Chapter 7
"Doctor Akagi, I am waiting for an explanation," Gendo dropped the words dryly. He sat with his arms crossed, staring at the laptop screen where the face of the Head of the Technical Department was displayed, occasionally flickering with bands of interference from the encrypted link.
Even though they were not speaking in person, Ritsuko still made a conscious effort to avoid the Commander's gaze.
"The basic tests were completed successfully and without the slightest issue," Ritsuko said. With a creak of her chair, she slid slightly to the side, moving partially off-camera to reveal an open report filled with numerous diagrams. "The synchronization simulation also began typically. The nervous system was successfully interfaced, and Shinji Ikari, according to protocol, moved into the adaptation stage, where..."
"I have read the summary of the report, Doctor Akagi," the elder Ikari interrupted. "Get to the point." He paused for a second and leaned forward slightly. "The point that is not reflected in the official report."
The blonde hesitated for a moment, then sighed and took off her glasses, massaging the bridge of her nose.
"I will state right now: everything I say next is currently unconfirmed and serves only as the basis for a hypothesis," Akagi clarified just in case. Receiving a nod from Gendo, she licked her lips. "As we already know from the tests of the pilots for Eva-00 and Eva-02, the acceptable level of initial synchronization fluctuates between 35% and 55% without the use of a plugsuit. In the case of the pilot for Eva-01, the starting figure was initially 60%, which almost instantly rose to 70%. Furthermore, unlike other participants in the program, Shinji Ikari spent significantly more time on the basic adaptation process. The more he 'habituated,' the higher the synchronization became, until at a certain point it reached a threshold of 90%, where the risk of pilot mental damage increases manifold..."
"Doctor Akagi," Gendo intervened again, maintaining an impassive expression. "I understand perfectly well that Shinji almost 'snapped.' I need the reasons why it happened."
Ritsuko winced, annoyed at being cut off, and leaned back into her office chair.
"I do not know, Gendo-san," she said. The fact that she addressed him by name made it clear that the Head of the Technical Department had abandoned formal protocols entirely. "We have never encountered such a phenomenon before. Not only was your son able to maintain his sanity at a rate of 96%, but the negative consequences were limited to a brief migraine. In addition..."
The doctor fell silent. Pulling a cigarette from her pack, she rolled it nervously between her fingers.
This time, the elder Ikari did not rush her, giving her a chance to collect her thoughts.
"Without a direct connection to Eva-01, he was able to use an analog of emotional manifestation in reality," Ritsuko finally whispered, sounding as if she didn't believe her own words.
Fuyutsuki, who had been standing behind his superior's shoulder the entire time, let out a surprised grunt. That certainly hadn't been in the provided report. Gendo shared his deputy's surprise, though in his case, it was reflected only in a slightly arched eyebrow.
"What exactly happened?"
Lighting the cigarette, Akagi closed her eyes.
"The smell of oranges."
"Oranges?" Kozo stopped playing the silent statue, clearly intrigued by what he heard.
"Exactly," Ritsuko sighed heavily, flicking ash. "I even had the MAGI check the composition of the air in the room at the moment Protocol P-1 ended, and I received direct confirmation. It is unclear how, but Shinji Ikari was able to recreate a brief anomaly near himself, the effect of which consisted of..."
"The aroma of oranges," Gendo finished thoughtfully, resting his elbows on the armrests of his chair and placing his chin on his crossed hands.
Fuyutsuki privately called this "the thinker's pose." Usually, after sitting like that, his long-time acquaintance managed to produce something so unexpected and brilliant that it left the older man stunned.
"I see. Place all data under the highest security classification. Delete all backup copies," the Commander finally concluded. "Temporarily prohibit the pilot of Eva-01 from participating in synchronization experiments."
"But, Gendo-san!" Ritsuko protested. "We need to provide..."
"I said: prohibit," the man's voice rang with steel. "Until such a time as I lift the restriction myself. Is that clear, Doctor Akagi?"
Stubbing out her cigarette with force, the blonde gave a grim nod.
"I will return to the Geofront in two days. Further discussion of the incident will be in person only. End of transmission." Without even listening to what the Head of the Technical Department wanted to say, the elder Ikari cut the video call.
After staring at the matte-black screen for a few more seconds, Gendo finally allowed himself a sigh.
"Are you worried about the pilot's condition?" Fuyutsuki asked, still standing behind his superior.
"I am worried about my son's condition, not the pilot's," the Commander replied.
Keeping the corners of his mouth from lifting, Kozo turned his gaze to the panoramic window of the plane, which already offered a view of Tokyo-2, the current capital of Japan.
