By Ketheres Elyion

The city of Tokyo-3 lay in ruins. Following the attack of the Sixteenth Angel, the remaining populace was moved to the outskirts of the city or put up in emergency housing in the GeoFront. The city itself was now a large lake, speckled with the skeletons of burnt out skyscrapers. Those who were still on the surface went nowhere near the edge of the lake - it was too much like walking into an open crypt. Rescue teams had been dredging for days, pulling up thousands of bodies - all of them lifeless.

There was one, however, that did dare to near the body of water. Slowly stumbling along the shoreline, the dazed individual seemed unaware of the surroundings. There was an air of confusion and despair in the aimless wanderings - wanderings that no longer sought anything, not even escape or distraction. The lone figure stopped before the edge of the lake, looking out over the bright waters as they reflected the red rays of the morning sun.

The wandering one didn't stay alone long. The errant stumblings eventually crossed the path of another who was sharing the shoreline. This second person gazed across the waters with a serene visage - one that could not be seen by the wanderer, who was standing behind the gazer. Gentle tones of music wafted through the air into the ears of the first sunken-eyed individual - who stared intently at the one humming.

Was it him? No. Something was wrong, something was different. This one was a few inches taller than him. The humming one wore a jacket and cap, fending off the cold dawn air blown across the lake. If only it was him, if only he was here. But he wasn't here, even when he was, the one that was wanted - the other one of him - was often not. The other one. The one that radiated strength and power, but more importantly, warmth. The one who had not lifted a finger to save her, but was willing to die for another.

The wanderer was so lost in thought that the approach of the humming one went undetected until he was close enough to touch. That's when his eyes showed themselves. Those orbs of empathy and feeling. But they were her eyes. That same foul color. It was a favorite color; one of blood and love and warmth and fire. But it was sedate, weak; hiding itself for its own protection. Just like he did.

The two remained stock-still, eyes locked until the second one spoke.

"Are you cold?"

In truth, freezing.

"No," came the flat, throaty reply.

"Are you sure?"

"Who are you?" the first queried - paranoid.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I haven't introduced myself. I'm here to help you."

Please. I'll accept anyone's help. You look like him, but you look like her. I don't want her. But if the only way to have him is to have her...

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You cannot continue. You need help. I am here."

He said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if he was the jinni that had just popped out of some lamp that I, in my desperation, had rubbed. Rubbed. I wanted to rub against him - the friction of souls heating the heart. My cheek against his shoulder, giving me warmth to fill my coldness. But there was that damn barrier; it always separated us. He was beginning to look more like him by the second. I couldn't hold back any longer.

"Go away," the first says.

"I can't. You're hurt and need help. You can be healed of what has wounded you."

"What can you do?"

"I can help fill the hole that you have. Make you more than what you are. Give to you part of myself."

Hole? What hole? There are so many. The one left by my mother? The one given to me by my father? The ones collected through this pitiful life of escape and absconding? The only hole there was left was the grave. But there was still something before that. There must be one last task to live.

The two began to walk towards one of the wrecked houses nearby. The wanderer led the way, never having responded to the offer given. The humming one followed, sensing the chaos in the other's mind. After entering one of the houses, the pair stopped. The roof opened to the sky, allowing a faint illumination of what was once a bathroom.

Asuka turned to the boy, her mind frenzied with thousands of incoherent and dimly related thoughts.

"What a cute kid. Is she the professor's daughter? What? A student? At that age?"

"They chose me Mama! I'm an elite pilot!"

"Wow! A ratio of 48%! A true wunder-kid! This success is unbelievable! Our original projections have been rendered completely useless due to her rapid progress! Amazing!"

"Asuka! Try and concentrate like you used to, your synch-ratio is dropping again!"

"Official report to Commander Ikari. Maya Ibuki: acting head of Technical Division E. RE: the status of the Second Shild. Asuka's ratio has now hit the zero mark and shows no signs of rising again. Viable proposals include reexamination, retraining, replacement."

What was the other one? She always forgot, because she never wanted to remember.

"I think that the training has progressed fairly well, don't you? Yes, but what of the accident? It's nothing. Such an occurrence was to be expected during such rigorous physical training. But does she understand? Of course she does; she understands theoretical physics, a little biology is not difficult for her. But what about her self-image? How will she think of herself now that this has happened? Such occurrences happen often in things like this; the idea that her true state lies in the presence of a thin membrane is ridiculous and she knows that it would have been lost eventually. Yes, probably sooner than later considering the way she flaunts herself and her appearance. How she acts like something she's not - an adult."

There was no proof. There never was a child known as Asuka Langley Souryuu. There was only the prematurely formed adult that was the Second Child. Second. Always Second. Second to mother's work; Second to mother's replacement; Second to her. Second to...

Second to none? Only when she was alone. She would be Second again. Someone else would have what this boy offered, taking her portion away - because she no longer deserved it.

Self-loathing, the worst torment. Battered from within, Asuka's psyche made its final grabs for stability that could only be found outside itself. But in such a condition, all attempts were now futile. Each try became more and more pathetic.

