesn't get out a lot, but he has a warm smile on his face.

"Yeah, that's me," you say.

"Wonderful! I'm Dr. Caswell," he says, "Call me Roger." He offers a hand to shake, notes your arm in a sling and then awkwardly switches hands.

"Roger," you say, shaking.

"Captain Holiday and the Colonel were tied up with some meetings and asked me to pick you all up. I'm head of the Science Division here. I handle all the . . . well the science." Caswell- Roger, looks young for a head scientist. Maybe it's because Angels are a new field of study and he’d come in on the ground floor, or maybe he's a lot smarter than he sounds.

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You look to the other man with Caswell. Tall, imposing, the man exudes a deadly competence.

"Oh. This is Ken Mbaru. He's going to be your guardian during your time here."

"Oh," you say.

Mbaru nods but says nothing else.

You didn't have a guardian in Anchorage, not one you knew about anyway. Some bureaucrat somewhere was probably legally responsible for your upbringing, but if so you'd never met them.

"How's the arm, bud?" Roger asks.

You look at the cast. "Hurts. Am I going to be on active duty? I heard you have a new Eva for me."

Roger's eyes tighten, "Ah. We sure do. But it's gonna need both arms to pilot. I mean, to pilot it well anyway."

You frown. "I don't really want to be some kind of dead weight."

"Hey, don't you worry about that! Soon as that arm heals we'll get you back in the cockpit in no time! How's that sound?"

You don't manage an answer before Roger's attention turns back to the boarding ramp.

"Agent Yezhov and Katya Skobeleva is it?" Roger asks.

The Russians stop a short distance away. The girl, Katya, hands her game system disinterestedly to Yezhov. The annoyance in his eyes is impossible to miss as he takes the clunky console from her.

"Hello," Katya says. "You are . . . ?"

"Roger Caswell! Doctor. Call me Roger." He offers a hand which she looks at blankly a moment before lightly shaking. "Must feel good to get off that plane, huh? Long flight."

"Yes," Katya says.

"Did the three of you manage to get acquainted on the plane?" Roger looks among you.

An awkward silence follows and Katya gives you an uncomfortable glance.


>No. We didn't.
>I didn't get a chance, I fell right asleep
>We met briefly (Lie)
>Write in

>>4708974
>>No. We didn't.

>>4708974
>No. We didn't.

>>4708974
>No. We didn't.

>>4708974
>>No. We didn't.
We're not in a good headspace. We can be civil, but not much more than that.

>No. We didn't.

Writing

You don't return Katya's look. "No," you say. "We didn't."

"Oh." Roger blinks. "Well." He looks to Mbaru for support but the Agent says nothing. "Why don't we get you guys acquainted with the city and then we can get you settled in before training starts tomorrow?"

You nod. As if you have any choice. You're led to a waiting car. Mbaru drives, Roger takes the passenger seat. You, Agent Yezhov, and Katya are crowded into the back seat with Katya in the middle.

"It's a lot different than Anchorage or Vladivostok," Roger says excitedly. "Brand new from the ground up. A planned city. I think you'll notice the difference."

It looks like any other city to you. Flashy, shiny, but otherwise no different.

Katya is hip to hip with you in the back. It's an already uncomfortable situation made worse by the fact that you still haven't really acknowledged one another. Every time the car takes a turn you're pressed into one another despite your efforts to stick close to the door.

She turns her console back on with a happy chime. The game's splash screen explodes onto the monitor. Gun Mage II. You've heard of it but not actually seen it played. Honestly you never got too much into games. Spare time was sparse. Katya slaughters her way through a hoard of demon monkeys with spells and automatic weapons.

You turn away and look at the window, watching faces and places flash by. Roger drones on about the city's foundation, development. He lists a few "interesting" statistics that roll over you meaninglessly. Linda would have liked this place probably. She was always more metropolitan than you.

Katya makes a soft noise of disappointment as her character is dragged to his death.

You frown. Something about her presence reminds you of Linda. A dagger twists in that wound.

"Ethan?"

You look up.

Roger stares at you expectantly, looking back over his shoulder. "Do you play a lot of games too?" He repeats the question patiently.

You gawk for a moment. "No."

"No? Really. I'm surprised. Kids your age seem all about them. Never really had much time with them myself. Wasn't part of my childhood. I guess I never got hooked."

"I . . . I've always been too busy I guess," you say.

