[Fic] The Tenant of Room 404

[EvaCub]

WOW I think I just found my favorite forum thread

[slothen]

thats how i felt when i found it, but it takes awhile to get caught up.

[n00dle]

I really hate the "all guns are made for killing" argument

Um...a gun is a device designed to send an object flying toward a person at the speed of sound. It's designed to kill. Your father was totally right. I'm interested in how you can actually argue that guns aren't meant just for killing.

I do agree with you about the absurd attitudes toward sex and violence in this country, however I myself don't find violence all that horrifying. It's just a fact of life, no point in getting worked up about it. Hell, I regularly skim /b/ looking for a good laugh, and many of those pics and memes are totally horrible.

Story gets moar Hikari.

Haruhi is in her heaven. Alls right with the world.

PS. pools closed cause of AIDS.

[Tabasco]

regardless, what hypocrisy in particular were you (attempting) to attack? The general "watching R-rated movies than condemning real-world violence" kind? Cause I don't really have a problem with that.

Not really. I'm more irked by the way real violence is used to sell stories - rather, the things advertised between the stories - without regard to the experiences of those who have to deal with said real violence. Also, with this chapter and the last together, I was trying to make a statement about the incredibly hypocritical "sex = evil, violence = awesome" attitude in this culture. Pretty much everyone was shocked and horrified by the depiction of a rape victim, which is proper, but those same people laughed at a similarly realistic depiction of people getting blown apart, merely because I threw in a bunch of silly status reports.

Think about it this way: suppose there were a massacre at a school you attend or have attended in the past, and that a security camera captured most of the action. Would you find it tasteful or amusing if a major news company broadcast that footage with "Boom, headshot!" or "Pwned, n00b!" inserted every time a victim died?

Just quoting the section that interested me. I'm suspecting our definitions of satire are a little different.

I'd argue that the idea is to take a subject and make your point about it with humor disguising the blade. In that case, I'd say you succeeded. The random game quotes are funny exactly because they have -no- business there, in serious situation.

Put another way, Jonathan Swift wrote 'A Modest Proposal' to shock and horrify yes, but in spite of that parts of it are at least worth a chuckle. And in doing so his message got across more effectively than a straight rendition would've done.

[Sailor Star Dust]

I was trying to make a statement about the incredibly hypocritical "sex = evil, violence = awesome" attitude in this culture.

South Park's Good Times with Weapons episode makes SUCH a good point about that. It's the one where they pretend to be Ninja and it's all anime-ish, complete with the song Let's Fighting Love (and poor Butters getting a Ninja Star in his eye ).

It's VERY hypocritical and stupid considering sex is just...sex, something people do out of love or whatever other reason, while violence is where the problem lies. Needless to say rape is very disturbing since it's violence/power over women and NOT about sex.

But yeah. I'm not certain what could be done to get that point across more. Only thing is at least that last chapter had the "shocking" scenario where the main characters do get hurt.

[BobBQ]

Um...a gun is a device designed to send an object flying toward a person at the speed of sound. It's designed to kill. Your father was totally right. I'm interested in how you can actually argue that guns aren't meant just for killing.

[Kyle]

A gun IS a device designed to send lead at very high speed out of the
barrel.The lead entering your body and shredding you internals is what kills,not the gun...unless you bludgeon someone with a gun than yes that IS killing with a gun.

Some will argue that a gun is classified as a weapon this is true but a gun is more of a tool.

The REAL weapon is your mind.I can kill someone in more ways with my mind than I ever could a gun alone.

I think you said something simular bob.

[CorporalChaos]

Um...a gun is a device designed to send an object flying toward a person at the speed of sound. It's designed to kill. Your father was totally right. I'm interested in how you can actually argue that guns aren't meant just for killing.

I would like to point out my father is a target and skeet shooter. Target shooting to him is similar to throwing darts down at the local pub, just a test of aim and skill. I would also like to take note that a gun is not designed to send an object flying towards a person. It sends an object flying towards whatever the shooter is pointing at.

And now, I'm leaving the gun debate for another time and another place, I really don't think this is the right place to get into a hot-blooded debate.

[BobBQ]

And now, I'm leaving the gun debate for another time and another place, I really don't think this is the right place to get into a hot-blooded debate.

Quite so, quite so.

Ahem.

