You are Korine McIntosh and you are alone. Not just figuratively- you've been that way your whole life. You were born into this world alone and you expect to go out the same way. No, this time you are literally alone.

Memory is a fog to you, but you know where you are all the same. You're in your private berthing deep within the aircraft carrier Innovation. You lie on your bunk, looking up at the bare metal ceiling above you. This room was intended to house a few officers, but by virtue of your status as an Eva pilot, you are alone.

You feel uneasy. Tense. Afraid. It's an emotion without source until the lights go out. There is no sound, no warning, everything just goes black. The ship is silent now as it was before.

You sit up in bed, eyes wide, adjusting to the darkness. Faint light comes from a glowing emergency light, a dim red in the gloom. Your heart is racing, beating faster and faster.

"H-hello?" you call. A mocking echo returns to you.

Your fear breaks like a wave, replaced with the knowledge that you have to act. You need to find someone. Anyone. You need help.

Your feet splash down into ankle-deep icy water when you stand. The cold makes you gasp and you recoil, pulling your legs up. The gurgling of water is louder now, the black tide rising steadily. The ship is sinking.

"Help!" You call out, terrified. "Someone help!"

The water is knee deep now, lapping at the edge of the bunk. You stand again, shivering and start wading through the water, groping blindly in the dark along the bulkhead, feeling for the hatch.

The ship is listing more and more seriously. A powerful vibration runs through the hull, nearly throwing you off your feet. You are suddenly aware that you are no longer alone on this dying vessel no matter how much you wish you were.

You find the hatch and wrench it open, staggering into the half-submerged passageway.

"Help! Help!" You are screaming now. Panic overriding any sense of dignity or stoicism. You are full of an animal need to get out of this metal death trap. You try to run but your legs are numb and heavy, weighed down by the water. "Help!"

The ship vibrates again and you fall into the water. Sputtering you regain your feet only to realize now that the water is up to your chest, your neck, your chin. You tread water and feel your head bump the ceiling, the water is still rising, you can't breathe.

You try to scream but suck in a lungful of frigid saltwater, coughing and choking. You plunge into the inky darkness, trying to swim for the next hatch, trying to escape.

A black, chitinous monster bursts from the depths, claws and mandibles snapping toward you to tear you apart.

You jerk awake with a hollow gasp, hands clutching at your chest in panic. Your breathe in the climate-controlled air of another aircraft carrier, Giant Leap, your new temporary home since Innovation sunk.

Since you sank it, you correct yourself.

You lay back down on the thin mattress and wait for your limbs to stop trembling. Your hear beat slows gradually, replaced instead by a cold knot of dread deep in your stomach. You'd killed all those people. How many people were on a ship this size? How many had families? You feel nauseous.

"Oh god." You turn over, taking deep, heavy breaths, willing yourself not to throw up. You will not. You will not. You try to recall your mantra. "You are a mountain," you whisper. "You are a god."

A merciless god.

"You are one hundred miles high."

It's not helping. This room is too hot, too small, too cramped. Too much. Too much.

You squeeze your eyes shut against tears and press your palms over them. This can't be real. None of this is real. It's a bad dream. Just another bad dream you'll wake up from. Or maybe this is hell. Or maybe this is exactly what you deserve.

You whimper but you want to scream. This isn't fair. Is it?

You open your eyes in suck in another breath, wrapping your arms around yourself, feeling goosebumps on your too-thin arms.

Caswell had said you'd saved lives. He said you'd saved a lot of people.

You can't handle this now. You can't handle this!

You stand up and pull on a pair of jeans and a jacket quickly before yanking the door to your cabin open. You need to get out.


>Go talk to Dr Caswell, he can help
>Go talk to Ethan, he'll listen
>This is something you'd best deal with on your own-
>Write in

>>5124871
>>Go talk to Ethan, he'll listen

>>5124871
>This is something you'd best deal with on your own-
Being meguca, I mean, eva pilot is suffering, after all

>>5124871
>Go talk to Ethan, he'll listen
Welcome back and happy New Years

>>5124871
Welcome back!
>https://twitter.com/TimeKillerQM
forgetting something?

>>5124871
>This is something you'd best deal with on your own-
Better to not risk wandering the halls, running into a wayward crewman, and thinking about his equal on the Innovation.

Just diving right back into the thick of things, I see.
For what it's worth, Caswell is right; Evangelion is all about the cold calculous of survival. That doesn't make the fallout any easier to deal with, but at least you're alive to deal with it.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>Go talk to Ethan, he'll listen
>>5124943
>>5125120

>This is something you'd best deal with on your own
>>5124999
>>5125531

>>5125120
>Welcome back and happy New Years
>>5125531
>Welcome back!

Good to be back!

>Twitter
Fixed, thanks

>Ethan 1
>On own 2

Rolling and writing

"Fuck." You close the cabin door behind you.

A passing sailor gives you an odd look but you turn away without acknowledging him. You shove your hands in your pockets and start walking. Despite the night, the ship never sleeps. A constant rotation of personnel keeps her running twenty four hours a day. In fact, here in the depths of the ship, with the lights burning it's impossible to tell night from day. Only the extreme fatigue in your body and the fogginess in your head remind you that you should be asleep.

Ethan will listen. More than anyone else he knows what you're going through, what you're feeling. He gets you as much as anyone can, he's seen your ugliest side and stuck around.

Sailors move aside as you pass without a word. They don't seem to know what to make of you, a mix of awe and fear. A teenage girl with the power of a god. Though they stare at you, you don't look back. They know. They have to know what you did., that you killed all those people. They hate you. They're afraid of you. Maybe you'll kill them next.

You bow your head lower so you won't look up at all, walking faster. You reach Ethan's cabin door a minute later and thump on it with a closed fist. You haven't thought about what you're going to say by the time he opens it, looking groggy. His eyes widen a little in surprise, as if you weren't who he expected.

"Korine, hey, what's up?"

"Not much," you say, stepping past him and into his room without an invitation. "Can't sleep I guess." His room is identical to yours in every way save for a different duffel bag of clothes beside his cot.

Ethan closes the door. "I didn't get a chance to talk to you after that fight. Sorry I wasn't there."

It wouldn't have made a difference. "No issue," you say, "I had to grow up some time."

Ethan doesn't respond. You don't look at him. You can't. Your head is racing, your thoughts a tangled mess. You see the drowned, screaming faces of dead men howling in icy darkness.

"Everything alright?" Ethan asks. "I mean I know that was a tough fight. I know it didn't go the way we wanted."


>Tell him everything about how you feel
>Keep your guard up but tell him you don't feel good about it
>Tell Ethan you're just bored. You want to forget about what you did
>Write in

>>5126579
>>Tell Ethan you're just bored. You want to forget about what you did
We just need to take our mind off of it.

>>5126579
>>Keep your guard up but tell him you don't feel good about it

>>5126579
>>Tell him everything about how you feel

>>5126579
>>Keep your guard up but tell him you don't feel good about it

>>5126579
>Tell him everything about how you feel

>>5126751
swapping to
>Keep your guard up but tell him you don't feel good about it

>Keep your guard up but tell him you don't feel good about it
>>5127396
>>5127081
>>5126757

Writing

"I-" you swallow back raging emotions and surging thoughts. "I just-" Nothing you want to say is going to sound right. You sit on Ethan's cot and shrug. "That's not really how I expected things to go is all, I guess." You still can't look at him.

He's silent a moment before sitting next to you. "You did everything you could, Korine. You did what you had to. There's nothing else anyone could have asked of you."

They could have asked you to keep them alive.

You shrug again.

Silence lapses.

"My first fight," Ethan says, "It was a lot like yours. It's easy for other people to tell you that you did everything you could, it's much harder to accept that I get it."

You finally look at him. His expression is open, earnest, caring in a way that makes you uncomfortable. You've never liked people taking care of you or looking down on you. If Ethan were anyone else you'd tell him to eat shit and die.

"My best friend- my only friend," he says. "She died that day. I did everything I could. I fought my hardest but . . ."

"You were afraid," you say.

He nods, not meeting your eyes. "Afraid . . . I was scared shitless. I'd spent my life training for a fight and when it finally came . . ." he trails off and looks at you. "We do what we can. They can't expect any more than that."


>They expect us to die for them. I can't do that.
>I wish I was more like you. You never seem scared.
>How much longer are we going to have to fight like this?
>Write in

>>5128207
>>I wish I was more like you. You never seem scared.

>>5128207
>How much longer are we going to have to fight like this?
Until you die, most likely. But if not for what we do, a lot more people would end up dead.

>>5128207
>>I wish I was more like you. You never seem scared.
>>How much longer are we going to have to fight like this?

>>5128207
>I wish I was more like you. You never seem scared.

>I wish I was more like you. You never seem scared.
>How much longer are we going to have to fight like this?

writing

You let out a dry, humorless laugh. "God. I wish I was more like you, Ethan."

"What? How?"

"You're like . . . none of this seems to get to you. You never seem scared."

"I am scared," Ethan says. "I just . . . I know I don't have a choice. It's kill or be killed. Fight or die."

"Maybe both," you say without thinking about it.

"Maybe" Ethan says. "But I'd rather die on my feet."

"I'd rather not die at all," you say.

Ethan is silent.

You follow his example until your thoughts wander back to the dead men in the Pacific. "I guess that's everyone."

"Most people don't have a choice, Korine," Ethan says. "The people around us, on these ships, in the city, they don't get a choice between fighting or dying. We're the only ones with that option. I know it feels like a curse but . . . in a way it's kind of a gift."

"A gift?" you can't believe he would call it that. "Are you serious?"

"Maybe not a gift," Ethan says, "But it's a freedom, right? People are going to die. Lots of people and none of them even have a chance to fight back."

You shake your head, unwilling to answer. You don't even want to think about it. You don't want to be here. You don't want to be a pilot. You don't want to live on a planet where you have to fight, kill, and die. Why did your life have to be like this?

"How much longer do you think we'll have to fight like this?" you ask. "When are things going to go back to normal?"

"I don't know," Ethan says. "But the sooner we kill all the Angels the sooner things can be normal again. Giving up isn't an option." He stares at the floor. "The only way out of this, is to go straight through."


The conviction he says it with is chilling, more chilling even than the uncertainty about your future. You could very well end up fighting until you die. Is that really a gift? Maybe not, but Ethan is right, it's better than the alternative.


>Hug Ethan
>Thanks for talking
>Change the topic to something less depressing
>Write in

>>5129714
>>Hug Ethan
>>Thanks for talking

>>5129714
>>Hug Ethan
>>Thanks for talking

>>5129714
>You don't want to be here. You don't want to be a pilot. You don't want to live on a planet where you have to fight, kill, and die.
If wishes were fishes...
Ethan is completely right. We are one of the rare breed that gets "fight" as a option.
"fight or die" is a hell of a lot better than just "die".

>>Thanks for talking
>>Change the topic to something less depressing

>Hug Ethan
>Thanks for talking

>writing

Before you know what you're doing, you're putting your arms around Ethan. A hug. How can something so awkward be so nice? You can't remember the last time you enjoyed a hug. Have you ever enjoyed a hug?

Ethan hugs you back after a moment of hesitation.

You break it before the weirdness has time to sink in. "Thanks," you say. "For talking with me I mean."

"We're a team," Ethan says. "We have to rely on each other or we don't have anyone. You can always count on me."

"And you can count on me," you say without thinking.

Ethan grins. "I know."

You grin back, for once at peace.

You are Doctor Roger Caswell and you're tired. The time differential between New Tampa and your current position with the UN Fleet in the Pacific, as well as the relative power differential between you and the leadership of Nerv means you have to make this remote conference out of a comfortable sleep schedule for you.

What's more surprising is that Dr. Womack looks more exhausted than you do, it's obvious even through the sometimes grainy holograph display of the remote conference room you sit in. The room is large, awash in darkness aside from the glowing projectors creating digital ghosts of Nerv's command staff.

Womack - filling your role as head of Science Division while you're away, Captain Holiday, looking even grumpier than she has lately, he father, Major Holiday, and the chief himself, Colonel Versetti, his face an inscrutable mask sealed with a polite smile.

"I hope things have been quiet while I've been gone," you say, putting on an exaggerated smile to try to conceal your own doubt and inner fatigue. You've been getting regular status reports so you know for sure that things have indeed been quiet.