"Doctor Akagi did say he was perfectly fine," the deputy moved forward slightly to partially see the expression on the face of his old comrade and superior.
"I know. All reports also say he is normal," Gendo didn't argue, straightening up and adjusting his suit lapels.
Along with the growing roar of the engines, the small jet began its landing approach.
"But you're still worried?" It was becoming increasingly difficult for Fuyutsuki to hide his smile.
Gendo didn't answer. Only his slightly trembling fingers, hidden behind the fabric of his white gloves, hinted to the old man that he had hit the mark.
Closing his eyes, the deputy shook his head inwardly.
There was still humanity left in the head of the former Gehirn project.
The main thing was to ensure that those who would find such a trait in the Commander unacceptable never found out.
---
Sitting on the bed and leaning against the headboard, I listened to music with my eyes closed. The old SDAT player, given to me by my father ten years ago, handled its duties faithfully.
And how—I had tried newer models once, and their sound quality turned out to be much worse. It made me wonder if he had bought me a model that had managed to get ahead of its time. Especially since I couldn't find an identical one on any trading platform.
After the experiments that had earned me a brief migraine, I was forcibly stuck in some hospital room (thankfully without being covered in a million sensors) and left to... wait? I didn't quite understand the point of what was happening, but so be it.
At least they brought the player so I had something to kill the time. It was brought by an inconspicuous man in a suit, by the way. He was so nondescript that no matter how much I racked my brain, I couldn't remember even the slightest distinguishing feature, aside from his polished shoes.
Oh, and Ritsuko stopped by, thrust some papers at me, and strictly forbade me from sharing what happened in the entry plug with anyone. Not that I was planning to go around blabbing about it.
Though I do have questions.
What the hell does their "synchronization" actually mean? And why is its effect like the visions of a hardcore junkie during another fix?
I haven't tried any psychotropic drugs myself, of course, but I've seen from the sidelines how people who like to eat them in any quantity behave.
Sighing, I focused on the vocalist's singing, accompanied by the quiet beat of drums and a humming that jumped up and down. I don't know the genre, and I can't even remember the band's name, let alone the singer's, but it doesn't matter.
I was never a fan of just one thing. But it's hard to call myself a melomaniac; "musical prostitute" is probably more accurate. It's crude and carries negative connotations, but it's closest to the truth. Only workers of the oldest profession would try to sit on several "chairs" at once. And I'm not just talking about music; you just have to change the prefix. Or... remove it entirely.
Because I wasn't listening to the music too loudly, I managed to hear the sound of the automatic door.
Turning my head, I met the ruby-red eyes of a now-familiar person.
"Sup, loser," Rei greeted me melancholically, stepping inside and standing next to the bed.
"A loser now, too?" I smiled, taking out one earbud and curiously examining the girl's unusual outfit.
The black plugsuit with white and burgundy inserts, glistening with moisture, left almost nothing to the imagination, tightly hugging Ayanami's figure. I also noticed two small... hairclips? in her thick mop of still-wet hair.
"Loser," Ayanami confirmed readily, sitting on the edge of the bed and shaking her head, causing water droplets to hit my face. "Looks cool, right?"
She ran her palm down the valley between her small breasts (which had the digits "00" written over them) all the way to her stomach.
"It was white at first. But white is for normies. And I'm not a normie. So, cool black color. The bitch was against it, by the way, but I managed to convince her lackey," Rei continued, leaning back slightly and bracing herself on the bed, effectively placing her hand between my knees.
"Did you shower while wearing it?" I finally turned off the player and set it aside.
Rei shook her head, giving me another mini-shower.
"First without it, then the suit, then in it," the girl listed, crossing her legs.
Thinking about it, since I arrived here, I haven't met a single lady who was below a seven out of ten by my standards. Either I'm that lucky, or... No, definitely lucky. After all, the world doesn't revolve around me alone.
"Why?" I tilted the corners of my lips, pulling one knee to my chest and resting my chin on it.
"Wanted to show you."
"Show me?"
"You."
"Why?" I gave a quiet chuckle.
Lost in thought, Ayanami ran her index finger over her lower lip, pulling it down slightly.
"To make you jealous?" she drawled interrogatively. "You are jealous, aren't you?"
I scanned her figure critically once more. Be jealous of a skin-tight suit? To be honest, I didn't have the slightest desire. Say that? There was no point. Especially when a small lie (and it could hardly even be called a "lie") was capable of making the other person happy.
"Definitely," I closed my eyes slightly. "It looks killer on you."