One of tomorrow's classes got canceled, which frees up a pretty big chunk of time. Maybe I'll work up sufficient energy to start the next chapter ahead of schedule.

[n00dle]

Oh for the love of...these are some of the worst arguments ever. People have contests with bows to, doesn't change the fact that their weapons. Games of sport often develop around weapons. Big fucking deal. And lets not get into this nonsense about its really the bullet doing the killing and not the gun. You all know what I mean, if you sit there and argue absurd, meaningless little points like that, its cause you can't make a stand on any other, more important point. Makes you no different than say, Rush Limbaugh.

Furthermore, saying a gun is meant to shoot at whatever its user wants to shoot at is a terrible argument, if your trying to somehow disagree with me that is. What the hell do you think the user is shooting at? A wall? A tree? A car? No, he's shooting at something that he wants dead, be it a deer or an enemy soldier. I mean really people, how do you guys come up with this stuff? Your right they are tools. Tools of death.

Haruhi...I hate the internet at times...

[BobBQ]

I'm going to assume that you've never heard of clay pigeons or steel plate shooting and request that the subject be dropped so that we can get back on topic.

I'm too tired for a flamewar.

[CorporalChaos]

And I'm really not wanting to turn a thread for the praise of a respectable story into a flamefest. Noodle, if you really want to argue about guns, make a thread in the "Totally Off-Topic" forum, and I will be glad to debate you on another night, probably tomorrow, as I don't think I have anything to do.

However, I've got a full day of school tomorrow, and I'm about to turn in for bed, so I'll put off the urge to argue until tomorrow night.

[Mr. Tines]

Noodle, if you really want to argue about guns, make a thread in the "Totally Off-Topic" forum

DAMN STRAIGHT

Back on topic, bitches

[n00dle]

Fine, want me back on topic? Ok, I'll get back to the story. Better than wasting my time arguing over this. *mumbles something about inbreed southerners*

Anyway, back to the whole video-game references thing. I think the reason your attempt at illustrating social hypocrisy (if you really were doing that, I get the feeling you just threw those in there for laughs, like most of your references, to please yourself and readers, than decided later you wanted it to be some illustrative piece) it's because it just seemed like another set of cultural jokes, like Douglas Adams lines or quoting the Cortana Letters.

The real problem has to do with the first piece of the equation, ie Maya's rape. You say that everyone was horrified by that, yet not by the graphic violence. Well, you've done a big shoot-out sequence before, without cooky video-game jokes, and I don't think that produced much horrified discussion. Gunning down nameless minions just isn't that moving to me, at least in terms of being shocked. Maybe that's part of your point, I dunno.

Anyway, back to the raping (thats a phrase I don't get to use nearly often enough...), the way you did it (sounds wrong...), it was presented in a way clearly meant to conjure disgust. Had you accompanied it with a bunch of "gonna get raped!" or "stick it in her pooper!" meme's, maybe your point would have come across better.

There, that constructive enough for you?

ps. All glory to Haruhi. We are not worthy!

[BobBQ]

*mumbles something about inbreed southerners*

Who's an inbred southerner? Do we even have any southerners here?

Anyway, back to the whole video-game references thing. I think the reason your attempt at illustrating social hypocrisy (if you really were doing that, I get the feeling you just threw those in there for laughs, like most of your references, to please yourself and readers, than decided later you wanted it to be some illustrative piece) it's because it just seemed like another set of cultural jokes, like Douglas Adams lines or quoting the Cortana Letters.

In retrospect, it's probably true that previous use of humor in the story dulled the effect, though I'm still a little surprised at how nobody seemed to pick up on how out of place the game elements were.

And for the record, this chapter was intended as commentary from the get-go, not repurposed as an afterthought. A lot of what's going into the story now has been on the drawing board for over six months. In any case, it's clear that the experiment failed and so I'm going to abandon it and move on. The next time I decide to incorporate a serious theme, I'll make it bloody obvious.

The real problem has to do with the first piece of the equation, ie Maya's rape. You say that everyone was horrified by that, yet not by the graphic violence. Well, you've done a big shoot-out sequence before, without cooky video-game jokes, and I don't think that produced much horrified discussion. Gunning down nameless minions just isn't that moving to me, at least in terms of being shocked. Maybe that's part of your point, I dunno.