"Simply the calm before the storm, doctor," Versetti says, folding his hands together. "We've been briefed about the losses to the United Nations naval assets we'd been provided."

"Exceptionally high losses," Holiday interjects, scowling.

"But well within acceptable parameters if it means we get an intact Angel," Versetti says.

You nod, a rig of cameras capturing your movement and beaming it up to a waiting satellite and relaying the signal back to New Tampa. "The losses were . . . unfortunate to say the least. We've left behind a patrol squadron and a hospital ship to finish search and rescue operations while the main fleet returns home. We'll cross over the Panama strait soon enough and deliver the embryo to New Tampa. Have the proper holding facilities been prepared?"

This time Rose answers. "Cleaned, reinforced and waiting. The nuclear failsafes were tested and confirmed operational. It's all up to your specifications, doctor. As safe as we can make it."

You nod, keeping your face blank. Rose has a mask up of her own. You wonder how she feels about this plan, how she really feels.

"What do you intend to do once we've secured it, doctor?" Versetti asks.

You look to Womack. "Did you read the operational brief I provided?"

Womack seems to startle. "I- . . . well no. I had . . . debugging activity that took up all my cycles."

You could scream. What a worthless wretch. Instead you smile. "That's too bad, I think you'd enjoy reading them. It's all very forward stuff! In short, once we're certain the Angel is secure and not in the process of quickening, we dissect it. Cut away flesh and armor, carve our way to the core carefully and methodically. It will take time to do it right, but the amount of tissue samples alone will be a staggering windfall! Add to that the ability to test a living Angel-"

"We're sure it will be a remarkable step forward," Versetti says, cutting you short. "The core?"

"Yes. well, once the core is out it's just a matter of reverse engineering it. That alone will probably occupy the whole division for . . . weeks? Months maybe. Who's to say! We're treading where no one has."

Versetti seems immune to your enthusiasm.

"What about installing the core direction into an Eva?" Major Holiday asks. "Viable?"

The suggestion is so shockingly irresponsible that you're momentarily dumbstruck as you consider how best to say that. "That would be a little premature I think. We really don't know what it's capable of or how an Eva would take it. Their biology is similar but not identical."

"And if it were identical?" Holiday asks.

You pause again. You've never shied away from hypotheticals before but this is a doozy. "Then . . . well theoretically it would be possible. We would need to be very delicate with that sort of operation. We're basically performing surgery on the world's most powerful bomb. A planet-killer if Second Impact is any indication."

Your threats don't phase him.

"There's something else, doctor," Versetti says. "A question that's been nagging me since the last battle here in New Tampa."

"What's that, sir?"

"I've read your debrief of Skobeleva, you don't have a satisfactory explanation for her mental activity during her Eva's brief incapacitation." Although Versetti phrases it as a statement, you sense an unspoken question.

"Yes," you say, collecting your thoughts. "I was hesitant to put conjecture on an official report."

"Please, speculate doctor," Versetti says.

You hesitate before speaking. "Katya's mental activity is consistent with dream patterns, a low level of sleep, high REM activity."

"It put her to sleep?" Rose asks.

"I don't think so," you say. "I think . . ."

"You think it was trying to communicate with her?" Holiday asks.

The elephant in the room. You don't have proof of it, really there's no reason to think it should even be possible and yet, the possibility remains. Are the Angels thinking beings?

"I'm afraid I can't say with certainty," you say, hedging your bets. "But . . . it's not outside the realm of possibility."

"If you're saying Angels have intelligence, doctor, that would be potentially disastrous," Versetti says. "Our technology and our ability to plan and coordinate is the only advantage we have over the Angels. If the Angels are able to communicate intelligently then maybe they can wage war with intelligence as well."

That's not even touching on the ethical implications. If the Angels were more people than pests, maybe they could be reasoned with, negotiated with.


>We should pursue attempts to communicate with the Angels
>Intelligent or not, we have to focus all our efforts on destroying them as quickly as we can
>write in

>>5130966
>>We should pursue attempts to communicate with the Angels

>>5130966
>>We should pursue attempts to communicate with the Angels
Let's try something novel and see where *this* goes.

>>5130958
>Panama strait
Huh.

>The nuclear failsafes were tested and confirmed operational.
How do you test a nuke failsafe without, ya know, exploding it?

>>5130966
>Intelligent or not, we have to focus all our efforts on destroying them as quickly as we can
We're already on the knifes edge trying to kill them as soon as they pop up. If we start diverting resources and /hesitating/ in an attempt to try and talk to something that's never tried to talk, only kill, we could very easily lose those war.

>>5130966
>We should pursue attempts to communicate with the Angels

File: not_dr_womack.png (273 KB, 447x351)

273 KB PNG

>>5130966
>write in
So far the individual angels have been varied in terms of their capabilities. Consider the amount of energy one angel can produce and utilize. If one individual has the structure to utilize as much computational power as possible... What I'm saying, it could be the smartest living computer and we wouldn't know it's there until Dr. Womack points it out. That could very well end up outside of my area of expertise.

>We should pursue attempts to communicate with the Angels
>>5130976
>>5131013
>>5131728

writing

>>5131519
>How do you test a nuke failsafe without, ya know, exploding it?
The same way you test a condom. Electronically.

You weigh your thoughts a moment before speaking. You've never been a man of rash action. Every decision must be considered, calculated. "We have to look at each Angel individually," you say. "Their capabilities have been varied in the extreme. Consider the volume of energy one Angel can produce and control, if one individual has the structure to utilize as much computational power as possible-" you realize you're rambling and try again. "What I'm saying is that such an Angel could theoretically be a hyper-intelligent, living computer and we would never know it unless Dr. Womack got a chance to take a look at it." You flash Womack a friendly smile.

He stares blankly back.

You clear your throat and proceed. "That sort of thing is well outside of my area of expertise, but I think that would go for just about anyone alive. It's uncharted territory like so much of what the Angels do and are."

"Your recommendation, doctor?" Holiday prompts.

You pause in thought again. "It's an avenue we can't simply ignore. If for nothing else we have to know if the Angels are capable of it."

"Then you advocate attempting to communicate with them?" Rose said, her disgust only thinly veiled.

You remain firm in your convictions. "I do. The best way to combat the unknown is . . . to make it known."

"And how do you propose we go about this, doctor?" Versetti asks.

"I don't think the Angels have a mailing address," Major Holiday adds.

"It would have to be workshopped," you say. "The science division would have to come up with methodologies and-" you're rambling again. "There are two basic options as I see it. We can attempt communication in the field through assorted means-"

"You can't be serious," Holiday blurts. "Field experiments? Doctor, these things are monsters. We can't exactly wander up to them waving goddam semaphore flags."

"I agree," you say coolly. "And it wouldn't be without its risks. But my team might be able to come up with a method of communication, at least an attempt. A basic test of intelligence. That would rely on us locating a prime subject for this test and making a plan on the fly."

"What's your second option, doctor?" Versetti asks.

"A contact experiment in controlled conditions."

"The captive Angel," Rose says.

You nod. "Exactly. We have the perfect subject, already in our possession and already subdued. We can organize a controlled contact experiment. It's possible an Angel has already made contact with Katya via her Eva. We could arrange such a thing again but under our conditions with minimal risk to the pilot and facility."

"Minimal," Major Holiday repeats. "I'll remind you, doctor, that you're gambling with the lives of everyone. Everyone."

"God doesn't play dice," you say. "And neither do I. A controlled contact experiment is without a doubt the easiest option. We would have everything we need on hand to terminate the Angel should the need arise. There would be only one variable, and that would be what the Angel has to say. If anything."

"What's your preference, doctor?" Versetti asks.

A field experiment would minimize the risk to HQ but also reduce the likelihood of successful communication. Not to mention it could complicate any existing extermination mission.

The contact experiment would be simple to arrange but it would put your pilots into an untested situation.

>The field experiment
>The contact experiment
>Write in

>>5136825
>>The contact experiment

>>5131519
>How do you test a nuke failsafe without, ya know, exploding it?
"This installation has a successful utilization record of 1.2 trillion simulated and one actual. It is ready to fire on demand."
— 2401 Penitent Tangent
>>5136825
>The contact experiment
SCIENCE!
Also trauma.

>>5136825
>>The field experiment
I'd be worried about trying to discern intelligence for what may amount to an infant; A mature subject would be much more likely to display intelligent thought in some capacity, if there is any to be seen.

>>5136825
>The contact experiment
Close range it is.

>>5136825
>>The contact experiment

>The contact experiment
Writing

"The contact experiment has our best chance of procuring useful information with minimal risk. There may be a challenge in the event of this Angel possessing limited cognitive ability either given it's dormant state or it's relative age. It may amount to an infant of their kind. A mature subject could be more likely to display intelligent thought in some capacity, though that would come with greater risk."

Everyone stares at you.

"We will proceed with the contact experiment. In the event our results are disappointing, we can revisit the idea of a field experiment. Doctor Womack, Captain Holiday, would the two of you be able to coordinate with my team on implementation? I can draft design notes for what I have in mind."

"Of course, doctor," Rose says.

Womack nods absently.

"If you feel this will grant useful data then we'll support you, doctor," Major Holiday says, "but security and extermination are our two top priorities."

"I wouldn't think of interfering with that," you say, "this mission is informational. You could look at it like reconnaissance of the enemy if that puts it in better perspective."

Major Holiday only scowls back.

You clear your throat again. "The key to the contact experiment will be an Angel-human interface. We already have a similar arrangement with the Evangelion entry plug system. I would want to look into creating a similar interface with the Angel. Maybe not quite as absolute. We would need a pilot to make the connection."

"Who would you use?" Rose asks.

Truthfully, it's guesswork. Katya has potentially done this before, the only one that you're aware of. She would make an obvious candidate. Ethan would be another possibility given his general resiliency and stable sync ratios. You'd prefer not to use Korine because of her own emotional health problems, and Renton . . . well after the incident with that ship you're not sure you'd want to rely on him for something this delicate.


>Ethan
>Katya

>>5138165
>>Katya

>>5138165
>>Katya
It'll be fiiiiine.

>>5138165
Frankly, risking any of the active and experienced and possibly slightly unstable pilots seems like a bad decision. Too many question marks, and too valuable a person at risk. Imagine how badly damaged the EVAs' fighting ability would be with a greenhorn; with each battle being tougher I don't know if a new blood would survive long enough to gain badly needed experience.

There are supposed to be tons of other candidates waiting in the wings, no? One of them would be far and away the safest option.

>>5138165
>Ethan
Pray that the 2s don't strike us down

>>5138435
>possibly
lol
lmao.

>>5138680
Oh I know; that was from their perspective. If they knew even a fraction of how badly cracked all the pilots are they'd be pulled from active duty faster than you could say "Massive liability".

>>5139208
I, for one, cannot wait for the inevitable 'accidental' fragging.

>Katya
>>5138228
>>5138305


writing

"Ideally? Someone new. Specially trained for this position. A fresh piloting candidate perhaps."

Versetti shakes his head. "I'm afraid that's not possible. We'll operate from the candidates we have available."

You cock your head in confusion. "I'm sorry but . . . why isn't that possible? The risk to the pilot's psyche isn't insignificant and-"

Major Holiday cuts you short. "You have your parameters, doctor. Who is your preferred candidate?"

You bite off your next words. "Katya," you say. "She's shown it's theoretically possible already. Best we stick to that trend."

Even if she doesn't want to admit it or discuss it, you think to yourself.

"We'll start preparing right away," Rose says.

"We should be back home in a matter of days," you say. "We're looking forward to it."

"As we are to you, doctor," Versetti says. "Safe travels." His hologram flashes off.

"Deliver the Angel safely to us," Major Holiday says before vanishing as well.

Womack goes wordlessly.

You share a moment with Rose, the two of you alone and silent, your eyes on hers. Then she's gone, leaving you alone in the empty conference room.

"Like we have any alternative," you say to yourself.

You are Katya Skobeleva.

You stare unblinkingly at the flashing monitor, heedless of the activity around you in this dimly-lit arcade. The flash of digital explosions light your face alternately azure and gold. With deft hand movements, you move the control ball on the arcade cabinet's front, targeting thermonuclear missiles on descending Angels approaching the earth's surface.