"Did you come here just for me?"

"No, I'm sorry, I came for another reason than you."

"Will you be here just for me now that you are here?"

"No. There is another that I have come for."

"Will you stay here just with me for now?"

"Yes. I can do that."

"I want to be loved."

"We all do."

"But you won't love me."

"I won't love you alone. I can't love only one thing."

"Could you pretend? Could you lie to me? Just lie to me so that I can be happy."

"I can't lie."

"You can lie."

"I cannot speak falsely."

"You don't have to speak. Acts can be false."

"What would you have me do?"

"Love me."

"I cannot do that."

"Are you impotent?"

"No."

"Then you can. The reaction is totally biological. There is no thought necessary, in fact..."

She begins to rattle off facts she deems relevant. She seems to have fixated on this new train of thought. She ignores the fact that what she wants is not truth but fantasy. She is only entrenching herself deeper in her misery. She will be buried when she realizes that she cannot have what she wants because it does not coincide with what she seeks. And all I can do is watch and deepen her misery. I feel sorry for her, this poor delusional creature.

"...so you can. Will you?"

"I'm sorry, it would only hurt you."

"Not anymore. I had that pain a long time ago."

"That is not what I meant."

"Please?" she begs with vacant eyes.

"I'm sorry."

The tide has turned. The final steep is reached. The rest is downhill from here.

"'You're sorry'? You tell me you'll help and then refuse me and 'you're sorry'? You can't refuse me! No one can! I'll have my way! I never lose! I never will!"

I can feel it. The soul trying to create an entire reality on one fact. A final anchor to hold oneself in. But it is of no use. The anchor is faulty. The chain will break, and so will her sanity.

"You can't say no!"

She stamps her foot like a child robbed of some toy. With each exclamation she repeats the tantrum, creaking the floorboards and raising dust.

"You can't say no! You can't say no! You can't say no! You can't say no!"

She stops her verbal assault as her mind registers one last avenue of attack. She begins tearing at her clothing; the green dress and white shirt underneath come off in a hail of broken buttons and a chorus of tearing fabric. She stands before me, naked. She would be beautiful but for her darkened, sunken eyes and the painfully thin body that has been deprived of food for nearly a week. She is visually worn, but she is all the more pitiful for the state of her soul. It has lost all reason in control, and therefore all reason.

She stands as if waiting, her hands clasped together in front of her. We stand for minutes. No sounds. She lets her hands drop, realizing that she has failed - not so much in her attempted seduction as in her attempt at self-salvation. She thought she could control what I was going to give, and now has lost the chance because of her demands to be in control. Her eyes, which had been wild moments before, now held no more life. Even her breathing was shallower.

I know that I can do nothing more for her than this. I walk over to her, bend down and pick her up. She offers no resistance, nor is she gladdened by my closeness. Her arms hang limply and her head lolls. I set her down in the only available place, the large tub behind her. I fix her clothes into a neatly folded pile on a nearby chair.

Turning back to her, I take off my jacket and hat. The former I lay across her like a sheet, the latter I place behind her head like a pillow. I momentarily forget her condition and let go of her head. Rather than lowering it back to the tub rim, she allows it to fall - the impact hollow, sending shivers up my spine.

I kneel down beside the tub. She has begun talking to herself. She seems to no longer notice me. I sit there several minutes, watching the blue, cold lips form rambling words.

"Zero. Nothing. No one. Not my mother. Not my father. No one. No one loves me."

I speak to her, hoping she will her me through the powerful barrier her mind has made.

"I love you. For the pain that you have endured, that your existence unfairly imposes on you for the mere crime of being born - a crime you had no part in. I'm sorry that I can't help you further."

I stand to leave. I hear her begin to list the names of those who don't love her. I know what this list truly is; its is a wish list of those she wished would love her.

"Father doesn't love me."

"Mother doesn't love me."

"Misato doesn't love me."

"Kaji doesn't love me."

I begin walking away, pained by the display before me. Before I can exit, she calls out.

"What is your name? I want to know who doesn't love me."

"Kaoru. Kaoru Nagisa."

"Kaoru doesn't love me."

The words wound me. A pronouncement of callousness on my person. I love all things for what they are, nothing else. I don't even love them for myself. The pain brings back memories of my own times of pain. I feel like I need to sing. I choose a song. It was a favorite of a friend of mine. I begin to sing quietly as I leave. I can still hear her listing names.

"Shi- Shin- Shinj-..."

"Halleluia..."

"SSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHEEEEEIIIIIIIISSSSSSTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!"

Her scream is torturous, it carries to me the depths of agony she is experiencing. I cease my song. As soon as I do, she stops screaming. I run from the remains of the house, wanting to get to the end of my mission - not wanting to see any more pain. But pain is the only thing that I will see, surrounded by these sorrowful creatures.

The song that Kaoru had started to sing was the Halleluia Chorus. The same song that was being played during Asuka's mind rape scene. Thus her less than positive reaction.

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