The Yokosuka sequences weren't supposed to be particularly offensive. At that point, I wasn't sure how much readers would accept, so I wrote some action and moved the plot along without going out of my way to stir things up.

Anyway, back to the raping (thats a phrase I don't get to use nearly often enough...), the way you did it (sounds wrong...), it was presented in a way clearly meant to conjure disgust. Had you accompanied it with a bunch of "gonna get raped!" or "stick it in her pooper!" meme's, maybe your point would have come across better.

I never meant for the Maya chapter to be parodic or satirical. It was intended to raise awareness of ongoing cruel and vicious practices carried out against women across the world, and in that regard I think it worked well enough.

There, that constructive enough for you?

Much better.

ps. All glory to Haruhi. We are not worthy!

Tell Haruhi to molest her friends somewhere else, would you? It's creeping out the Puchuus who deliver my strawberry licorice.

[slothen]

Anyway, back to the whole video-game references thing. I think the reason your attempt at illustrating social hypocrisy [failed] because it just seemed like another set of cultural jokes, like Douglas Adams lines or quoting the Cortana Letters.

In retrospect, it's probably true that previous use of humor in the story dulled the effect, though I'm still a little surprised at how nobody seemed to pick up on how out of place the game elements were.

I agree with n00dle here. I thought it was another set of cultural references. I didn't think you were trying to be funny either, so I mostly ignored them altogether.

[n00dle]

Haruhi only gropes one friend. And really, how could you not grope those?

[Tabasco]

*mumbles something about inbreed southerners*

Who's an inbred southerner? Do we even have any southerners here?

Oklahoma resident here. Inbred would be laughable after one look at my family tree.

And back to the topic. Speaking of the fic as a whole, I've liked how the depth has increased to the point where you'd even try to make a point like this instead of mindless action and pairings. Have you considered submitting it to Evafics? They'd almost certainly take it.

[BobBQ]

Have you considered submitting it to Evafics? They'd almost certainly take it.

No, but it'll probably go up there once it's been finished and corrected. You guys are my proofreaders, basically.

Ahem.

By popular - if unspoken - demand, this chapter contains no experiments.

Part 37: Bohemian Range Day | MISS AND TELL

The target popped into view in an instant, a dark outline at the edge of my vision.

Puh-Pokh!

Two more, lurking on the other side. Swing and lift.

Puh-Pokh! Puh-Pokh!

A fourth, dead center.

Pokh-Click!

I lowered the rifle and tapped a button on the bench in front of me, bringing the sequence of training targets to a standstill, then swung the safety lever into the locked position and pulled out the magazine. The gun was an MPiKM—a clone of the old Soviet Modernized Kalashnikov—built in the town of Suhl, in what was then known as East Germany, issued by the Nationale Volksarmee and finally laid up for the better part of three decades before being handed off to NERV.

“I see a little silhouette-o of a man...”

I'd just gone through ninety rounds of steel-cased surplus M43 ball ammo, double-tapping so that each target got the equivalent of one heart shot and one head shot. It had been a mixed experience: this AK was neither as comfortable nor as accurate as my SKS, but it had a definite advantage in close quarters and handled far better in rapid fire than the G3s I'd been doing most of my practicing with until now.

“Twenty-two, twenty-two, time to swap it for a mag-num!”

The next task was to familiarize myself with the pieces I'd used either very little or not at all. The list was fairly short: the Baby Eagle, the Astra 903—painstakingly refurbished and refinished—and lastly, the recently degreased .44 Desert Eagle.

I'd ordered the hand cannon—a matte chrome six-inch Mark XIX—on a whim, just for fun. By the time it finally reached my hands, however, circumstances had changed to such an extent that I was now seriously considering using it for combat, something its designers most probably did not intend.

How ironic.

Anyway, the pistol itself was in pretty good shape. It was one of the less common specimens constructed in the mid-1990s by a company called Saco Defense, which funnily enough was located less than a hundred and fifty miles from the area I grew up in. Saco was underwater in this world, as was the other manufacturing site in Israel; according to Mikuma, the DE's designers—safely ensconced in Minnesota—had contracted the German firm Rheinmetall AG to take over production twelve years ago.