The missiles streak up from virtual launchers to detonate in strobing fireballs that consume the pixelated angels. Your efforts are rewarded with bit-crushed angelic screams and the roar of cleansing flame.

Each press of your launch button depletes a warhead from your stockpile, each missed Angel means another destroyed city. Already the edge of the screen is littered with the blackened skeletons of lost cities, cold reminders of your limited ability and limited scope.

Another fresh wave of Angels comes, appearing along the top of the screen and descending rapidly. You target and launch over and over with near mechanical efficiency. Not feeling. Not thinking. You act only on instinct.

It's not enough. But it never is.

Your last city goes up in a crimson pillar of fire.

GAME OVER

You frown slightly and stare at the high score screen as it scrolls by, a list of unfamiliar acronyms and juvenile humor. You dutifully enter your name near the top.

KAT

The game reverts back to its attack loop, promising action, danger, and carnage. It's pretty tasteless but you don't really mind. Or more accurately, you don't care.


You lift your Nerv ID and swipe it again in the credit card reader, a fresh 100 credits appear for you and the game resumes.

You've been at this for hours, going from game to game in this cavernous arcade, playing each one until your thumbs are sore and your eyes feel like they'll bleed.

Ethan and Korine are still gone on their mission. They've been gone for over a week and you've been alone with your thoughts since that time. You'd been avoiding them before they left. You'd been avoiding everyone. You keep seeing yourself.

Whenever you close your eyes you see yourself as you were in your vision of the hospital. Cold, cruel, merciless. So unlike the person you wanted to be.

A wasted life

My life doesn't matter

"Stop." You released the game controls to cover your ears as if that can keep this inner voice out. "Enough."

It's not enough. It's the truth even if you hide from it. Your life has no value. There are a dozen others just like you. Other pilots with the same abilities and the same commitment.

You seize the game controls again and redouble your efforts to save the earth. In your haste, missiles overshoot, angels get through even quicker, cities go up in flames.

GAME OVER

You turn away from the cabinet in frustration.

>Go for a long walk
>Return to your apartment
>Go to Nerv HQ for practice
>write in

>>5140139
>Go to Nerv HQ for practice
Shooting guns is good stress relief.

>>5140139
>>Go for a long walk

>>5140139
>>Go to Nerv HQ for practice

>>5140136
>"I'm afraid that's not possible. We'll operate from the candidates we have available."
I can't say I didn't expect this. But it's still a baffling choice.

>>5140139
>Missile Command with angels
Ok, that's a pretty neat trick. I dunno if a game about the futility of defense is a good choice mentally for an EVA pilot to play though, considering.

>Go to Nerv HQ for practice
If playing games won't get our mind off things, maybe we can made ourselves too tired to think.

No update today guys, real life caught me. We'll pick up tomorrow

>Go to Nerv HQ for practice
>>5140158
>>5140170
>>5140560

Writing

The metro car you ride to Nerv is entirely deserted. It's late and beyond a skeleton watch crew, things at Nerv are quiet. Debarking the train, you swipe your ID at the appropriate security checkpoints until you're into the secured area proper.

You change out of your street clothes and into your plugsuit. A press of a button seals the material against your skin. You remove your headband last, staring at it a moment before you lock it away with the rest of your clothes. Childish.

The simulator room is empty but you board a simulated entry plug and start it up. Combat data has been collated by the technical branch and compiled into playable scenarios, ways of combating prior Angels. You've made a point of engaging every one as the data gets entered into the system, both Angels you'd faced in reality, and ones you hadn't.

All but one.

You scroll down the list and highlight the name.

File: TenAgain.jpg (64 KB, 681x528)

64 KB JPG

Xiziel. An Angelic name. An alien name. The name of an enemy.

Silly little girl.

You set your jaw and select the scenario. The simulator flashes with pure light and flickers back to darkness before the program loads. You are in your Eva again, staring out across New Tampa's wide, glassy avenues at the Angel - Xiziel.

Your mistake last time had been taking the positron rifle. This time you adjust the simulation and equip yourself with a faster firing assault rifle.

The program begins.

The Angel floats serenely before you, an elongated spark of light.

You shoulder the weapon and dump the magazine immediately. Muzzle flash ignites palm trees on a nearby rooftop terrace. Windows explode from the back blast and glass rains down around you. You fire until the weapon is empty.

The Angel is unharmed. Its AT field tanked every hit. You hadn't gotten close enough.

A lance of light lashes out punches through your AT field and kills you.

"Cyka." You adjust parameters and restart the simulation, this time you wield two assault rifles. The second the Angel unfreezes you duck under a scything energy attack that levels the high rises behind you. You sprint slow, circling the Angel, avoiding its lashing energy attacks. You get closer. Closer.

In rage, you dive through a skyscraper, steel beams buckling and warping as you shoulder through them, plowing a path directly to the Angel. The rifles come up and you squeeze the trigger.

Weapons fire rips through the apartment buildings opposite you which crumble into columns of smoke. The Angel isn't there.

It reappears behind you. Your HUD flashes warnings about your AT field collapsing.

"No." You restart the simulation.

You need more firepower at range. Impact rifle.

The program starts.

Your shells smash against the Angel's AT field harmlessly, shrapnel scattering off in all directions. A blast of searing light cooks your Eva from within.

You restart the program. Positron rifle this time, like the first time you faced it. You're breathing hard, the crosshairs on your rifle won't track the Angel quick enough. Your Eva's movements are cumbersome rather than graceful, you can't keep up.

You are a waste.

Your shot misses, incinerating cement, steel, and glass. You swear under your breath again. Your hands are trembling as you try to line up your second shot.

Again the Angel teleports to safety only to reappear for a killing blow.

You are a waste.

You stab the reset button.

You are a waste.

GAME OVER

You stab the reset button.

File: GameOver.jpg (63 KB, 418x372)

63 KB JPG

It kills you.

You stab the reset button.

Your life doesn't matter

It kills you.

You stab the reset button.
You stab the reset button.
You stab the reset button.


Nothing happens. You stop and stare at the screen. A small message appears.

Warning. Low sync ratio. Please check neural connections.

You swear under your breath. You are alone. There's no one here to hear you. You swear again but louder. Nothing happens.

You scream at the top of your lungs the foulest obscenities you can concur. You slam your hands down on the controls so hard that your palms ache. This little burst of rage saps your energy. You feel empty. You feel like . . .

A waste.

You pull your legs to your chest, put your face against your knees and cry.

You are Max Goldberg and the morning briefing at Nerv feels downright abandoned. With so many key personnel away on the Pacific expedition, it feels like the team has been gutted. Rose especially seems distracted, downright miserable almost as she goes through the latest data.

"No outstanding contacts globally or locally, no trouble reported with the Pacific fleet. It looks like it's going to be a quiet day." She says the words and looks up at the gathered staff, eyes tired. "We'll be conducting routine monitoring and maintaining standard readiness. Katya is our alert pilot and Renton is on standby. Questions?"

There are none.

"Great."

The meeting concludes and everyone gathers their assembled notes and files out of the room.

Things are bad. You don't have to be particularly observant to feel that. Something vital has started to come undone. You've been telling yourself it's just stress and fatigue from a high operational tempo. But is it? Is it something more?

Rose remains, closing down her laptop and shutting off the briefing presentation. You get up and walk over. "How are you holding up so short-staffed?" you ask.

She seems startled by your presence. "I make do," she says at last with a tight smile. "Things are harder without-" she hesitates "Without the others. How are you?"

You smile back blandly. "Here."

"Right"

"Something bothering you, Rose?" you ask. "I mean, besides the obvious."

She hesitates again. "Max, be honest, have you been snooping around Nerv?"

"No?" you say.

She stares back at you.

"No," you say more firmly. "No, I haven't." You made a promise to yourself that you were going to get to the bottom of what happened to Sayid but so far you haven't had the first idea where to look.

"Max I-" Rose glances over your shoulder. "Someone has been digging in where they shouldn't."

"What do you mean?"

"I've only just heard from NervSec. They've confirmed with the technical branch that classified data on the Magi data servers has been accessed. Whoever did it scrubbed the logs so we can't be sure who it was, or when, but . . . I think we're dealing with a spy."

A spy. "Another one?" you ask sardonically. It's an open secret now that Sayid was some sort of spy, likely why Nerv had her killed.

Rose glares. "My trust has its limits, Max. And to be honest with you, you're at the top of my list for suspects."
>I'm not going to rock the boat. I'm just here to do my job.
>If we've got a spy problem, it makes you think Nerv has something worth hiding, doesn't it?
>Come on, Rose. If you can't trust me then who the fuck can you trust?
>Write in

>>5142709
>>I'm not going to rock the boat. I'm just here to do my job.

>>5142709
>Katya is our alert pilot and Renton is on standby.
It's good to see they haven't slacked on having alert pilots ready, even with the reduced staff. Sucks for the pilots, but we've been caught with our pants down too many times to give up the practice.

>I'm not going to rock the boat. I'm just here to do my job.
People (and organizations) snoop around all the time; doesn't mean they're looking for anything in particular, or that there's anything to find.
It seems likely that whoever sent Sayid has followed up with a replacement when they discovered she vanished.

>>5142709
>>I'm not going to rock the boat. I'm just here to do my job.

>>5142709
>I'm not going to rock the boat. I'm just here to do my job.

>>5142709
>Come on, Rose. If you can't trust me then who the fuck can you trust?

>I'm not going to rock the boat. I'm just here to do my job.

Writing

You hold up your hands defensively. "Whoa, look, I'm not going to rock the boat. I made a commitment, I'm here to do what I can."

Rose looks uncertain for a moment, staring back at you before she shakes her head slightly. "Nothing feels the same. Everything's . . . "

"I know," you say. "I know."

Rose sighs. "I've got NervSec breathing down my neck about this, I've got to coordinate with Womack on this contact experiment, and I've got two pilots, one with a declining sync ratio, the other . . ." she seems to realize that you're closer to Renton than she is and draws herself short. "It's a mess."

"We've been through worse," you say. "We'll ge through this."

"You're right," she says, not sounding sure of it. "Roger requested we bring in more pilots for the contact experiment."

"Great idea," you agree.

"Command shut it down."

"Why?"

Rose shrugs her shoulders. "It's . . . something outside of my pay grade I guess."

Anything over Rose's head was well over yours, but you can't help but note how odd that is. "They didn't give a reason?'

Rose gives you a look, "I suggest you not look into it any further."

"More secrets?"

Rose doesn't answer, staring at her desk. "I don't know."

"Things will get better once Dr. Caswell and the others get back," you say.

"Thanks, Max. I'd better get to it. Nice chatting."

"Likewise."

Rose finishes gathering her things leaving you alone in the briefing room. You take out and light a cigarette before snapping your lighter closed and dropping it back into your shirt pocket. You stare at the doorway Rose left through as you smoke. No new pilots? You shake your head and leave.

"Goldberg."

You stop. Just outside the doorway you're surprised to see Yezhov. He looks almost as terrible as you. Dark circles have formed under his eyes and it looks like he hasn't been sleeping well. "Been a while."

Come to think of it, you haven't seen much of his lately, though that wasn't exactly a problem for you, Yezhov wasn't the easiest to get along with.

"Sure," you say. "Everyone's keeping busy I guess."

"That is true." Yezhov straightens up from where he was leaning on the wall. "I'm thirsty. Let us grab a drink. I'll buy."

You have never once hung out with Yezhov or even wanted to for that matter. This wasn't helping your sense that things were off here.


>Sure, sounds good
>Sorry man, I've got to check in with Renton
>What's the occasion? Why so friendly all of a sudden?
>Write in

>>5146902
>>Sure, sounds good

>>5146902
>Rose gives you a look, "I suggest you not look into it any further."
...I'm starting to wonder if there aren't actually any other pilots in the pipe, or that there are only a few, and they're crap. By all rights, Renton should have been pulled from active duty (they have internal comms logs, they know what he did), and a powerful backer should have been able to pull enough strings to get Katya removed.

But neither of those things happened. And now they're willing to risk extremely valuable blooded pilots in excessively dangerous longshot experiments, instead of pulling from the supposedly large reserve group.

>Sure, sounds good
It seems fairly likely he wants to ask us for a favor, but what the hell. Poor Max has been abused plenty so far, what's a little more for a dead man walking? And maybe, just maybe, Yezhov isn't a complete tool and is trying to mend some fences.