"Hey, busy can be good. I know you're eager to get busy again."

"Yeah," you say.

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Eventually even Roger lapses into uneasy silence. The tour ends at Dolphin Plaza. The building towers over the titular plaza. A few fountains burble happily and greenery rustles in the tropical breeze.

"This is it, home sweet home!" Roger says.

"Do you have a phone?" They're the first words Mbaru says and they catch you off guard. His firm gaze meets yours unwaveringly.

"A phone? Yes."

He makes an affirmative noise. "I will send you my number. Should you need anything, call me."

"Alright," you say.

"That's right!" Roger says quickly. "Agent Mbaru is going to be taking good care of you. He'll pick you up to take you to the base for harmonics testing and anything like that."

All Roger gets is another nod from you.

"I'm sure you guys are totally exhausted from the flight," he says, "Get rested up because we've got a lot of ground to cover tomorrow. Physicals, exams, harmonics testing, not to mention your sync test with your new Eva, Ethan."

"Sure."

You're taken up to your floor by Roger and each get your rooms. Yezhov, Katya, and you are all going to be on the same hall. Katya and Yezhov split off from you and go to their rooms, leaving you alone.

You stare at the keycard in your hand blankly. Linda would be standing here and holding a keycard too if you were a little faster. You clench your fist tight enough that your fingernails cut into your skin and squeeze your eyes closed. Your teeth grind soundlessly together.

Rage, white hot fury boils up from within you. Rage at the angels. Rage at Nerv. Most potently, rage at yourself. Your brash decision to attack without recon, your slow reaction, and your weak attempts to save her killed Linda. It killed your only friend. You killed her.

You open your eyes and suck in a shuddering breath, forcing your hand to unclench and dousing the acidic hate in your heart. You don't know that. You tried to save her. You tried to save the city. You tried to do everything right. This is a war. You were soldiers. This outcome was inevitable.

Even as you think it you doubt it. The shadow of anger lurks in your heart, burning darkly.

Pushing these toxic emotions aside you swipe your keycard and enter the room.

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The apartment isn't exactly a large space, but the view makes it seem fantastically huge. You're taken by the sight and let the door fall closed behind you, staring at the line where sky meets ocean.

You drop your duffel bag and walk inside. Over the soft hum of air conditioning you become aware of music. Heavy rock music is faintly audible through your wall. A neighbor without any common courtesy or self awareness you assume.

You let the minutes tick by as you stand and stare at the ocean. Boats occasionally flit across the sea. Some are huge Panamax cargo vessels, others are just small fishing boats. It's almost hypnotic. Turning away, you enter the kitchen and check the cabinets one after another. Empty. Empty. Also empty.

You're going to have to do some shopping.

As you turn around you freeze, suddenly struck with the realization that you're not alone in here.

A young woman stands before the windows, gazing out to see like you were moments ago. She's fully nude, standing barefoot on the carpeted floor. Twin, reddish braids drape over her shoulders, offset by otherwise close-cut hair.

Your eyes are magnetically drawn to the enormous set of wings that protrudes from her back. They're white and feathery, just like . . . just like-

She seems to suddenly notice you and turns her head. Linda's blank gaze meets yours a moment before her face lights up with a smile.

"Ethan," she says.

You try to say her name but nothing comes. Your heart hammers in your chest, your mind is racing.


>Linda! Is that you?
>What are you?
>Stay away from me!
>Write in

>>4709735
>>Linda! Is that you?
I doubt it, but who else could it be? I fear hope.

>>4709735
>Linda! Is that you?

>>4709735
>Stay away from me!

>>4709735
>What are you?

>>4709735
>What are you?

>>4709735
>Write in
"You're dead. I killed you."

That was Ethan's position merely minutes ago, I think it's worth restating.

>Linda! Is that you?
+
>What are you?

Writing

She takes a step closer to you and your heart catches in your throat.

"L-Linda?"

She beams at you, smiling as brightly as she ever has. "I'm so glad you're here! I've been waiting all morning for you." She reaches out a hand for yours.

"Is that . . . you?" you ask.

"Of course it is!"

You shake your head, feeling dizzy. You don't dare blink, you don't dare look away. Thoughts and emotions clash and conflict in your mind. "No. No. It can't be. I . . . You're dead, Linda. I killed you." A hot tear rolls down your cheek as you say the words. The truth burns you.