My first impression upon picking the magnum up was that it fit my hand much better than I'd expected, yet still felt huge. This one had been lightly customized, with tritium night sights and rubber wraparound grips. I wasn't terribly fond of the finish—too flashy, I thought—though it was decently rust-resistant. The caliber wasn't ideal either, my preference being for the .357 model, but I'd decided that it was better to maintain at least partial ammunition compatibility with the Dan Wesson wheelgun I already owned.

All that was left now was to make sure it was reliable enough to do the job. I slipped a magazine into the frame, yanked the slide back and reached for the target controls. My situation had become significantly more complex over the last day, and I had a feeling I'd need every bit of projectable force I could get my hands on.

But first, allow me to jump back eight hours.

***

“So,” I inquired upon entering the bridge, “what's this about another shooting?”

“Section Two has a group on-site,” the officer reported, “working in conjunction with the municipal police... Shall I summarize?”

“Go ahead.”

“All right... There were five victims, of whom two have been identified as members of an organized crime ring known to operate across several prefectures. The bodies were found in the ruins of an apartment building damaged during the last Angel attack by a woman who was out walking her dog.”

“The dog smelled something?”

“Apparently... The actual killings were probably carried out sometime in the early hours of this morning. The assassin was very methodical; the investigators haven't found a single spent casing or stray bullet. The weapon itself was of eleven-point-forty-three millimeter caliber.”

“A .45,” I muttered to myself. “Go on.”

“That's all I have, sir. The killer's identity, motive and whereabouts are unknown.”

“I see. Anything else?”

“No, sir... Oh, yes; Mikuma-san is conducting an examination of certain material recovered after the hospital raid. He said you might find it of interest.”

“I'll go see him, then. Thanks.”

“Not at all, sir.”

***

“Sumisu,” the armorer muttered as the door shut behind me. “Give him a gun and he thinks he's invincible. Give him two and he is invincible.”

I rolled my eyes. “Be proud, Master Woo.”

“Yeah, yeah... Anyway, to business. Here, have a seat.”

“Thanks... So what have you got?”

“Most of it was pretty average for petty thugs. Tokarevs, Makarovs, Chinese knock-offs of western designs, stuff like that. Two shotguns, one in the van and one at the hospital...”

“What about the submachine gun?”

“There wasn't one.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I distinctly recall being under automatic fire.”

“I know,” Mikuma replied, “but it wasn't a subgun.” He stood up. “Here, I'll show you.”

I followed him across to one of the other workbenches, upon which was arrayed a motley assortment of parts. On closer scrutiny, I saw that the weapon was—had been, rather—a Beretta 92F. It was in pieces now, with the slide broken in two a little past halfway back.

“It's an early one,” the armorer explained. “One of the American military's.”

“The type with too much tellurium in the slide steel?”

Mikuma nodded. “Bingo. The guy was blazing away, and when it let go—“

“The rear half hit him right in the eye.” I winced at the memory.

“Yeah... Anyhow, as you can see, somebody drilled through the dust cover, riveted a steel eyelet to the underside of the frame and attached a loop of polyester cord to form a crude forward grip. On the inside, it has an auto sear but no fire selector.”

“How'd he manage to swap magazines so fast?”

“He didn't.” Mikuma ducked under the bench momentarily. “Check this out.”

“It looks like... a Suomi drum magazine with the body of a Beretta fifteen-rounder welded to the top?”

“Uh-huh. The drum is actually a Russian copy, but never mind.”

“And it holds how many rounds?”

“I was able to get seventy-six in, but I don't know if it works with that many.”

“Nasty,” I remarked. “What do you make of it?”

“It's a Zone gun... Or rather, that's what we're meant to think.”

“This is new to me,” I admitted. “What's a zone gun, and why would someone want us to think this is one?”

He paused for a few moments, as if considering how to explain the matter. “What do you know about the Zone?”

“Not much, I admit... Due to rising sea levels and widespread conflict after Second Impact, Japan was inundated by refugees from other Asian states. The provisional government in power at the time rejected many of them, but allowed a certain percentage into the country expressly to work on the salvage operations in Old Tokyo, cleaning up after the nuclear blast.”

“So far, so good.”