>>5146902
>>Sure, sounds good

>>5146902
>Sure, sounds good

>Sure, sounds good

Writing

You're curious where he's taking this. "Sure, sounds good man."

You hardly speak as you leave the secure section of Nerv and arrive at the dining facilities. More food court than cafeteria, the ceiling is dotted with artificial skylights to stave off the claustrophobia brought about by being so deep underground. You each grab a meal and take a seat at an empty table.

"Not first choice for a drink," Yezhov says, sipping on a soda. "But I think we make do."

"Not much choice on duty," you agree.

Yezhov smiles at you. It feels genuine, but it doesn't look any less predatory than normal. "The situation with Renton," he says.

You tense.

"A shame."

You don't want to tip your hand too much about your feelings on it. "A lot of people died," you agree.

"A hard thing to live with," Yezhov said. "I was a young man during the impact. About Renton's Age. I saw a lot of things I wish I did not. I did a lot of things I wish I did not. I was a soldier you see."

"A soldier?"

"For Russia," he says, "When that still mattered. It was not my choice. There was a draft and I was too poor to avoid." He chuckles. "A messy situation. A lot of dead people."

You nod and eat a few fries. Your stomach doesn't agree with you so it's mostly just for show, trying to appear nonchalant.

"You were just a boy when it happened, yes?"

"That's right," you say, thinking of ash falling like snow. "I was just a kid."

"No better motivation I think."

"How's that?"

"To protect the world," Yezhov says. "No better motivation than see it fall to shit, yes?"

You snort. "Makes you appreciate what you've got I guess."

Yezhov grins wider. "It makes us hold tight to what we have. Reach for what we want. Makes dangerous men more dangerous I think." He lapses to silence and the two of you eat for a bit.

"How's Katya doing?" you ask.

Yezhov seems surprised you asked. "Ah. Llittle Skobeleva. Fine. She is tough girl. She take setback harder than most I think because her upbringing. So eh-" he searches for the word. "Spoiled."

"Spoiled?"

He nods. "A rich girl." He shrugs. "A good pilot. Not my business"

From what little you know of Katya, "spoiled" isn't how you would describe her. "Are you two close?" you ask.

"Close?" he seems confused. "No. Is job. Nothing personal. Just professional."

Now that seems to fit Yezhov's character. You've always suspected that he was personally appointed to this task by Katya's well-connected father. He's underqualified to work at Nerv, that's for sure.

"You worry about these attacks?" he asks, chomping down on a burger.

"We've fought them off each time they show up," you say. "A couple close calls, but I don't think there's an Angel made who the Evas can't handle."

Yezhov shakes his head. "No no. The people. The kidnapping. The ones who attacked Chandler and Mbaru. You worry about them?"

You'd almost forgotten about them with all the events that have occurred lately. A group of armed men had tried to kidnap Ethan at gunpoint and failed. Strangely they were at least partially composed of ex-Nerv employees.

"No," you say. "Renton is safe with his family. It's well secured. Plus NervSec keeps an eye on things."

Yezhov laughs. "NervSec? What a joke. Better off with no security I think."

It's hard to argue with him on that.

"Who are they do you think? Yezhov asks, putting his burger down. "These men who go after Ethan. What do they want?"

>I wish I knew
>Write in

>>5147869
>>Write in
Disgruntled ex employees, backed by an unknown organization that supplied them with hardware. But, thats pure speculation.

>>5147884
>>5147869
Good enough for me.

>>5147867
>From what little you know of Katya, "spoiled" isn't how you would describe her.
He's obviously wrong about her, but if you squint you can kinda see how he could reach that conclusion. Take the quiet and shyness as arrogance or dismissiveness, take the video games as ignoring of the world (a privilege of the rich in this world), take the cat ears as a childish quirk (as opposed to the much more bleak and hardened nature of everyone else).

>>5147869
>You'd almost forgotten about them with all the events that have occurred lately.
He's not the only one. I'd completely forgotten about that.

>Write in
It's hard to say, really. The pilots are incredibly valuable; it's possible they just wanted a massive payout. Doesn't feel right to me, but that's the simplest solution. Possibly as leverage for some other end, like dedicated EVAs for under-defended areas.
Could be something dumb like internal NERV politics, someone wanting to publicly embarrass NervSec, or as an internal test of security.
Could even be something exotic like an Angel mind controlling people to attack by proxy.

>>5147869
>Write in
Whoever they were, they failed to execute what should be a fairly simple plan. Thinking too hard about what fools were up doesn't pay off.

>Writing

"It's hard to say," you say. "The pilots are incredibly valuable. Objectively speaking, they're probably one of the most valuable things on the planet. It's possible that these guys were disgruntled ex-employees, backed by an unknown organization that supplied them with hardware who wanted a massive payout."

"You think so?" Yezhov says.

You shrug. "It doesn't feel right to me honestly. I'm just speculating. Maybe they're political idealists who want the pilots as leverage for some other end, like dedicated EVAs for under-defended areas. It could be something dumb like internal NERV politics, someone wanting to publicly embarrass NervSec, or as an internal test of security."

Yezhov nods and munches his burger as he listens.

"It could even be something exotic like an Angel mind controlling people to attack by proxy."

Yezhov stops eating. "An Angel?" he asks.

"Probably not," you say, "But that's really a question for Dr. Caswell. I'm an amateur. He's the professional."

Yezhov chuckles. "The professional amateur. No one understand Angels. Caswell does better pretending than most. Is all a guessing game."

You're not sure you'd got that far in your assessment of Dr. Caswell, but you understand the sentiment. "Whoever they were, they failed to execute what should be a fairly simple plan. Thinking too hard about what fools were up doesn't pay off."

"Fools you think?" Yezhov seems amused "Maybe you and I do better, hm?"

"Maybe," you say with a forced smile. "Hard to do worse than failure."

Yezhov laughs. "This is true. A low bar you say." He laughs again. "Not worth a worry I guess. Though it makes me wonder what is worth the risk to them. I wonder what Sayid would think of this." He sips his drink and continues eating but you're left momentarily surprised.

Why would Yezhov bring up Sayid? He wasn't any closer to her than he was to you. Is he trying to build camaraderie with you? Trying to get a rise out of you?

"No telling," you say, covering your surprise.

Yezhov finishes eating and stands. "A good talk. Let us do it again soon. Drinks. Hard drinks maybe. I think we have a lot to talk about."

You can only nod. "Sure. Drinks sounds good still."

"Do svidaniya, Max. See you later."

"Later."

Yezhov leaves, leaving you with more questions than answers.

You are Katya Skobeleva and you are in the Eva cage. Your Evangelion, Corvus, stares blankly down at you. Its armor is pristine white, trimmed in shining gold. It's ostentatious. Gaudy. But it is also your own.

You don't speak for a while as you stare up into its armored face. Evangelions don't think. They don't even react. They are inanimate objects. Puppets motorized by technology and human will. The power of the Angels in a bottle.

"You can be replaced," you say to the Eva, speaking Russian. "You are a machine."

Corvus says nothing of course. But you sense that if it could speak it would reply and tell you the same.

You look away from the Eva. You'd spent hours last night in the simulator. You didn't sleep. You ran the scenario again and again and again. The result was always the same. You died. Your sync ratio remained low throughout, no matter what you did. You found that you couldn't focus. You still see yourself as you were in your vision when you close your eyes. A sneering mask of cruelty. Steel-cold eyes and rivers of blood and oil at your feet. The lost child of a dying family.

"Fail or not," you say to your Eva. "We have a job to do. We are not finished. Understand?"

The Eva says nothing.

"We are not finished until we are dead."

A red light flashes to life over the entryway, followed by an automated announcement on the PA system. "Attention. All personnel report to duty stations. This is not a drill. All personnel to duty stations. Pilots to alert condition. Repeat-'

You listen to the message twice without moving, only watching the red light flashing rhythmically. Your skin goes cold. "An Angel?"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jJQTWuVlp08

You are Captain Rose Holiday and you arrive at the combat bridge in a jog. "Status report?"

The skeleton monitoring crew is quickly being replaced by personnel reporting to their stations in a hurry.

"USS Nauls reported an unidentified radar contact approaching New Tampa before going silent, ma'am."

"Silent?" You repeat.

The controller nods. "All radio transmissions ceased from Nauls minutes after their report. We've had no contact with them since."

"Destroyed?"

The controller shakes their head. "No, ma'am. The ship registered on radar along with the approaching object. There's no indication of an explosion."

You note Max and Yezhov arrive and take their stations and get to work. Max keys through reams of data quickly. "The Magi have confirmed the presence of an AT field, captain."

"Blood pattern?"

He hesitates and then shakes his head. "Can't confirm. It's a configuration we've not seen before."

"Something new, then," you say, turning to look at the large map of New Tampa displayed with the approaching marker for the Angel. A flashing triangle icon is moving steadily closer to the city. "What's the ETA?"

"Thirty minutes to arrival, ma'am."

"We've got an autonomous recon drone approaching the target," Max says, reading his monitor. Patching in video feed now."

File: Disruption.jpg (1.55 MB, 2002x1562)

1.55 MB JPG

The main screen toggles from a digital map to a swirling mass of static and rainbow distortion, shimmering and warbling. The computer flashes the "SIGNAL LOST" warning over the image.

"It took out the drone?" you ask.

Max looks bewildered. "Negative, drone is still holding orbit over the target." He consults the radar feed again. "It's flying ma'am."

"Jamming the signal then."

"Signal is clear just . . . distorted."

You fold your arms and think. "What does Science Division have for us?"

Within minutes the relevant data has been fed to your sister division. Dr. Womack resolves on the main monitor, squinty through dirty glasses. "It doesn't match any previously seen AT field configuration," he says, reading a printout.

"We're aware of that much, doctor. What does it mean?"

He shakes his head subtly as he reads, clearly at a loss. "It . . . may be tampering with electronic signals? Interfering with the radio waves perhaps."

"Jamming us," you suggest.

"Maybe."

Helpful. "ETA?"

"Object is twenty minutes out and closing still," Yezhov says.

All eyes are on you.


>Write in

>>5149703
Jamming or something similar or something worse: takeover.

>Write in
>Sound the city-wide alert

>Get manned scouts out air, or sea. They are to operate under the assumption they won't have radio comms.
Have them try to pair up, with one unit acting as a relay (optical signalling?) for the other unit. Alternatively, have them dip into the 'shrouded' area, before returning outside the bubble to report conventionally. Other such experimenting or existing 'no radio' protocols are to be used as local commanders deem necessary.
I'm sure there are allow sorts of these protocols floating around, from back when the worry would have been satellites being taken down.

>Get the sensor/science guys out in force; we need to understand exactly what's happening to prevent signals, what signals do/don't get through (seems like satellite may still work?), the range of the effect, and potential workarounds.
Have them work with the aforementioned scouts as available.

>Get the alert EVA launched, with the other following as they can
>Realize if the jamming can't be sorted out before the EVAs have to engage, there's a real risk of comminuates interruption between the EVAs and the EVA HQ controllers. Especially if the tether gets removed.
Do the EVAs have a backup "pilot only" operations mode? I hope so.

>Get the usual conventional assets spun up (bombers, etc).
Make sure they're aware of the potential issues with some communication types.

>Check state of returning fleet with the other EVAs
I assume they're still a long ways off, but the last thing we need is them blithely sailing into this mess.

I feel like there's more to do, but without more info...

>>5149795
+1
We should also implement EMP countermeasures.

>>5149795
This. let's keep our bases covered.

>>5149795
In with this guy, he seems to know where his towel is.

>>5149795
>Do the EVAs have a backup "pilot only" operations mode?
The Evas can operate independently of any command structure if necessary. All that they really need is power, and even then they have battery for a few minutes.

>>5149795
Writing

"Issue emergency evacuation protocols to the city. Get the civilian population to shelters while we've got time." As the controller you addressed relays the command, you turn to Womack's image. "Could it be manipulating electrical fields? We've seen Angels do that before. Maybe some kind of EMP is interfering with the signals."

Womack shrugs again. "Could be. Without more data there's . . . there's just really no telling."

You grit your teeth.

"Corvus reports ready status," Yezhov says.

"Launch her immediately. Where's Renton?"

"On the way," Max says, hanging up a phone. "He'll probably get caught up in evacuation traffic. Maybe twenty minutes."