Linda stops short and her smile fading. "Dead?" She blinks. "No. Ethan, I'm right here!" she approaches again. "I missed you."

Your back finds the kitchen wall, any escape cut off. "I-" your mind reels as she closes in for a hug. "I- I missed you too." You throw your arms tight around her and pull her into a hug.

She nestles her head into your chest and you breathe in her smell. You'd already forgotten it, now it's so fresh. Her skin is soft and warm under your hands, her hair soft. She squeezes you and hums happily.

Tears are flowing freely down your cheeks now. Your breaths come uneasily. "I missed you," you repeat, trying not to sob. "I thought I lost you."

"I'm right here now. I'm fine, silly!"

As you tighten your hold on her, your hands brush across her folded wings. A stab of reality pierces through the veil of your relief. It's unshakable, a sense of wrongness. This just can't be possible. This isn't right.

You release her. "How did you survive? I saw it happen, I saw the Angel . . . I saw it kill you."

Linda blinks up at you. "Kill? No."

"I saw it," you repeat. "How is this possible?"

Linda's joy fades again. Emotions flicker across her face before settling on sad confusion. "I don't understand. Why are you upset? I thought you'd be happy."

"I-" you stop. "I am happy, Linda, I just . . . I have questions. What is going on? How did you get here?"

"Here?" She looks around the apartment like she hadn't considered it. "I've just been waiting here."

"But how did you get here?" you press.

She thinks on that. Her expression darkens again. "I was . . . we were together and then . . . and then I was here." She says it like it makes sense but even she is starting to sound confused.

"Are you real?" you whisper. Fear is crawling from your cut to throttle your mind. Fear that more than your arm broke in that battle. Fear that you lost more of yourself than you realized.

Linda considers this a moment. She prods her stomach with two fingers. She opens her mouth and runs her tongue over her teeth like she was checking they were still there. A gust of cold air washes over you as she flaps her wings once, testing them. "I feel real," she concludes. She lifts a hand and bruises her fingers across your cheek.

You flinch at her soft touch.

"You feel real. You feel nice." She rubs more insistently and takes another step forward, pressing her body against yours. "Really nice."

Your whole body is trembling with fear and confusion. Your mind is a tumult of conflicting emotions. "H-how is this real? Linda, you have wings!"

Linda stops stroking your face and takes a step back. She tries to look over her shoulder to see the wings. "Wha-? I . . ." she reaches back and touches them gently, like she's never seen them before. "I . . . " Her wings unfold again and knock over a lamp. Linda squeaks in alarm and jumps. Fear, hurt, and confusion flash over her face. "I . . . "

You're afraid to speak, afraid to do anything.

She shakes her head slowly, "I don't . . . Ethan." Her voice is terrified, it sounds like it did the day she died. The day she pleaded for you to save her.

You squeeze your eyes shut. You stay frozen in place a moment, waiting. Whatever you're waiting for never comes. You open your eyes again and look around your apartment. Empty. The lamp lays toppled on its side still.

Over the next few minutes you search the entire apartment top to bottom. You find no sign that anyone else was ever here. Eventually you end your search and sit on your bed, exhausted, physically, emotionally, mentally. You flop onto your back and stare up at the blank ceiling, just breathing.

"I wonder if they'll let me pilot," you say, "when they find out what's wrong with me."

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You awaken in the dark to the boom of thunder. A flash of lighting out to sea illuminates your darkened apartment and makes you jolt with shock. A second later you hear the sound or rain lashing the windows of your building, swept by the sea breeze.

A storm. Just a storm passing by. You vaguely recall that Roger had said something about storms being common here.

You lay back down and slow your breathing, letting the storm's white noise lull you back to sleep. It was just your imagination. Whatever you thought you'd experienced was nothing. The product of a tired and strained mind. Sleep. Rest will cure all ailments.

You fall asleep as thunder rolls again.

The next morning brings with it a relieving freshness. A sense of a new beginning. You change, shower, and prepare to face the day. A knock on your door interrupts your morning routine, but you answer it all the same.

Agent Mbaru is here. "It is time," he says. "I will take you to Nerv for the harmonics test." He leaves no room for discussion.

Within minutes you're driving together for the base.

Mbaru’s car is sleek, black, and new. It smells strongly of cigarette smoke, despite being otherwise clean. Aside from a full ashtray and a submachine gun jammed into the door well, there was no sign that this car had ever been driven before.