“After about three years, there was a big corruption scandal, which ended with that government being replaced and the corporation responsible for managing the work in Tokyo collapsing, effectively marooning the refugees—who didn't have permission to work or live anywhere else in Japan—inside the boundaries of the city itself. Their own governments, for various reasons, wouldn't or couldn't take them back, so they ended up settling there permanently. Successive administrations tried to exercise control over them with minimal success until about seven years ago, when the Ise cabinet authorized the creation of a semi-autonomous Experimental Limited-Intervention Zone. Since then, the refugees have been left to their own devices and survive by fishing, salvaging materials from the ruined buildings and various small-scale economic endeavors. Defense contractors use the area for product tests once in a while, but it's otherwise isolated.”

“That's a pretty good summary,” Mikuma commented. “What you left out is that the refugees have to contend with frequent harassment from both criminal gangs and right-wing vigilante groups. The government doesn't get involved—officially, at any rate—so the Zoners are on their own. What people on the outside tend to forget or ignore is that a lot of them are military veterans, and quite a few have higher education. They have internal factions, of course, but they all take protecting their community seriously and so they work together to come up with things kind of like this.”

I looked over the ruined machine pistol again. “But how do you know this isn't a proper Zone weapon, and why is it supposed to look like one?”

“Like I said, there are a lot of veterans in the Zone, and a number of them are professional armorers like me. I very much doubt they'd be so clueless as to use such a risky gun... And besides, I've never seen a Beretta given the Zone treatment before. They prefer the Norinco 213A; do you know it?”

“Chinese Tokarev clone, nine millimeter, with a double-stacked magazine,” I replied automatically. “Simple, cheap, reliable and easily obtained, I would think.”

“Yeah, but more importantly, capable of taking the stress of full auto fire better than a lot of fancier pistols. I saw quite a few real Zone guns back in the day, you know; they weld the eyelet to the frame instead of screwing it on, and their full-auto conversions always have a cross-bolt fire selector and a slot for a detachable stock. There have been examples with ported barrels or suppressor threads as well.”

“They take self-defense seriously, then?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“You still haven't answered my second question,” I prodded. “You keep saying that this Beretta is just an imitation of a Zoner weapon, but you haven't told me why.”

“Oh, that. Well... the best I can figure is that somebody wants to stir up trouble for the refugees. They're still illegal aliens, technically speaking, and the government obviously doesn't want weapons like these proliferating in Japan... But at the same time, they can't just send the military in to clean the area out because the rest of the Asian community would raise hell, not to mention the UN. Basically, there's an unwritten agreement between Tokyo-2 and the refugees: the government will turn a blind eye so long as what happens in the Zone stays in the Zone.”

“I see,” I said slowly. “So you're saying that somebody is making up these imitations and spreading them around as a kind of false-flag operation?”

“Pretty much... I mean, a pro like me can tell that it's probably bogus, but it would fool the average journalist, not to mention a lot of Diet members.”

“But then why would a bunch of gangsters use it against us?”

“I can take a guess,” Mikuma said grimly. “A lot of crooks and vigilantes hang out around the Zone, like I said. The thing is, a lot of those groups are in cahoots, opposing the refugee community together. What I think is happening is that those guys are using these things in their own operations as a way to draw attention.”

“Ah.” I squinted at him. “You sound very sympathetic towards these Zone people.”

Mikuma sat down at the bench. “You've never been to the Zone in person, have you?”

“No.”

“I used to live right outside.” His words sounded like a confession. “Want to hear about it?”

“I guess.”

“Right... Long story short, I was in the Ground Self-Defense Forces for a while, back when the Zone was just being officially recognized. The Ministry of Defense was worried that the refugees would use the concessions they'd won to cause trouble, so they had a temporary base set up in the north part of Old Tokyo.”

“You were stationed there?”

“Eight months... It wasn't that long, you know, but in that time I saw a lot of things that I can no longer condone. Back then, to be honest, I thought the refugees were looking to make trouble, just like most of my fellow grunts. It wasn't until after I was discharged that I really had time to stop and think about what I'd witnessed out there... One night, I was with some people from my old unit, out drinking in Nagano, when something clicked in my head.” He looked up at me. “I've never felt so guilty in my life.”

“Why?”

He picked up the Beretta's frame and started absently toying with it. “We were there to keep the refugees in and everyone else out... That was all. Our orders explicitly stated that we were to avoid all contact otherwise. The thing was, the gangs and vigilantes had moved in before we got there, but the refugees didn't have all the weapons and such that they use now. I don't think more than two days ever went by without some woman who'd been raped or kid whose parents had been murdered coming to us begging for help... We turned them all away, but a few of the guys in my platoon were decent enough to sneak out and leave packets of food or medical supplies in places where the refugees could find them. They took big risks doing that, because we had orders to report anyone we knew was involved.”