Just as well, you still don't trust him. "When he arrives, have him get to his Eva and remain on standby."

Max looks like he's going to argue with you a moment before nodding.

You see Katya's Eva launch up through one of the elevator shafts, heading for the city surface on one of the surveillance cameras.

"Have Snelson put all available combat assets in the air. What about UN naval assets?"

"Aside from Nauls we don't have any in the area," ma'am. I've diverted the closest ships to the city.

"Any response from them yet?" You ask.

"We've gotten radio transmissions from them, but their status is unclear."

You blink, startled. "We're getting transmissions again? Are they scrambled?"

The controller listens to their headphones, looking confused. "No. No the transmission is clear but they can't . . ."

"Can't what?"

"They don't seem to know what the problem is, ma'am. They've moved command to the CIC but they've taken casualties."

"Casualties?"

The controller nods.

"How!?" you blurt.

He shakes his head, bewildered.

You resist the urge to swear. "We have to know what the fuck is happening out there. Tell Snelson to divert aerial reconnaissance teams. Manned. I want them to operate in pairs and approach the target in stages."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Within minutes, radar shows a pair of VTOL gunships approaching the Angel.

"Patch them in to the main screen," you say.

Max hits a toggle and the map of New Tampa resolves instead to a grainy and heavily distorted view of the sea. The image is shot through with jpeg artifacting and static, so much so that it's impossible to make out what is presumably the Angel in the center of the frame and growing larger. The large it gets, the worse the distortion becomes.

You gesture to have audio pipped in. "This is Captain Holiday, who am I speaking with?"


"Major Morris, ma'am," the pilot replies.

"Major, we're getting terrible signal quality. Can you visually identify the target?"

"Only through the long-range CCTV target identification suite. The image is broken up though, I can't make anything out."

"What about with your eyes?" you try again.

"Range is extreme. Wait one."

The VTOL begins closing on the target again, the distortion growing worse and worse until it fills the screen.

"I have visual, ma'am, it . . . it's a uh . . . the target is a white sort of . . . angular sphere . . . uh. No. It's a gray exterior . . . well it has colors but . . ."

You wait.

"Major Morris?"

No reply. "Major, respond."

Nothing.

You glance at max. "We still have him on radar.

"Signal jamming maybe," you say. "Have his wingman try to raise him on optical."

The backup communication method gets no response from Morris's craft which continues cruising toward the target. Minutes later you lose contact with Morris's wingman as well. Both recon craft no longer replying. Another minute later Morris's craft pitches into the ocean and vanishes off radar.

You grind your teeth all the harder. "Dr. Womack. Some answers from science division would be really good right about now."

"It's not signal interference," he says. "We're not picking up anywhere near the level of energy that sort of jamming would require. No EM interference at all."

"So it's not electrical?"

"No. I mean I don't think so."

"Captain," Max says. "Target is entering into extreme visual range for the city's CCTV network."

"Then patch it in," you say, frustration mounting.

The screen shows the same nonsensical distortion from earlier. The computer returns '"SIGNAL LOST". The story is the same across all the cameras which might be capable of viewing the Angel, though others within the city show no signs of trouble.

"Some kind of selective jamming perhaps," Womack muses. "Something new? I don't know."

"Corvus deployed to District 01. Weapons on site."

You glance at the monitor which shows Katya's Eva stepping from the elevator and seizing an assault rifle. Her Eva is deployed in a warehouse district behind the floodwall. Since the Angel is hovering it will presumably pass over the outer wall and into this area. It's a perfect area for Katya to set up an ambush at short range.

"Angel is ten minutes out."

"And still we don't know shit about it," you say.


>Katya will ambush the Angel when it passes
>Write in

>>5150708
>Katya will ambush the Angel when it passes

>>5150708
>Write in
Ambush, and then withdraw. Buy time until Renton is ready,

>>5150905
>>5150708

>>5150708
It's more like... conceptual interference? Mental, optical, electrical, whatever is in range of it? If it's influence reaches the city, there's going to be absolute pandemonium.

There's got to be a loophole somewhere, but I don't know if we have enough time or space to find it.
Have one of the conventional assets fire a missile with a camera onboard (tomahawk?) in a line, right through the interference. It'll likely lose contact during the trip, but if we're lucky it'll reconnect on the far side and we can take a look at anything it managed to capture. If this fails, oh well, it was worth a try.

>Katya will ambush the Angel when it passes

>Katya will ambush the Angel when it passes

Writing

"Can we target it with guided munitions? Something to get closer to whatever it is? Give us some kind of data?"

Max shakes his head. "UN air assets have launched a few over the horizon guided missiles at the target. Each hit but none of them returned any usable video pattern."

"Damn."

"Target is five minutes from the seawall."

No time left for games. "Katya, do you copy?"

"Corvus copy."

"We don't have any information on this Angel or what it's capable of. Because of that, I want you to exercise extreme caution. Engage it at range and fall back. Buy time until we can get you back up." Your reservations about deploying Renton are starting to fade away in the face of the unknown.

"Affirmative," Katya says. On the picture-in-picture window her face is blank as always, her eyes clear, her brow furrowed slightly in concentration.

You watch the radar marker of the Angel approaching closer and closer until it passes over the seawall.

"Maybe it . . . "

You look over at Womack's face on the monitor. "Doctor?"

He is lost and thought and shakes his head. "Maybe it's not EM distortion. Maybe it's some kind of conceptual interference."

"Speak plainly, doctor."

"What if it's not the machines that are failing?" he muses.

You are Katya Skobeleva and you're determined not to fail again. Fighting the Angels is your purpose. Without that you are nothing. You aren't going to run away, no matter what Rose says. This Angel dies here by your hand.

You maneuver your Eva carefully around a massive storage silo and advance slowly along a broad thoroughfare, assault rifle ready. A glance at your picture-in-picture display shows the hazy radar data being fed to you by Nerv command allowing you to trail the Angel's movement. It's making a straight line toward the center of the city and moving at a leisurely pace. Keeping up isn't an issue.

You double-check all your instruments. Data reads fine. No indication of radiation hazard, EM interference, or AT field spikes. You crouch down in ambush position, rifle ready. You're against the side of a large warehouse, kneeling amidst a dozen abandoned semi-trailers parked haphazardly where their drivers ditched them to flee for shelter.

The Angel is hardly a hundred meters away and approaching the intersection you have covered.

"Katya, do you copy?"

You hiss in irritation. "Corvus, go ahead."

"Dr. Womack theorizes that the Angel may be somehow interfering with signals outside of the signal itself. Be careful."

As if you weren't going to be.

"Copy." You snap the radio off. A hint of movement perks all your senses at once. Movement. A shadow passes between the buildings as the Angel moves toward the intersection. You can't help but watch it. It's . . . weird. The shadow looks solid at first as if the Angel were spherical or round, but on closer inspection, you see it actually looks like a fractal checkerboard. The squares of light and dark keep switching, overlapping, changing impossibly as if the Angel isn't a solid creature.

The shadow grows as the Angel approaches firing range and-

Horrible searing pain shoots through your head and you are blind.

You are Rose Holiday and Katya's piercing scream shatters the silence in Nerv command making you jump in fright. The scream comes at the exact moment her video feed scrambles into a blizzard of rainbow oblivion.

"Katya!?"

Corvus opens fire. You hear it over the audio link even as Katya screams.

"Direct attack on pilot's ego borderline!" Max shouts in alarm. "Harmonics are dropping fast!"

"Katya! Fall back immediately!" you order.

"Oh god," Womack says, wonderstruck. It's a basilisk."

"What?" you demand.

"A basilisk," he repeats, "A uh- a medusan weapon."

Video feed restores a moment later, you see Katya's Eva staggering away, fleeing from the Angel, trampling cargo trailers haphazardly. The view is marred by thick red. Blood. Eva blood. Status indicators show the Eva itself suffered some kind of reaction causing blood to well from its face, oozing through the armored mask.

"Pilot vitals stabilizing," Yezhov says.

"Harmonics are leveling out," Max adds, glancing at you. "That was close."

"What the hell does that mean, doctor!?" you practically spit the words at Womack.

"It's. . . the Angel's form or some application of its AT field must make it take a shape which somehow can't be observed or somehow otherwise disrupts our psycho-mental patterns- brain waves."

"It kills you to look at it," you repeat.

"Yes, I think so," Womack says. "Incredible."

"Can Katya just close her eyes?"

"Maybe so, but the Eva itself would still be affected. It is biological after all. We would need to blind it as well. Sever connections to the optic nerve. That may be enough."

You do not envy the idea of Katya fighting that Angel blind.

On the monitor, Katya has withdrawn to a safe distance, but the Angel has changed course and is pursuing her. You don't imagine fighting blind will be easy, but you're not sure if you have much choice.


>Sever the Eva's optical nerve and have Katya engage blind
>Write in

>>5151610
>>Write in
Brief Katya, then cut the nerv(e) (See what I did there?)

>>5151610
>>Sever the Eva's optical nerve and have Katya engage blind

>>5151610
>"Oh god," Womack says, wonderstruck. It's a basilisk."
Ah. That's...not good.

So the obvious solution here is dumb ballistic arc weapons; you don't need line of sight to drop arty or bombs on it's head, only a grid reference.
Unfortunately, it's already in the city, which means shelling/bombing will cause considerable collateral damage.

I wonder if we could get small radars for the EVAs, if they don't already have them. The terminal guidance radar for AT missiles are easily carryable by 1 guy; hell, EVAs are the size of skyscrapers, you could fit a full suite from any aircraft of your choice. They'd likely be fairly frail, but once you're taking damage you already know where the guy is.
Something for R&D to look into.

>>5151621
this, and
>Write in
>Check the status of bomber wings; get them on standby over the city
We'll take what we can get, but iron bombs should work just fine here.
This is a backstop option; if Katyla can't pull off blind fighting, we need a plan B.


Someone will need to appraise Renton of all this when he comes online.

>>5151966
This guy has some good ideas too.

>>5151966
sure lets do this

>>5151621
>>5151630
>>5151966

Writing

"What's the status of the bomber wing?"


"Holding station over New Tampa," Max replies.

"Make sure they stay out of visual range. In a pinch we can have them do bombing runs flying by instruments," You say.

"Right."

You toggle your comm system to patch into Katya's Eva. "Katya, it's Rose. The Angel has some kind of property that makes it impossible to observe directly. It's probably fatal for the naked eye. We're going to have to sever your optical nerve. You'll be fighting blind."

***

You are Katya Skobeleva and you feel like your mind was just on fire. You touch your hand to your face and your fingertips come away bloody. Blood ran in rivulets from your nose, over your lips, and down your chin, clouding the LCL red. You still feel dizzy, you've never experienced a pain like that before and you hope to never do it again.

"I copy," you say, wiping your face with a gloved hand. There's no choice. As scared as you are of fighting blind, you'd rather do that than the alternative.

"We'll patch the targeting data from your rifle into you directly. It will be imprecise but it should help with distance and object detection."

"Just do it," you say, trying not to let your fear show.

"Switching over," Max says.

Your monitors all go black, plunging you into darkness. A moment later a small frame appears displaying a distorted, false-color view of the world around you. It sways sickeningly as you move your Eva around, sweeping the weapon. Blocky shapes loom and lunge from the darkness, hard ground rolls way in a disorienting curve and the distance fades to black. The view of the onboard targeting information from your rifle is a poor substitute for your Eva's immaculate vision.

"No choice," you mutter, turning in a careful circle, sweeping the weapon slowly and trying to make sense of what you see.

Movement makes you freeze, a distorted sphere covered in rippling spikes and a rolling grid of shapes is moving rapidly toward you from ahead. The moment you fix the Angel with your targeting array, the array goes hazy, the Angel fading into a vague blob. It's almost on top of you.

***

Roll 1d6. I need 3 rolls total

Rolled 3 (1d6)

>>5156029

Rolled 3 (1d6)

>>5156029
A prayer?

Rolled 3 (1d6)

>>5156029

>>5156029
No audio gear? no 'ears'? Even if it's not piped into the pilot, I'd expect if an EVA has eyes, it'd have ears. Of course, most of the time it wouldn't be terribly useful, so it's possible it's just an oversight.

>>5156036
>>5156065
>>5156081
neat triple, but, uh, things aren't starting well.