Mbaru seems content to drive in silence.


>Ride in silence
>Ask about him
>Ask about the other pilots
>Write in

>>4710705
>Ride in silence

>>4710705
>Ride in silence

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>>4710705
>Ride in silence

>>4711054
Absolute Flavor Field

File: 1500433477987.png (365 KB, 1024x1024)

365 KB PNG

>>4710704
>wings
>Linda is an angel in the traditional sense
pic related

>"I wonder if they'll let me pilot," you say, "when they find out what's wrong with me."
Buddy, if you'd seen the psychosis pilots usually have, you'd brush this off like it was nothing.

>Ask about him
We gotta distract ourselves from the stress dream-thing.

>Ride in silence
>>4710823
>>4710930
>>4711054

Writing

You look over at your guardian. He has a wicked scar on his cheek which only makes him look more fearsome. You've seen a lot of strange characters working for Nerv, but this guy is definitely one of the most memorable for you.

"You are a soldier."

It takes a moment for the words to register in your brain. Another moment for it to register that Mbaru is talking to you. The conversation came out of nowhere.

"Soldier? Yeah. I mean, I guess."

He glances at you, appraising you. "No. Not a soldier perhaps. A warrior."

It's more than you can take seriously. "Warrior? Man, I'm a pilot."

"Yes," Mbaru says. "But you do not pilot a jet plane. You pilot a weapon, become one with your Eva, yes?"

"Well . . . yeah."

You slayed an angel, yes?"

You can still feel the sensation of pulling the eject handle. Your arm aches with echoes of the original pain that day. "I guess."

"Then you are a warrior," Mbaru says confidently. "A soldier must stand in line and take orders. A soldier does what he is told to do. You fight on your own."

You were not expecting to get dragged into some half-assed battlefield philosophy with your intense guardian.

"This troubles you?"

"No," you say quickly. "I- no. It's . . . I'm just doing my job."

"Your job?" Mbaru sounds both shocked and amused, though his face remains unreadable.

"Yeah," you say, biting back anger, "My job. Same as you. Same as anyone else."

"Did you not choose this life?"

Your life before Nerv is faint to you. It's just a shadow of what it was. You remember being afraid. You remember being hungry. You remember the crowded orphanage and the staff who didn't have time to see to more than basic physical needs. Men had come to test all the children. They'd told you that you were special. They told you that- if you wanted- a different life awaited you.

"Yeah," you say. The memory is bitter. "I chose it."

“Then it is not ‘just’ a job.”

You're too tired to argue. You don't know what else this guy will pull out on you. You're not in the mood to be interrogated about your life choices.

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The road Mbaru drives on veers suddenly down, descending into a reinforced tunnel. The sun vanishes behind a concrete lip and disappears entirely. The radiant glow of daylight is replaced by the sickly yellow of sodium lights. The road continues sloping down, steeper and steeper until it levels out at a small parking area that butts up against a security checkpoint.

Mbaru whips his car into an empty spot and exits. You follow along awkwardly, having to walk faster to keep pace with your bodyguard's wide stride.

“Welcome back, Ken,” a Nerv guard at the checkpoint says, checking Mbaru’s card.

Mbaru makes no reply.

You had your own card over and the Nerv guard scans it. "Looks good."

You're waved through the checkpoint and join a small handful of other Nerv personnel boarding a subterranean tram car.

Mbaru returns to his characteristic silence and so you busy yourself reviewing the introductory material about Nerv 03 you were provided.

At first glance, the facility seems similar to Perdition: an underground base with heavy launch and repair facilities for Evas, but on closer inspection it seemed much more than that.

The booklet is light on specifics and much of it was left classified but just from what you can see, Nerv 03 is truly massive with housing for cage space for half a dozen Evangelions and transit and launch tunnels. The base sits over a hundred meters beneath ground level for New Tampa. Its tunnels run throughout the city like an ant nest lurking just beneath the surface. Based on what limited information they provided it seems like this facility extends well below the waterline. Keeping it dry must be some miracle of modern engineering.

Still, a swampy, dyked-off island in the middle of a shallow sea seems a poor place to site a facility like this.

The tram forges steadily onward, lights flashing in the dark as it dives into the depths of the earth. The train car rattles and hums, the ambient sounds of a vehicle rapidly crossing tracks. The cabin you're in is sparsely occupied. A pair of men in the olive-drab fatigues of base security sit together. You see an older woman in a lab coat browse data on a tablet computer while a technician in an orange jumpsuit sips coffee. All of them ignore you and Mbaru, giving you both a wide berth.