Hearing my last remark, Rei straightened up and gave a faint smile, the equivalent of a broad grin for a normal person. Combined with her crimson eyes and pale, almost ghostly skin set off by the black plugsuit, she looked like a mythical vampire who had finally caught her desired prey. All she was missing was a set of protruding fangs.
"I also wanted to add a skull print somewhere, but Maya refused that too," the girl continued, clearly cheered up, showing exactly where on her thigh she wanted to place the design. "And this part would have been class... cool?" Blinking, she swayed from side to side. "Hype?"
Seeing her gaze turned toward me in search of support, I smirked internally.
"Stylish. Not cool or classy. Stylish," I didn't refuse to help, suggesting a suitable word.
"But that sounds old-fashioned," Rei frowned. "I need to be... in the flow?"
"Old doesn't mean bad. If the 'old' remains relevant today, it becomes 'eternal'," I made up a phrase on the fly that could easily be shoved into a school essay while putting on a smart face.
Letting out a long hum, Ayanami lowered her head, studying her fingers, before slowly drawling:
"Then, does that mean punk is eternal?"
Now I was stuck for a moment.
Punk?
"Well, depending on which punk you're talking about," I scratched the itching scar on my wrist. "As music or as a lifestyle?"
"The second," she answered instantly, as if she knew the answer to the question beforehand. "Punk is about the struggle against social foundations and norms, not just music."
"Isn't that too categorical? It doesn't always involve a struggle," I moved slightly to the side so the girl could fully climb onto the bed. Sure, the sheets would be wet, but that was absolutely not my headache. "I think punk is the reaction of a certain segment of society to acute social problems."
Ayanami, taking a comfortable position (tucking her legs under her and sitting face-to-face with me), pursed her lips slightly.
"You speak too smartly," she finally delivered her verdict, bruising my sensitive ego. "Like you're quoting someone."
"And you're the one telling me that?" I couldn't resist a jab back. "Miss 'Cool'?"
"Yeah, I'm cool, so what?" Rei replied with a faint hint of defiance in her voice, leaning forward slightly and bracing her palms on either side of my torso.
I caught the faint lavender scent of shampoo coming from her hair. It was too calm a scent for her chosen image. She needed something sharper, something more challenging.
"And I'm a normie," I didn't move away, even though Ayanami's face was extremely close to mine. Close enough that I could imagine my reflection in the depths of her ruby eyes. "So, does that mean we're total opposites?"
She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head, causing a few damp strands of hair to fall over her face.
Obeying an impulse, I reached out and tucked the stray hair away, my fingertips brushing her cheek in the process.
"Harassment," came the girl's immediate reaction, and in return, she ran her fingers, clad in the fabric of the suit, along my chin, burning it with the cold of lifeless rubber. "Now it's not."
I laughed quietly.
No, every meeting with her tested my established worldview more and more.
---
"They deserve each other," Misato muttered blankly, diluting the coffee Ritsuko had made with water. The Captain was not prepared to drink the concentrate that Akagi favored. She had absolutely no desire to add a sleepless night to a hangover and a difficult awakening.
The Head of the Technical Department only sighed at her friend's remark, continuing to watch what was happening in the medical ward out of the corner of her eye, thanks to the surveillance cameras installed inside.
"I'm more surprised by the fact that Rei voluntarily sought out the younger Ikari," her friend said, taking a sip of the black sludge (Katsuragi couldn't call it anything else) and tapping her fingers on the control panel.
"What's so strange?" the Operations Director asked, surprised. "They're both teenagers tied together by work. And we're essentially living right next to each other."
Ritsuko gave Misato an unreadable look.
"What?" the Captain instinctively covered herself with her arms.
"They've known each other for less than twenty-four hours. And they've only spoken once before," Akagi spoke in a tone as if she were explaining obvious truths to an ignorant child. "Or did you forget that you only met Shinji yesterday?"
Hearing this, Katsuragi froze.
"Yesterday?" Setting the coffee aside, the woman looked at the ceiling. "Strange. For some reason, it felt like we've known each other for a long time. But when you think about it, it really is strange."
"Exactly. Strange," Ritsuko exhaled smoke through her nostrils. "Almost everything about the younger Ikari says he is strange. However, it's impossible to find any confirmation of that."
To be honest, Misato disagreed with her friend's opinion here.
Yes, so far she only knew Gendo's son remotely, but the information she already had was enough to consider him a perfectly sane guy. Especially if you compared him to his peers.
Though, Katsuragi immediately remembered her first impression of Shinji, which almost completely matched the doctor's last statement.
Unable to help herself, the Captain growled gutturally, messing up her hair.
"Kami-sama, why is it so complicated with all these Ikaris?" she groaned despondently, realizing that she had managed to get herself completely confused in just a few seconds.