>>5156601
Evas do have ears/audio, just not sophisticated enough to do any sort of echolocating. It doesn't help that this Angel can apparently move silently.


>3
>3
>3

Well it's not 2

Writing

You tense your body and leap to the side, but not fast enough. The display from your gun flickers badly and your Eva is thrown back, hit by an unseen force. Dull pain radiates from your right arm and you land with a jarring thud.

"Energy lance from the target. AT field at twenty percent integrity."

You sit up and shoulder the rifle, sweeping it to find the target, peering out at the world through a narrow, low-resolution window. There!

You sight and fire. The recoil of the gun vibrates your Eva and shells scatter across the Angel which vanishes behind a flat wall of an AT Field. Finishing a long burst, you scramble back to your feet, swaying drunkenly and stagger away, rounding a building as you fleet deeper into New Tampa's industrial district.

"Corvus withdrawing," Max says, "Target is pursuing."

You're breathing hard, palms sweating. You prefer to fight with finesse and speed, neither of which you can manage in your current state. Not to mention your rifle seemed to have a negligible impact on the Angel's AT field. Not enough firepower to breach easily, or you weren't close enough to neutralize its field or both.

You navigate awkwardly via the scope of your rifle, trampling cars, streetlights, and any other obstacles too low to be seen through your rifle. "Where the hell is Renton?" you mutter in Russian. It's humiliating to even think of relying on someone else when this is meant to be your job. Ethan has said you are part of a team, but what use is a teammate who can't handle themselves? If you can't defeat this Angel, and defeating Angels is your only purpose, then what good are you?
>Keep fleeing until help arrives. You don't have a chance of defeating this Angel on your own.
>Ambush the Angel at close range, attack blind with the knife. It's a gamble, but maybe your best chance of defeating it
>Play cat and mouse, harassing it with the rifle while trying to keep your distance
>Write in

>>5157234
>>Keep fleeing until help arrives. You don't have a chance of defeating this Angel on your own.
Probably our best bet.

>>5157234
>>Play cat and mouse, harassing it with the rifle while trying to keep your distance

>>5157218
Shame. Ah well, something else to add to the long list of "extended sensor suite" suggestions.

>>5157234
>>Ambush the Angel at close range, attack blind with the knife. It's a gamble, but maybe your best chance of defeating it
Fleeing is the safe options, but doesn't feel like something she's inclined to do right now. Cat and mouse is the smart play, except in that we can hardly see as it is, never mind making out enough detail to attempt any complex maneuvering.

Ambush is the high risk / high reward strat; it matches her mindset, and doesn't need complex maneuvering and tracking of the target.

Speaking of positions, could we pipe a map of the city into an aux display in the entry plug, with markers for us, last known position of the Angel, and anything else important? The positions can be manually updated if needed, or maybe one of the Magi can handle it.
It would help a fair bit with navigation and broader situational awareness.

>>5157234
>Keep fleeing until help arrives. You don't have a chance of defeating this Angel on your own.

>Keep fleeing until help arrives
>>5157248
>>5158128

Writing

You swear under your breath. You can't. You can't do this. Hot tears run down your face and you shake your head with impotent rage. "Corvus is withdrawing," you say.

There's a delay before you get a response. "Copy, Katya. Get clear. We'll launch Renton ASAP."

You swear again. Once again you failed. You hear your own voice taunting you.

You are a waste.

You can't bring yourself to argue with it.

***

You are Rose Holiday and you watch Katya's map marker withdrawing from the Angel. A part of you wants to order her to turn and fight no matter the cost, but you also know the pressure she's under and the difficulty of dealing with this particular enemy.

"Orion is ready to launch, captain," Yezhov says.

Renton appears on the command room screen. "Standing by for orders, captain. Just tell me when and where."

"Katya's in bad shape and falling back," you say, watching her sync ratio dipping to hover just above the activation limit. "The Angel has the ability to attack targets visually. You'll have to fight blind."

Renton puts on a show of being nonchalant. "What's one less sense? It won't be a problem."

"We're going to feed map data and positioning into your Eva to try to make up for the lack of visuals. It's not much but it should help with positioning. Otherwise, you'll need to use the viewfinder on the assault rifle."

"I copy," Renton says, stretching his neck. "Tell Katya help is coming. Orion launching."

The catapult activates and sends his Eva rocketing for the city surface.

"What's Katya's status?" you ask Max, coming to stand beside him and keeping your voice low.

"Physically? No damage. But . . ."

"But?"

He grimaces. "Her sync ratio is in the toilet, it fell after that initial exposure and it's only been getting worse."

"And it started low to begin with," you say, longing for a replacement pilot. It's hard to accept that your star pilot is now rapidly becoming a liability.

"Right," Max agrees. "Her mental state is all over the place. She's been shot ever since the last Angel.".

"I know," you say. "But can she fight?"

He shrugs. "Honestly? I don't know. Katya is unpredictable. Maybe with Renton there to back her up, she'll pull together but . . . maybe not."

You're in command at the end of the day. Only you can make the call.


>Have Renton attack to cover Katya's retreat. Then recover her Eva, she's in no condition to fight.
>Have both Evas link up and launch alternating attacks on the Angel
>Have the air wing attack the target to buy time for Katya to recover before any Eva's go in
>Write in

>>5158946
>>Write in
Have Renton attack to cover Katya's retreat, see if you can get Katya on a private line and try and give her a pep talk, girl to girl or something.

>>5158946
I'm waffling between Katya's determination to not be useless and Rose's desire to preserve assets.
Recovering her is not a good idea; even if she's in incredibly poor shape, she can still assist Renton one way or another. Especially as we've got no one else to send up.

What is Renton armed with?


>Have the air wing attack the target to buy time for Katya to recover before any Eva's go in
I hate to do this, but with her sync ratio so close to the threshold we need to buy her time to stabilize, and Renton will need the help.

I'm tempted to have Katyla swap out weapons for a melee option, but it would be a risky move and she'd lose her guncam.

>>5159178
>What is Renton armed with?
Currently assault rifle and progressive knife, the same As Katya. Other weapons can be deployed if you desire.

>>5158946
>>Have both Evas link up and launch alternating attacks on the Angel

>>5158946
>Have both Evas link up and launch alternating attacks on the Angel

No update today guys, sorry. Long day. I'll get an update out tomorrow.

>Have both Evas link up and launch alternating attacks on the Angel
>>5159323
>>5159466


Sorry guys, been a week!

Writing

"Renton, link up with Katya, both of you will conduct alternative attacks on the Angel to drive it out of the city if possible. We want to minimize collateral damage, but destruction is top priority."

"Count on it," Renton says, teeth gritted against the press of G-forces as his Eva races for the surface.

You take a seat at an empty command station, Aaliyah's, and pull on a headset. Flipping a toggle switch, you connect your audio to Katya's Eva. "Katya, can you hear me? It's Rose."

"Corvus copy you." Katya sounds strained, exhausted, worn thin.

You allow yourself a sympathetic grimace. You'd only ever piloted once in combat, but it was enough to scar you for life. That small personal hell was more than enough for one lifetime, you can't imagine what Katya must be going through.

"Katya," you say, "Your sync numbers are looking low. Is everything okay?"

"I know numbers are low!" Katya says, her voice cracking like she's on the verge of tears.

"And that's alright," you say, despite thinking it is most definitely not alright. It's not alright for the city or the human race but, in this moment, it has to be alright for Katya. "We'll pull through on this one, okay? You can't force it. It will come to you."

Katya is silent.

"Renton is on the way. He'll attack the Angel to draw it off of you, then I want the two of you to alternate attacks and drive it out of the city. Can you do that?"

The silence stretches long enough that you're about to end the call when Katya answers. "I do it."

Relief. "Do your best, Katya. I know you can. Rose out."

***

You are Katya Skobeleva and wiping the tears from your face, trying to keep your Eva moving away from the pursuing Angel without stumbling. What would your father say to see you like this? Your sisters? Ethan?

The thought gives you pause. You're meant to be an elite pilot, not a sniveling child. Afraid or not, you have to do this.

"Katya, it's Renton, having fun yet?"

"Not yet," you say dryly. "But now soon maybe."

"I've got an angle on it. Moving with this targeter is hell. I think we can put volleys into it and drive it back out of the city. It'll take some doing but if we're careful we can make it work."


>I have new plan. I will get close and neutralize its AT field, you take the shot
>I have new plan, I will act as bait, lure the Angel back to the seawall, we can destroy it there
>Copy. I will follow your lead
>write in

>>5161234
>>Copy. I will follow your lead

>>5161234
>Copy. I will follow your lead
We can save the kamikaze tactics for last.

>>5161234
>>Copy. I will follow your lead

>>5160016
>>5161208
Don't worry about it; thanks for keeping us informed.

>Copy. I will follow your lead
We've had trouble so far; maybe Renton will have better luck with his ideas.
And if things get hairy again, we can fall back on "stab it until it stops moving".

Again no update today. I'm traveling. We'll pick up on Tuesday

>Copy. I will follow your lead

Writing

"Copy," you say, "I follow your lead." You're still not happy about the situation- in fact you're downright miserable, but you have to finish this job before you break down.

Stopping your retreat, you circle back into cover position, squinting through the hazy false-color world of your gunsight. Blocky shapes of buildings loom and jut toward you. You grind your teeth as you search for the angel.

Sudden gunfire makes you jump. It's not you, but Renton firing.

"Target engaged! Katya, flushing it your way. Stand ready!"

"Copy, ready," you say. You're anything but ready. Your targeter is swaying on its own. You're jittering and tense. Your Eva isn't responding like it should. You're borderline. You don't even need a readout to know that. Why is this damn thing not cooperating with you? Why now?

The ghostly voice of your alternate self threatens again to rise up to taunt you but you growl it to silence.

Sudden movement draws your eye. A sphere floats around the edge of e building before warping and twisting in a way that recalls echoes of the deadly migraine it gave you when you looked on it with your naked eyes. Angel.

You bring your targeter up, lay the crosshair on the Angel, and fire. A spray of shells arcs harmlessly over the angel to smash against a high-rise. "Cyka blyat!" You re-aim and fire again.


***

Roll 1d6. I need 3 rolls total

Rolled 6 (1d6)

>>5167300

Rolled 3 (1d6)

>>5167300

Rolled 5 (1d6)

>>5167300

>>5167305
>>5167485
Much better luck this time! And no 2s, woo

>>5167305
>>5167377
>>5167485


>6
>3
>5

Writing

You squeeze the trigger and fire a long burst, shells detonating across the Angel's AT field. It's apparently unphased by this attack.

"Angel is preparing an energy lance!" Max warns.

There's nothing you can do. You're too unsteady to aim properly, your Eva too uncooperative to dodge.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

You're surprised when rather than darkness, you see light. Shapeless, warm light around you. You feel comforted, easy. You feel like you don't have to do everything alone anymore.

You can do it, little Katya.

You open your eyes, feeling a surge of inner strength. The targeter falls still on the Angel and you fire again. This time the shells land true, striking within a small diameter and ripping through the AT field into the Angel beyond.

The Angel recoils, jerking backward with sudden speed, fleeing toward the seawall again.

"Corvus pursuing!" you reply, ignoring Rose's response.

You bound to your feet and chase after the Angel, trying to keep it in your sights.


"I think I'm moving parallel to you," Renton says. "I'll go for the seawall. Let's try to get it out of the city and then we can finish it off."

"Copy." You move as quickly as you can using only the narrow view of the scope, spotting glimpses of the Angel as it draws back. Finally you emerge into an open boulevard right beside the seawall section. The Angel hovers here, apparently making a stand.

Something invisible lashes out and strikes you. Your AT field absorbs most of the impact, but it's been weakened by proximity to the Angel. Your Eva is thrown back into a building, smashing into it hard.

Gunfire comes from out of your range of vision. Renton puts a spread of shells across the Angel's back.

"Energy readings climbing in the target!" Max says.

"It's going to self-destruct. Pilots, get clear!" Rose says.

The Angel is directly beside the seawall. If it explodes here it will certainly breach the wall and flood this district.


>Withdraw as per orders
>Stand your ground and shoot the Angel, hope that it dies before it can self destruct
>Charge the Angel and drive it over the seawall and into the bay
>Write in

>>5168372
>>Charge the Angel and drive it over the seawall and into the bay
Getting beat up by an Angel self-destruction is practically an EVA tradition.