The rest of the trip through the base is like traveling a rat’s warren, a maze of concrete tunnels. Mbarau navigates them with practiced precision though you quickly lose your bearings in the seemingly identical corridors and massive, open galleries.

The question that's burning in your mind refuses to be kept in check any longer. “How do you not get lost?”

“I remember.” Mbaru says.

"What? Remember?"

Mbaru nods. “Yes. I walk the path and I remember it.”

Oh Christ. This guy is a machine. You can only imagine what the selection process for Nerv agent must be like.

A fresh elevator ride brings the two of you into a cloistered laboratory, packed with computer terminals and displays. The front of the room is taken with a bank of armored windows looking out over a series of isolated entry plugs suspended over a deep pool of LCL.

“The harmonics lab,” Mbaru says.

It's not dissimilar to the harmonics lab in Perdition, but much larger.

It's full of technicians and scientists monitoring displays and calibrating instruments. Dr. Caswell flits through this organized madness like it's a walk in the park. He grins on spotting you. "Hey bud, good to see you again"

You give Roger an awkward, half-hearted smile.

"Better get changed, the others are here and we're about to get started. Exciting stuff!" Roger sounds like a kid on Christmas.

"Sure."

File: Lockerroom.jpg (438 KB, 1200x800)

438 KB JPG

The pilot changing room is far too large for its purpose, a standard-sized locker room like you might find in a high school gym but painted a sterile white. You open the locker with your name on it and take note of the plug suit hanging here. Without hesitating, you begin stripping out of your clothes, letting them fall to the bare tile floor.

“Ethan Chandler.”

You jump at the sound of your name and look over your shoulder.

The other male pilot is here. He comes to stop at another bank of lockers and begins changing as well. He peels off his shirt exposing smooth, tanned skin.

You turn away and resume undressing. It takes a moment for you to recall his name from the orientation materials. "Fox, right?" you say.

“Renton, please,” Renton replies with a sound of dismissal. “Fox is embarrassing.”

“Renton, okay.”

“You are from Alaska?” Renton asks.

"I'm-" the last thing you want to do is go through your past with this stranger. "-Not really from anywhere."

Renton clicks his tongue. "That's an impressive feat."

From his deadpan tone it's hard to tell if he's joking. You hear Renton's locker open and the rustle of clothes.

“My parents died in Second Impact," you say. The words are out before you even thought them. "I was on my own for a while until Nerv took me in.”

"'Took you in'," Renton repeats. "How charitable of them."

Once undressed, you carefully slide into your plugsuit.

"I have a family to think of,” Renton says. “To be alone, it must be nice.”

“Nice?” You'd never thought of it like that before. You might be offended if you had any memories of your parents to be insulted. "I guess." Once your suit is on, you depress the button on your wrist. The suit constricts into place, forming a skin-tight body glove.

You turn around just as Renton does. You in your forest green plugsuit, him in dark gray. Feeling conversational, you press on with this budding conversation. "Do you live in the Dolphin Plaza building?”

“No. I am in the Fourth District. Near the docks.”

“Oh,” You don't know the city well enough to know what exactly that means, but can tell from Renton’s tone it's far away.

“You’ll get accustomed to the city layout," Renton says dismissively. "There is a question I want to ask you, Ethan. You killed an angel, didn't you?"

You feel that dull ache in your arm coupled with the ache in your heart. You think of Linda's face. "Yeah."

“What was it like?” Renton asks.

Cold terror claws at your heart. “It was . . ." How can you tell him? How can you tell him what it was like to feel so powerless to stop your own death, let alone anyone else's? How would he react if you tell him that you fear going back into it more than anything. "You've done the training," you say. "It's like the simulations." A lie, but one you try to make sound convincing."

“Was it really?” Renton asks, no ulterior motive apparent, just plain curiosity.

“Yes," you say. You feel that smoldering anger boiling deep within you.

“I heard that someone was killed.”

Your blood is ice in your veins, your skin crawls. There it was. The accusation. Renton knows more than he's letting on.


>I don't want to talk about it.
>Yes. A close friend of mine. It was horrible.
>My advice is worry about your own problems, not mine.
>Write in

>>4711552
>I don't want to talk about it.
Maybe later, if we ever actually feel like it; but now really isn't the time for introspection, we have tests to complete.