“...”

Mikuma dropped the Beretta frame and ran a hand through his hair. “I'm not proud of the way I behaved back then, but it's too late to fix that now... I guess the point I'm trying to make is that I can imagine how those people must feel, trying to eke out a living in a radioactive wasteland, surrounded by a land that's off-limits and incessantly threatened by people who want to take everything they have or drive them into the ocean.”

“I think I understand,” said I. “I'd like to look into the matter, but I think I've got too much on my plate right now.”

“I know.”

“Okay... So, uh, is there any news on this morning's killings?”

“Not yet.”

“I'll check again later, I guess.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Collect some things from my apartment, visit people at the hospital, various odds and ends.” I ran a finger along my jaw, frowning at the stubble that had grown in the two days since my last shower. “I should get cleaned up while I'm at it, or I'll start looking like Gary Oldman.”

“Who?”

“You never saw Léon? Great movie.h I walked over to my locker and opened it. gI'm going to take the Wesson out for a while.h

“Why?”

“In case I have to make a big hole in something. Call it a hunch.”

***

Getting back to the apartment building was an arduous task in itself, thanks to my perforated leg. In any case, I made it there without incident and went straight up to my place.

That was where the complications started.

There was a boy standing in the hallway outside Misato's door. He looked to be about Shinji's age, with dark skin and hair of a shade and color slightly lighter than the Major's. What drew most of my initial attention was the blue-green fatigues he was wearing, as well as the boots. The outfit was scuffed and spattered with mud, as if he'd just come back from a week of roughing it out in the boondocks.

“They're not in,” I said as I walked towards him. “Who were you looking for?”

The boy eyed me warily, his eyes lingering on my weapons. “Uh... Shinji. Shinji Ikari.”

His voice sounded faintly American, I thought. “He won't be back for a while, I'm afraid. If you'd like to leave a message, I'd be happy to pass it on.”

“Uh... No. No, thanks.”

My impression of a deer caught in headlights strengthened. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” he answered quickly. “Thanks, but—oh, shit.”

I listened for a second and realized that somebody was coming up the stairs—fast.

“Hey, mister, you work for NERV, right?”

“I do. Why?”

He pulled a crinkled envelope out of the front of his jacket and held it out. “Get this to Shinji. Don't let anyone take it from you. Got that?”

I tucked the letter into my pocket, inwardly puzzled by the sudden attitude reversal. “Loud and clear.”

“Thanks, man.” He took off, past me and towards the inbound third party. I turned to watch him; moments after he disappeared around the corner, there came a loud electric crackle accompanied by a yell of pain.

I wish I could say that I ran there as fast as I could, but the truth is that I just hobbled. In any case, I reached the head of the stairs just as a large man in a black suit and sunglasses switched off his Taser. Two other men, also in suits, moved in on the boy, who had apparently tumbled down one flight of steps after getting shocked.

Suffice it to say that I didn't like the looks of this at all, and drew my revolver. “That's enough! Hands in the air, all of you!”

The one with the Taser scowled. “Who are you?”

“I'm Smith and this is Wesson. I don't like your face and he doesn't like your attitude.”

“This is none of your business,” he growled. “Turn around and walk away.”

“You just zapped a kid on my turf and you want me to let it slide? Get real.”

His free hand strayed towards the inside of his jacket; I put my thumb on the .44's hammer. “Don't tempt me, punk.” Click. “I'm a-chargin' mah lazer.”

“Do you think you could defeat all of us?”

“Have you seen my Chow Yun-Fat impression?”

“...”

“Of course not.” I motioned with my free hand. “Step away from the kid.”

They did so, albeit grudgingly. I tugged the Ambrosia free and called headquarters.

”What is it?”

“Sorry to bother you, Commander. I've got three people from the T-RIDEN-T Land Cruiser project at gunpoint here.”

”Explain.”

“Well, what I think happened is that one of their pilots ran away for some reason. They chased him here and got rough, which I took offense at. Do we have any kind of official policy regarding these guys, or should I just smite them?”

”Let them go.”

I blinked. “Say what?”