>>5168372
>You're too unsteady to aim properly, your Eva too uncooperative to dodge.
More items for the "lessons learned" list from this fight: EVA training during intentionally low sync.
Sync issues are usually a symptom of multiple other problems (mental and physical), but that just emphasises the need to be able to at least operate in an 'emergency' mode so you don't turn into a statue at an inopportune time.

> Let's try to get it out of the city and then we can finish it off."
Even better, once it clears the city limits the bombers can bring the hammer down.

>"It's going to self-destruct. Pilots, get clear!" Rose says.
Or not.

Hmm, tough choice. There's two mindsets to run this through: the cold, calculating choice and Katya's choice.
On the cold side, EVAs are horribly expensive to build and maintain, and slow to construct; they are worth a lot more than a flooded city district, both in terms of resource cost and the potential lives saved down the line by an otherwise functional EVA.
On Katya's side, she's fairly hotheaded in combat, in poor physical and mental shape, and feeling the need to prove herself after the disastrous way the fight has gone so far.

As we're playing Katya at the moment, the choice is clear:
>Charge the Angel and drive it over the seawall and into the bay

Honestly, I'd rather follow orders or try to shoot it (see EVA's value vs flooded city district), but there's no way Katya would go with something like that in her present state.

>>5168372
>>Charge the Angel and drive it over the seawall and into the bay
ethan would be proud

>Charge the Angel and drive it over the seawall and into the bay

Writing

"Katya-!"

"No time," you respond, activating your control toggles and sending your Eva sprinting forward. You run at an awkward gait, trying to sight your way forward using only the limited targeter view. The nearer you get to the Angel, the more distorted it becomes until even the already blurry radar image dissolves to useless static.

You ditch the rifle, useless at the range, and grapple the Angel. You're horrified to realize something on it is grabbing you back. You feel something entwine your arms in inconceivable geometric patterns and lines.

You don't have time to worry about it and instead heave with all your might. Your Eva's muscles bulge and tear as you attempt to throw the Angel over the seawall.

It's clinging to you somehow, its grip growing steadily tighter.

"Katya! Get away from it!" Renton shouts.

That's no longer a possibility.

Blind, you stagger forward and feel the Angel smash against the seawall.

Rose is giving you orders. Renton is calling for your attention, but it doesn't matter. Killing this Angel is your purpose right now and now one will steal that from you.

You have to get it over this seawall. Or else . . .

***

Roll 1d6. I need 3 rolls total

Rolled 3 (1d6)

>>5169511
AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Rolled 5 (1d6)

>>5169511

Rolled 3 (1d6)

>>5169511

>>5169544
Woo, we're not failing this time!

>>5156036
>>5156065
>>5156081
>>5167377
>>5169528
>>5169668
out of 9 total rolls this thread, 3 has been the result of six of them. Have the twos evolved?

>3
>5
>3

Writing

"Katya get clear of it, goddammit!" Rose is shouting at you.

This close to the Angel you have no AT field, nothing but a few feet of armor protect you from whatever hell this Angel can unleash, but you don't stop.

"Katya!"

With a feral cry of rage, you lift the Angel, pain lances through your arms and shins as its tremendous weight bears down on you. You feel bones grinding, splintering, muscles tearing, ligaments popping and snapping.

Another shove and the weight of the Angel leaves you a moment before it explodes.

***

You are Rose Holiday and a moment after the blast wave shakes the city all visual feeds are restored. You don't need to ask the status of Coruvs, the Eva is intact. Katya is alive.

"Target totally evaporated," Max says.

Seawater rains down on the scene after having been blasted skyward.

"The seawall is holding but engineering teams are deploying to assess the damage."

"What about Katya?" you ask.

"Alive," Max confirms, checking her vitals. "Injured."

You're shaking with unburned adrenaline and anger. She could have died. She nearly did die. For what? For a seawall? For some evacuated industrial district? For warehouses, trucks and cranes? You keep it in.

Corvus, her Eva, is slumped against the wall. Blood seeps from under its facemask, foaming from the breathing grille. Its legs are shattered, muscles ruined. Katya will certainly be feeling the effects of that.

"Sever the nerve connections at once," you say. "Start recovery operations. Get Renton back to base and put him on standby."

Max obeys and the rescue work begins.

Once again you're left astounded by the personnel situation. Your pilots are cracking. Suicidal, homicidal, slipping. How much longer can they keep this up?

How much longer can Versetti and your father order you to keep it up?

You know the answer and hate it all the same. It's the same old calculation that always comes to the same conclusion in favor of the survival of the human race.

They will keep it up as long as they have to.

You are Max Goldberg and you're tired. It's the sort of exhaustion that stretches beyond the norm. It's the exhaustion born of death.

Renton is alive, unharmed. Katya's been transferred to Mabry Hospital's recovery ward. She's expected to make a full recovery.

You close the door of your apartment behind you and rub the back of your neck. You're feeling feverish. You pushed things too far today, too much exertion, not enough breaks. Sooner or later you're going to need to accept that your body is failing you.

You push the darkness out of your mind. The blankness of death hasn't come yet. You take a step further into your apartment and freeze, eyes fixed on the floor.

There's a folded piece of paper sitting in the middle of your floor.

As slobbish as you've become lately, you know you didn't leave this here. You stoop down, ignoring the pain lancing through your joints, and pick it up. Unfolding the paper reveals a note.

She's here.

The note is written in stiff, block characters, handwriting unfamiliar to you. Beneath it is an address, but not an ordinary one.

aypq-yqxhswvrhc-333

You recognize it as a hex reference code, the primary means for identifying areas within the labyrinthine halls of Nerv-03. Your tired heart races. There's only one "her" on your mind. Is she in Nerv?


>Crumple the note and throw it away. Forget it. You made a promise and you're not delving into this anymore
>You have to know for sure. You'll make arrangements to go here when you're stronger
>Write in

>>5170694
>She could have died. She nearly did die. For what? For a seawall? For some evacuated industrial district? For warehouses, trucks and cranes?
Pretty much, yeah. It's likely the damage to the EVA will cost more than repairs to the seawall and district would have. Plus now we're down an operational EVA for a while.
Oh course, Katya didn't see it that way, which is why she made that choice.

>Your pilots are cracking. Suicidal, homicidal, slipping. How much longer can they keep this up?
At the going rate? Not much longer, frankly. It feels like we're playing XCOM, except we only every deploy the veterans, never allowing the newbies a chance to get experience.
Sooner or later, we're going to lose a pilot to battle or the psyche ward, and then we're really going to be up a creek.

>>5170696
>Crumple the note and throw it away. Forget it. You made a promise and you're not delving into this anymore
Let it go, Max. Be free of her, and maybe you'll have the strength to see the last Angel fight.

>>5170696
>You have to know for sure. You'll make arrangements to go here when you're stronger.
What is the worst that could happen?

>>5170696
>Write in
Pass the note to Yezhov. He has more appetite for this stuff than Max.

>>5171180
+1

>>5171180
>>5170696
ye, pass this off to Yezhov

>Pass this off to Yezhov
Writing

Night comes to New Tampa. Nothing remains of the Angel to be recovered though that doesn't prevent teams of Nerv science division personnel in hazmat gear from sweeping the dike with detection gear searching for anything salvageable. Below them, emergency construction crews work into the night repairing infrastructural damage by the light of flood lamps. Beyond them, UN warships can be seen patrolling the dark waters of the gulf.

All this is visible from Katya's hospital room where she lays in bed, her arms and legs bandaged, her head aching still from the encounter with the Angel. She doesn't feel defeated. She feels like she did her job. More than that, she feels . . . complete. She keeps thinking about the voice she heard in her Eva, the voice that wasn't her own.

The door to her room opens and she looks up, startled.

Renton enters with a grin. "The hero!" he greets.

Katya's face flushes with color. "Not a hero," she says.

"I think Nerv's accounting department would agree with you," he laughs. He holds up a portable game console. "Up for some company?"

Katya smiles and nods.

***

Further away, deep within Nerv, Yezhov sits alone in a deserted break room. He stares at the slip of paper that Max had stopped by to give him, the one with the simple blocky handwriting.

She's here.

aypq-yqxhswvrhc-333

Yezhov shakes his head in amusement, a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth a moment before it dies, becoming a sneer instead. He clenches his fist and crushes the note to a paper ball before dropping it into his soda can.

***

A few floors lower, Rose sits at her desk, the door to her office closed. She dials a number on her cellphone with exceeding care. It's got a lot of extra digits since it's going to be a satellite call. It starts ringing and she presses it to her ear, hating that she feels giddy with excitement but loving it all the same.

There's a click.

"Hey." Roger's voice.

Rose can't help it. She breaks into a smile at the sound of it. "Hey." The two of them can talk without the facade of business between them. A moment to be together while they're apart. "I miss you," Rose says.

"I miss you too," Roger says.

***

Two thousand miles away, the UN Pacific fleet cruises southeast, making for the Panama Strait. Here the sun is only starting to dip low in the sky, setting the ocean aflame. As Roger shares a quiet moment with Rose, Korine lays awake in her bed. She tries not to think about all the people she killed. Instead, she tries to think about all the people she saved.

You are Ethan Chandler and you are standing on a beach. White sand stretches to your left and right, waves roll in ahead of you. There's no sound but the surf and the wind. No birds, no boat horns, nothing. Yet you can feel the music in the air. You look around. It's a beautiful sunny day but the island you stand on is anything but. It's flat, broad, and barren. Nothing grows here. There's nothing but sand and cement. Toppled blocks lay about like the aftermath of a child-god's tantrum. Some are split open to expose jagged rebar like splintered bones. It feels familiar but alien at the same time.

No matter how uncanny it is, it's inherently peaceful, though it's peaceful in the same way a cemetery is.

You start walking, following your instinct as you climb over and around chunks of cement debris. After what feels like a long time you find what you were looking for.

Who you were looking for.

Linda hovers over the shore, looking out to sea. Her wings flap lazily, though not with near enough force to keep her afloat. She's wearing the same blue ballgown you last saw her in, her feet are bare, hanging mere inches above the sand and waves.

She's humming the waltz to herself. You don't want to interrupt her, so you don't. Instead, you lean on a concrete pillar and listen. She sways slightly with the tune as she hums, her vision fixed on the horizon. You could listen to her forever. You could forget everything and just stay here.

"Hello, Ethan." She turns her head to look over her shoulder at you, a glimmer of amusement in her eye.

"I was listening to you sing," you say.

She covers her face with a wing, hiding embarrassment. "I didn't realize I was singing," she says. She lowers herself to the sand, regains her composure and approaches, holding out her hand.

You take it and allow her to lead you back toward the beach. A cool breeze rustles her dress, racing over your skin and making you shiver. You see now that black clouds gather on the horizon. A storm.

"Where have you been?" you ask.

"Everywhere," she says. "Right here. Waiting for you."

"Waiting?" you laugh.

She nods.

Your smile fades. "Linda, I need to ask you something."

She doesn't answer, just continues to look out at the distant storm.

"The last time we talked you said that you weren't afraid anymore."

She says nothing.

You continue. "You said I didn't just save you. I set you free. What did you mean?"

The only sound is the crash of the surf and the barest suggestion of a song in the air.

"Do you feel that breeze, Ethan?" she says at last. "That's chaos in action. Simple rules- heat, humidity, evaporation points, air pressure- all of these things are easy to catalog and explain. Rules. But when they get put together they create-" she gestures to the storm. "Chaos." She beams at you. "Life. Isn't that beautiful?"

You want to make her answer, but you know you don't have that power. "It is," you agree.

The storm flashes with lightning.

"Life is beautiful, Ethan. It's a gift. One we should cherish while we have it. It's a gift worth sharing."

"Sharing?"

She says nothing.


>Sharing with who?
>That's why I pilot. I'm trying to make sure as many people enjoy life as possible
>Are you talking about the Angels?
>Write in

>>5175075
>She doesn't feel defeated. She feels like she did her job. More than that, she feels . . . complete.
It is good to see she wound up ok out of that mess; I was worried she'd have taken another serious blow to her confidence.

>Yezhov shakes his head in amusement
Glad to see he's smarter than he looks. Not sure what anons were expecting his reaction to be.