I'm sure that he had access to whatever footage was recovered from the onboard camera(s) from both Eva. And so this may be him trying to feel us out, to see how badly effected we are.

>>4711552
>Yes. A close friend of mine. It was horrible.

>I don't want to talk about it.

>>4711552
>My advice is worry about your own problems, not mine.
Renton's a fucking creep

>>4711639
He is probably trying to scope out if we are 'still' a liability, or if we have turned a corner or not.

>>4711644
He was weird when we saw him from Aaliyah's perspective too. Besides, he's a pilot. He shouldn't have any information on whether we're a liability or not, and he shouldn't be the one scoping us out

>>4711552
>>4711639
Changing to this
>My advice is worry about your own problems, not mine.

>>4711647
He is the one that will probably be working with us, while putting his life (and the continued success of NERV) on the line so it is, sort of in his interest to figure out if he needs to bail us out before things actually get serious, and one of us gets caught flatfooted.

>>4711552
>Write in
A simple "yes" would do.

>>4711552
>My advice is worry about your own problems, not mine.

>>4711541
>They'd told you that you were special. They told you that- if you wanted- a different life awaited you.
Does it count as a choice when you don't really understand the options?
Not too different from questing, now that I think about it.

>Based on what limited information they provided it seems like this facility extends well below the waterline. Keeping it dry must be some miracle of modern engineering.
That seems like asking for trouble; An angel would have a much sorter path by staying underwater.

>I don't want to talk about it.
This trauma is still too fresh to talk about openly like this.

>>4711552
>I don't want to talk about it.

>>4711552
>Yes. A close friend of mine. It was horrible.

>My advice is worry about your own problems, not mine.

Rude but whatever

>I don't want to talk about it.
>>4711591
>>4711989
>>4712007

>Yes.
>>4711593
>>4711780 (Write in)
>>4712072

>My advice is worry about your own problems, not mine.
>>4711639
>>4711658
>>4711785
>>4712092

>My advice is worry about your own problems, not mine.

Writing

You hear Linda's scream fading to nothingness as the life ebbs from her.

"My advice is to worry about your own problems," you say. "Not mine."

Renton folds his arms and raises an eyebrow. "And what about this makes you think it's not my problem?"

"What happened to me and her has nothing to do with you. If you're worried about me fighting: don't. I'll fight. When you're face to face with an angel you'll find you don't have much choice." You say the words through gritted teeth.

Renton shakes his head, like he's disappointed. "You understand that among us you are the experienced one, yes? You are the combat veteran. We are going to be looking to you for advice and for help. If you are too self-absorbed to provide that then you're not much use."

You fume silently, glaring back at Renton who is unimpressed with your simmering anger. He stares back coolly, saying nothing. You pull your temper back under control incrementally. Just for a moment you imagine caving in his face with your fist. Driving your knuckles into the bridge of his nose and sending him sprawling. You imagine kicking him in the ribs where he lays on the ground. Your nostrils flare, your pulse races. Whatever you feel personally right now, you know it's not worth the effort.

"Stay off my back," you advise, stepping around Renton and making for the exit.

"You were close?" Renton asks.

You stop by the door.

"You said 'she'. Was she close to you?"

You look back at Renton, his expression still unreadable. Without another word, you turn and leave the room. You make it a short distance down the hall before you stop. You look down at your hand. You feel shame, guilt, rage, all washing over you, coming in distinct tides that fight for control of your emotions. Was Renton right? Would the other pilots be counting on you? Or was he being a nosy asshole?

A door closes and snaps you from your misery.

Katya stands in the hall before you, having emerged from the female locker room. Her long, white-blonde hair is tied back, but her cat ear band has been replaced with nerve clips. A moment of silence passes before she turns and leaves for the harmonics chamber, leaving you alone again.

No. No one was going to be looking to you for anything like support. You're a mess. You're cracking up. You've got to try to get it together.

In the main testing area you see the fourth pilot. Korine. Unless she goes by her last name too. She looks about as miserable as you feel, standing off on her own beside the test plug. So far the only pilot you've had any interaction with is Renton, and you'd really rather not have had that happen at all.

Renton and Katya follow you into the testing chamber and a voice comes over the PA. "You're all here. Enter the plugs and let's get started."