"Believe me, Misato," Akagi said, leaning back and zooming in on the image where Shinji and Rei were sitting almost right next to each other, talking animatedly. "I think about that constantly myself..."
The blonde's melancholic gaze watched the foster daughter's facial expressions intently. Ayanami would frown, then smile faintly, then put on a "stony face," to use primitive slang. The same slang Rei had used to drive her "mother" to a boiling point.
"Reactions are too vivid. She's usually much calmer," the doctor muttered under her breath. "But what's the reason? Peers have never interested her before..."
Humming, Akagi minimized the video window from the ward, switching to another string of graphs that the Captain didn't understand a lick of. Realizing what was what, the Operations Director stood up and stretched luxuriously.
"Don't get so hung up on it," she suggested carelessly, throwing her favorite red jacket over her shoulders. "Sooner or later, the truth will come out anyway." Walking to the door, she stopped and, standing half-turned to her friend, added: "Am I just picking up Shinji? Or should I grab Rei too?"
Ritsuko waved a hand without looking away from her work.
"I'll take that as both," Misato chuckled, stepping out into the corridor. Before the doors slammed shut behind her, she managed to say: "Don't stay up until morning, Ritsu-chan!"
Left alone, Akagi put on her glasses and reached for an unopened pack of cigarettes.
"Easy to say 'don't stay up'," the doctor grumbled, clenching a cigarette between her teeth. "Very easy."
Locking all the doors and turning off the internal cameras, Ritsuko cracked her knuckles.
"MAGI, display the full report of the last P-1 Protocol launch..."
---
After peeling the orange, I carefully broke it into segments, finishing a small composition on a plate. Nothing supernatural: just pieces of citrus arranged in a circle, strictly in ascending order—from small segments in the center to large ones at the edges.
This time, dinner was in a much calmer atmosphere, helped by the absence of guests. Rei, despite riding back with us, didn't join, saying she had plenty of important things to do. No one understood what those things were, but the girl was determined to do them, so no amount of Misato's coaxing worked.
And we didn't sit at the table long, because Katsuragi was exhausted from the day and went to sleep almost immediately after beating me at rock-paper-scissors. The stakes were incredibly mundane: who would wash the dishes.
It wasn't hard for me, but for the Captain's peace of mind, I honestly lost three out of three.
Before starting my midnight feast and my reward for good behavior, I drew all the curtains and made sure I tightly closed the door. This was a habit developed over years of living with my uncle, or rather, with his daughter.
If Ayanami sometimes violated personal boundaries, Saya literally lived past them. But it helped me develop resilience to various kinds of incidents. For example, when someone bursts into the bathroom while you're washing.
Or waking up to someone watching you sleep through a crack in the door.
Sitting cross-legged, I pulled the plate of oranges toward me.
Saya was undeniably crazy, and not in a good way. However, strangely enough, almost all her behavioral deviations were directed solely at me. None of my cousin's boyfriends ever experienced what I had to go through.
Is that bad? Probably.
I view such events more as valuable experience that is almost impossible to obtain under other conditions. The question is: does the benefit of this "experience" outweigh its flaws?..
Popping a juicy slice of citrus bliss into my mouth, I turned on my simple smartphone. Much more advanced models had long since appeared on the market, but I saw no point in chasing novelties.
All I needed from a phone was stable internet access and calls. My device handled those functions perfectly.
Quickly scrolling through the news (not that I ever really read it), I instinctively opened a few forums where I occasionally hung out when bored in the evenings.
Okay, empty here, it'll die out soon.
Quiet here too, only the old-timers left, and even they only post once every couple of days.
I was about to close the last site as well, having noticed no interesting threads, but stopped at the last moment when I saw the glowing icon for private messages.
And who wanted something from me? I hadn't written anything at all here, I think, just read and occasionally laughed at the discussion topics.
Opening the conversation with interest, I read a message from a stranger whose username consisted of a meaningless set of numbers.
"Our gestalt is still not closed, xxxxxx#732."
I didn't have to guess long what was hidden behind the "crosses." It was my old handle, which I easily identified by the three numbers after the hashtag.
Slowly lowering the orange slice, I looked at the sender's handle again.
The last digits were "838."
Checking the date of the message, I saw it had been written a day ago, right when I was busy moving. And this "person" had been online at exactly the same time.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, then quickly typed a reply.
After sending it, I gave a chuckle and tossed the smartphone aside, returning to eating the oranges.
Sometimes, it's better to try and forget some experiences and not look back.
The screen slowly went dark, hiding my short but meaningful reply, consisting of three letters.