>She tries not to think about all the people she killed. Instead, she tries to think about all the people she saved.
The calculus of war is never fun. But you have to take your victories when you can, or you'll crack.

>Linda hovers over the shore, looking out to sea.
Hey, haven't seen you for a while.
As enigmatic as ever, I see.

>>5175084
>That's why I pilot. I'm trying to make sure as many people enjoy life as possible
that others may live
Asking who you share life with seems a little thick-headed of Ethan; I'm pretty sure he understands what she means here.
I don't how you could twist what she's saying to be about the Angels.

>>5175084
>Write in
You mean I should start a family?

>>5175084
>>That's why I pilot. I'm trying to make sure as many people enjoy life as possible
>>5175103
>That others may live
For Those We Cherish, We Die In Glory.

>That's why I pilot.

writing

"You mean with other people? That's why I pilot the Eva. To make sure as many people get to enjoy life as possible."

Linda frowns slightly.

"Or . . . do you mean that I should start a family?" You're trying to see some deeper meaning to her words.

Linda's eyes widen a little. She blinks, apparently at a loss for words. "A family," she repeats. She shakes her head and turns away, "I'm sorry."

"What's wrong?" you ask.

She shakes her head. "I think you should start a family if that's what you want, Ethan."

You listen to the sound of the waves. "Linda, what's wrong?" you touch her arm.

Linda looks at you again, this time her cheeks are wet with tears. "Ethan I . . . I haven't been honest with you."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm . . ." Linda struggles to find the words. "I'm not exactly who you think I am. Not anymore."

The waves crash at your feet, you feel your heart sinking.

"You're not . . . " you say. "You're not . . . Linda are you?"

She wipes the tears from her face. "You once told me that when you were younger you liked to go into the woods to catch bugs. It was right after they brought you to Alaska, you were still feeling alone but you felt like you had a place in the woods. You liked to watch beetles crawling over tree trunks. You liked to hold them in your hand. That person - that part of you - are they gone?"

You remember telling Linda about your childhood fascination, you distinctly remember the feeling of discovering insects you'd never seen before. "I . . . that's still a part of me. But that's not who I am anymore."

"The Linda you knew is gone," Linda says. "I'm all that's left."

Your chest feels like it's full of broken glass. All the emotions and thoughts you've been repressing flood out like molten sorrow. You watched Linda die agonizingly. You tried to save her but you couldn't. Linda is gone.

Your legs are suddenly weak, your knees threaten to buckle so you sit down in the sand.

Linda is dead. Linda is gone. She's not coming back.

Linda crouches beside you and lightly touches your knee.

You flinch away from her, unwilling to look at her. Your mind is racing.

"Was she ever with me?" You ask. "Was it ever really her? Or was it always you?"

You register hurt flash across her face. But Linda looks away. "I'm as much Linda as anything else is. Linda is . . . a part of me. Do you understand?"

"No," you say. "What are you talking about? What do you mean a part of you?"

You see the Angel eating into Linda's Eva. You see yourself stabbing it with your Eva's knife.

Ethan, stop! You’re killing me!

"What's the other part?" you ask, feeling nauseous. "What's the other part of you? One part is Linda, right?"

The only sound is the waves.

"Ethan, I-"

"What's the other part?" You demand. "Give me a straight answer, God damn it."

"Part of me is Linda," she says, "the other part is the being you call an Angel."

You want to deny it, refuse the possibility, but the truth is so obvious, so painfully obvious that you don't know how you couldn't see it before, or maybe you just couldn't accept it before.

"I couldn't believe it either at first," Linda says. "Things were . . . different. I have Linda's memories and feelings but I see things- I feel things that I never had before, that you haven't."

There is only the sound of the waves.

"Ethan," she says. "If you . . . hate me, I . . . I lied to you and I know what it means to say I'm like them. That they're like me. If you hate me . . . I'll understand but . . . please. I don't want you to hate me, Ethan. It doesn't have to be like that." She holds out a hand. "We don't have to hate each other."

"So you're just pretending to be her," you say, not daring to look at her.

"I'm not pretending," Linda insists. "This isn't an act. Ethan, the day you killed the angel - the day you lost Linda, that was the day I was born." She lowers her untaken hand. "It's from Linda that I get my feelings for you, my memories of my life, my love of music," She says these things with a smile but it soon fades. "I didn't realize it until later what I was and . . . I hated lying to you. I hated it. I thought . . . that if I could just have you all to myself that everything would be okay and I would be happy. "But," she says, frowning. "I was lying to you and lying to myself. I'm *not* Linda. Not the same Linda. But . . . the parts of her you like, the parts you love, I have them too!" she looks hopeful "I'm not the Linda you remember but . . . you can love me all the same."


>I'll always love you, Linda, no matter what you are.
>It's not that simple. Get it? As long as there are Angels and people there will be a war to survive.
>I don't know how I feel about this. This is too much to take in.
>Write in

>>5176353
>>I'll always love you, Linda, no matter what you are.
I *really* want to see where this goes, even if it bad ends us.

>>5176353
>>I'll always love you, Linda, no matter what you are.
>but I still want to have a family

>>5176353
And so at last the truth is revealed.

Damn.

I liked her, but this... this is a bridge to far, especially for serious and straight-laced Ethan.

>write in
>I don't hate you, but
>It's not that simple. Angels and humans are diametrically opposed; they are trying to destroy us, and we're throwing everything into the defense.
It's not the lying; Her nature makes her a fundamental enemy of mankind, and we are one of the precious few than can fight against them. We cannot compromise ourselves no matter how much we want to. Second guessing every time we've interacted with her since her death, wondering and worrying about her (intentionally or not) screwing with our head to make our fights that little bit more damaging... We could go mad from it all.

Maybe when the fighting is over, if we're still standing, we can get ourselves a padded cell and accept her as she is. But until that day, she risks interfering with our ability to do our job.

Damn it. I really do like her.


Not really related tangent:
I wonder about the ordinary folk in this setting sometimes; they are truly helpless in a way doesn't really exist IRL. When push comes to shove, civilians can still take up arms and give any army a bloody nose. But against Angels, insurgency and partisans are worthless. Even the normal military is almost useless. I suppose it's why I'm willing to make the cold decisions more often than not, and part of why I try to incorporate conventional forces into fights when I can. Sure, being an EVA pilot is (very) hard, but at least you hold your fate in your own hands; very, very, very few people get that luxury.

>>5176488
Not feeling this one, chief.
Nothing personal, it just doesn't seem like Ethan, you know?

>>5176353
>>5176689
+1

>>5176353
>I'll always love you, Linda, no matter what you are.

>>5176353
>Write in
Take her hand, smile and say nothing.

>>5176353
>>I'll always love you, Linda, no matter what you are.

>I'll always love you, Linda, no matter what you are.

Writing

>>5176689
>Spoilers
Sometimes autonomy is the only thing we have.

You take a shuddering breath and hold your hand out toward her.

Linda smiles and takes it gratefully.

"This is . . . it will take some getting used to but it doesn't change how I feel about you. I love you Linda, no matter what you are."

Linda smiles even brighter, her wings give a single joyous flap. "That's so good to hear! I was so afraid of what you would say, Ethan." She hugs you tight. "Once everything is settled then we can be together forever."

You bask in the sounds of the beach, sitting in the sand side-by-side with Linda, still trying to process all this. Linda is an Angel. But she isn't an Angel, she's Linda. But she is an Angel.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything," she says.

"Why do they hate us? Why do the Angels want to destroy us?"

She frowns slightly. "You've dedicated your life to destroying them. Your whole species has. You're in a struggle where only only one of you can survive and you've determined that it won't be them."

You scowl. "It's not like they've ever tried talking things out with us. They started this war."

Linda shakes her head sadly. "It's beyond them. You don't understand. There's so much of this that's not clear to you."

"So make it clear," you say.

"They didn't start this war," she says.

"Bullshit," you spit.

"It's true," Linda says. "Not on purpose. Adam's death was purposeful. He was destroyed to protect humanity. The consequences weren't intended."

"So what? 'Whoops'? We call it even after they killed damn near all of us!?"

"Ethan," Linda says, patiently, "They're not like you. You're not like them. I told you that they don't understand you. It's a shortcoming that they aren't likely to survive. There aren't many of them left. Only a handful. I have no doubt you'll kill every last one of them if given the choice."

"You're right," you say.

"But," Linda continues, "You don't have to. I have a plan."

"A plan?"

Linda smiles hopefully. "Cain holds the answer," she says. "A reconciliation between the children of Adam and the children of Lilith." She beams at you. "A new beginning for everyone."

"What? Cain?" You're lost.

She gives you a pitying smile and strokes your cheek. "I forget sometimes. Let me try again. In the beginning, there were two. Adam, who held the fruit of the tree of power, and Lilith who held the fruit of the tree of knowledge. This world could not sustain them both and so Adam was sacrificed. Children of Lilith populated the world. Beings like you."

You stare at her, dumbfounded.

She presses on, confident that you understand. "The Children of Adam awaken though and they are not content to die as their father did. They'd see this world purged of life so that they can live. Cain holds the key to that, the fruit of life. Whoever controls that-" she smiles wider, "Is effectively God."

"God? What? What are you talking about? Is Cain an Angel?"

"Yes," Linda says, "The Second Angel. The secret one. His power is the key to salvation or damnation of the human race."

You shake your head, confused. "Why the fuck do you care what happens to the Angels? So what about 'reconciliation'? You remember what happened to you, don't you?"

She looks distant. "I do."

"So you're not one of them. You're not."

"I'm as much an angel as I am a human," she replies. "I don't see sides here. I don't think one or the other should die so the other can survive. I want everyone to live. I've been blessed with a gift of new life. It's something I think we could all share."

"You just said they're not intelligent."

"I said it's beyond them," she says, "Not that they were not intelligent. They can't understand you any more than you can understand them. Don't you see that?" She is visibly frustrated and sighs. "I don't expect that you'd understand. Linda wouldn't have understood what would happen to her either, but it's been a good thing."

The sound of the beach has stopped.

You look around, suddenly aware that reality is fading away at the edges. The ocean is gone, only a white void remains, steadily shrinking toward you, erasing the sea, erasing the island.

"What plan, Linda?'

"The Reconciliation," she repeats. "Of Man and Angel."

"What does that mean? What do you mean 'reconcile'?"


She smiles. "Our time's up, Ethan. You'll see soon enough."

The island is gone and you're alone with Linda in the void, holding her hand as tightly as you can, certain that if you let go you'll drive away.

"When?" You ask, "When will I see?"

She's disappearing now too, fading to nothingness. She smiles as brightly as she can at you. "When we meet again," she says. "Everywhere at the end of time."

Your grip slips from her hand.

"Goodbye, Ethan. I love you."

***

You wake up. You're in your bunk staring at the blank metal ceiling. You can still see the dead, sun-bleached rocks and ruins of the island in your mind's eye, you can hear the surf and you can hear the last fading strains of the waltz.

"Everywhere," you say. "Everywhere at the end of time."

File: Return.gif (550 KB, 795x525)

550 KB GIF

>Neon Terminus Evangelion
>/End Episode 07
https://youtu.be/yK5mhtaDK8g

***

Thanks again for playing everyone. I'm taking a short break before we continue, but at long last I believe we're nearing the end. I hope you're ready.

https://twitter.com/TimeKillerQM
https://discord.gg/BnJeeu4

See you soon.

>>5177653
good shit QM

>>5177650
>you've determined that it won't be them.
Absolute nonsense. The only offensive action humanity has taken the entire war was the egg capture. All this time, all those lives spent, were in *defense* of humanity.
If the Angels didn't want to kill us, they could just... stop killing us. Simple as that.

>"So what? 'Whoops'? We call it even after they killed damn near all of us!?"
More importantly, if that had been an accident, why was their first (and continued) response to go straight to killing? I can understand they have alien thought patterns, but at the very least they should have been non-hostile.

>"You're right," you say.
Preach.

>I don't think one or the other should die so the other can survive.
They can stop any time they want.


I just don't believe her, here. Sure, she likely thinks that was the truth, but it rings hollow to me. There's too many gaping holes in it.


>>5177653
Thanks for running.
Don't be a stranger.

https://youtu.be/mEtldt-FI8Y

>>5177684
>>5177724
Thanks guys!