File: entryplug.jpg (399 KB, 1920x1080)

399 KB JPG

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HOTFm1n3A9g

You grip the activation throttles as the entry plug fills with LCL.

Breathing the liquid is unpleasant but your body adapts quickly. It smells of blood in here. It's a smell you're not fond of.

"Initializing first stage connection."

You feel it, a pulse that runs through your body and somehow makes you more outside yourself.

"Connection accepted, no anomalies."

"Proceed with the test," Rose says, her voice tinny on your onboard speakers. "Establish nerve connections 11 through 101."

Multi-color patterns flash as the entry plug harmonizes with your brainwaves.

"Proceeding. No anomalies."

You've done this test countless times and you follow your training. Pushing all unwanted thoughts from your mind and letting yourself wander. As unpleasant as the physical sensation of breathing LCL is, as much as you hate the smell of blood . . . you feel at home here. Maybe "home" is the wrong word. It's familiar. It's what you're used to. That unearthly hum fills your head, pushing out all other thoughts.

You half-open your eyes and look at your cockpit display, seeing the other pilots through picture-in-picture displays.

Korine and Katya have their hair tied back and out of their way. Katya's long hair in a ponytail, Korine's shorter hair in pigtails.

Korine bites her lip and closes her eyes.

Renton has a faint smile on his face as he focuses, like he's recalling a joke.

Katya looks blank.

You used to do these tests with Linda.

You visualize her. Naked and with those ridiculous angel wings.
I thought you'd be happy. Her eyes wet with tears.

You push it away. It’s nothing. Just shock from the battle is all. Just your imagination. It's only been a few days. People don't recover from trauma quickly. Even as you think it, it feels wrong. How could that have been a hallucination?

“Hey bud, this is Roger. I know you're in the zone, sorry to butt in. Looks like your harmonics are dropping a little, everything okay?”

Shit. You close your eyes and push the thoughts away. "Just an intrusive thought. I'm okay."

You clear your mind again and focus on the ghostly 'other' sensation you feel.

"Increasing plug depth four points."

You feel a strange pressure on your mind, like something trying to coexist in the same mental space, something huge. You will the discomfort away.

"Okay everyone," Rose says, "Initial readings are coming in and look good. Well done. Ethan, can you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"We've matched your latest harmonics with your old sync data. We'll be using that to pattern your new Eva. We'll start activation tests as soon as your data is written over."

"Affirmative."

"Captain," Renton says. "So who came out on top?"

There is a pause, a delay as Rose checks figures. "It looks like Katya is number one this time. Well done, Katya."

Katya opens her eyes. "Thank you."

The LCL drains from your plug a moment later and you carefully climb back out. Korine stands at her plug beside you, toweling off her hair.

"Can't wait for that shower," she says. You realize she's talking to you.

"Yeah," you say.

"I'm Korine."

"Ethan."

She smiles at you a little. "You're the guy from Anchorage, right?"

"Yeah."

"Cool. I think you live next door to me."

You blink, taking a moment to connect Korine to the loud music you'd heard. "Oh, that's you." you say the words without thinking.

She grins wider. "Ah, you heard that huh? Sorry." She doesn't look very sorry. "That's how I unwind. I suggest you get some good headphones or a better sound system than me."

"It's alright," you say. "I really didn't notice that much."

"Uh huh." She doesn't believe you. "Have you been around the city much?"

"No," you say.

"Want to?"

"To?"

"See the city and stuff. I've got to get some shit. You can come if you want."


>Sure, I'm game.
>I'm not feeling up to it, sorry.
>Write in

>>4712241
>Sure, I’m game.

>>4712241
>I'm not feeling up to it, sorry.

>>4712241
>I'm not feeling up to it, sorry.

>>4712241
>Sure, I'm game.

What was his plan for the day anyway? I thought military loves their schedules.

>>4712517
Sorry for the lack of clarity: This is meant to be AFTER the day's testing and training.

>>4712241
>I'm not feeling up to it, sorry.

Just finished reading up to here, this looks Interesting

>>4712725
>this looks Interesting
Welcome to the party!

>>4712241
>Sure, I'm game.

>>4712241
>Sure, I'm game.

>Sure, I’m game.
>>4712242
>>4712517
>>4712865
>>4713027


>I'm not feeling up to it, sorry.
>>4712244
>>4712366
>>4712725


>Sure, I'm game.

Writing

You can't live in isolation forever. It might help to at least have a civil conversation with one person.

"Sure," you say. "I'm game."

She smiles sadistically. "Sick." Korine looks toward the control room, that smile collapsing into a scowl. "After we get the rest of this training shit done." Her eyes go back to you. "Don't you feel like a bug under a microscope?"

"Yeah," you say, "I mean sometimes. I guess I'm used to it."

She scoffs. "Sure."

The intercom snaps on. "Pilots, we'll take a short break and then run some practice launch drills."

Korine sighs. "Catch you later."

"Yeah," you say, "Later."

File: 150874411_252086133137151(...).png (360 KB, 888x666)

360 KB PNG

You are Agent Aaliyah Sayid.

The monotony of testing proceeds normally. Here, in the harmonics lab you don't have much to do but sit and watch. The pilots were off memorizing launch procedures elsewhere, but here you were watching lab technicians parse and collate the data from the test.

“Readings coming in now, Captain,” a technician says.

Rose is here supervising the work. She seems tense to you, on edge though you couldn't say why.

The technician monitoring the data swears under her breath.

Rose shifts her attention to the technician struggling with her console, “Is there a problem?”

A look of irritation flickers across the controller’s face before she flicked her eyes back at the source of the annoyance behind her. “The algorithm is catching that harmonic fluctuation again.”

You follow her eyes back to a computer scientist seated at the back of the room. He looks tired, bored. His long, greasy hair is tied back in a sloppy ponytail. He fails to suppress a yawn. "That's been ironed out in my latest patch."

You sense mounting tension in the room, though the scientist who speaks seems oblivious to it all.

"Have you not deployed the latest version to the test chambers then, Dr. Womack?” Rose asks, her irritation unmasked. It's strange for you to see her so hardened.

Dr. Womack yawns again. "It's going out in the next update which is uhhh-" he checks a watch. "Tomorrow."

Just when you think Rose is going to explode, Dr. Caswell speaks up. "Dr. Womack, you're the head of Technical Branch. Do I really need to remind you how vital these tests are for the normal functioning of the base?"

The pieces click into place. This must be fallout of the 'power struggle' Max had mentioned to you between the

Science Division and Technical Branch. Caswell as head of science, Womack as head of technical. It's strange considering in the organizational chart you'd been originally given, you knew the Technical department was a branch of the Science Division. Caswell was ostensibly Womack's boss, but the dynamic was all wrong.

"That won't be necessary, Doctor." Major Holiday, Rose's father, enters the lab, his face locked in that perpetual frown. Despite his Nerv uniform, he has a clear military bearing.

Rose stiffens, "Major Holiday. I wasn't expecting command staff to make an appearance."

“Dr. Womack is, I assure you, quite aware of the importance of these tests,” the Major continues. He speaks as if his daughter hadn't said anything. “The Doctor has been tasked with improvements to the Magi’s base functions so far- including integrating them with the city defenses’ fire control systems. The delay is understandable."

Rose says nothing, but it's clear she wants to.

The Major looks at Womack. "Doctor, will you make sure you push out the update at first opportunity?”

Womack's airy demeanor is gone, replaced with quiet tension. He nods silently.

Finally, Holiday turns to address Rose, his stare icy. “Captain, Science Division has made benchmarking our pilot's performance levels a top priority. I believe this is worthy of the command staff's attention. Don't you?" His tone is calm, quiet, but a powerful rebuke all the same. He sounded disappointed that she would even ask.

"Yes, sir," Rose replies.

The analysis of the data resumes, technical glitches overcome. All the same, the palpable tension in the air never fades. Max had said Dr. Kaufman was the old head of Science Division. He'd also said the doctor had skipped town. That was a puzzling move for someone in his position to make. You didn't climb to such lofty heights in Nerv by being flaky. That was the crux of the trouble between Technical Branch and the rest of Science Division. It was as good a place as any to dig a little further.

At the conclusion of the data process, Womack gathers his papers and data disks. You watch him speak to another technician. Their voices are low, discussing data and software challenges. You catch enough to hear that Womack is slurring some of his words. It's bad enough that you wonder if his yawning is exhaustion or a side effect of medication.

The scientists and technicians leave the lab in singles and groups. Womack and Caswell seem to purposefully take different paths out of the room while Rose stays behind to finalize some reports. The Major is gone already, having slipped out at some point previously.

Time to start getting answers.


>Go after Womack
>Go after Caswell
>Stay with Rose