”I said, let them go. You can't afford to start a fight with the GSDF, Sumisu.”

“Yeah? Why not?”

”I will explain later. For now, leave them be.”

“You'd better have a good reason.” I hung up. “You heard the man; get outta here.”

Taser Man nodded to his buddies, who immediately stepped forwards, grabbed the boy and dragged him away.

“You're not off the hook,” I intoned coldly as the leader moved off. “One of these days I just might come calling, and if I find you're still abusing the kids like that, a pink slip will be the least of your worries.”

“You have no authority over our organization,” he sneered.

“I can make authority.” I turned away. “Now scram before I lose my temper.”

“Give me the letter.”

“Letter? I haven't got any letters.”

“Then the boy gave you something else. Where is it?”

“I haven't the faintest idea as to what you mean,” I retorted, “but if you're looking for a fight—“

“Of course not. Good day.”

And so we parted ways. A nagging voice in the back of my head demanded to know why none of these people used the elevators.

***

I did quite a bit of thinking in the shower.

This latest development was unexpected; I'd played the Evangelion spin-off Girlfriend of Steel—insofar as one could call it playing—and knew the story, but I hadn't expected it to exist as a part of this world. Shinji had never spoken of such a thing, and neither had anyone else. That thought brought me back to my present circumstances, particularly all the other unknowns I'd already been caught off guard by. It was utterly irritating: I'd come into this world thinking I knew all I needed and that the path to a favorable ending was broad and clear.

What an idiot I'd been to believe it was so easy.

I was still fuming over the way those bastards had treated the boy as I finished buttoning up my shirt and discovered upon returning to the living room that I had another visitor.

“Don't bother with the gun,” she said softly. “I'm just a messenger.”

“Really. Who from?”

“SEELE.”

“I'll put the kettle on, then.” I stepped into the kitchen and did that, then returned. For a few moments, we just looked at each other.

She was of average height and strongly built; I would place her age as late teens or early twenties. Her hair was chocolate-colored, cut short and rather messy. She kept her eyes hidden behind a pair of wraparound sunglasses and her entire wardrobe had 'biker' written all over it, from the heavy boots to the leather flight jacket that didn't quite conceal a well-developed torso and a pistol in a shoulder holster.

“So,” I said at last, “what's the message?”

“Do you mind if I wait for the tea? I'd like to get to know you a little.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm going to be working close to you.”

“Are you, now?” I glanced to the left. “You and the assault rifle behind the couch?”

“How'd you spot it?”

“The kettle,” I replied. “It's new and stainless.”

“I see... You're not expecting any other visitors, are you?”

“Expecting? No.”

“Then I don't need to hide it.” She reached back over the rear of the couch and picked up a charcoal-colored Steyr AUG. It was an A3 model, I noted automatically, with a heavy extended barrel, bipod and expensive-looking scope.

“Not bad,” I remarked. “Must be pretty accurate.”

The woman smiled a little. “Your profile indicated that you specialize in these matters. I'm not disappointed.”

“You're welcome... So what's under the jacket?”

“My heart. What else?”

“Then what do you keep close to your heart?”

She pulled out the pistol, emptied it and placed it on the coffee table. I cautiously sat down and picked it up, taking this apparent gesture of faith with more than a few grains of salt.

“Do you like it?”

I turned the Springfield Operator over in my hands. It was a fancier 1911 than my humble Norinco, the most visible difference being the accessory rail integrated into the underside of the frame. There was a device attached—it looked to be a combination flashlight, laser sight and night vision IR source—and the end of the barrel was threaded to accept a sound suppressor.

“You're the one who took out those thugs this morning.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“They were a threat.”

“To who?”

“To you.”

Further conversation was interrupted by the kettle; I placed the .45 on the table and went to deal with it.

***

“This is good.”

“It's tea from a bag; thank the manufacturer, not me.”

“That's no fun.” She took another sip. “Would you like to hear the message now?”

“Sure.”

“As you are perhaps aware, my employers have a considerable degree of influence... It is sometimes necessary to work with persons and organizations we find distasteful in order to achieve some higher goal.”

“Uh-huh.” My eyes narrowed. “So they did order Maya's rape.”

“No,” she corrected, “we had nothing to do with that. It was a horrible thing and we don't condone it in any way.”

I leaned forward, turning up the pressure. “Then what's the connection?”

“We requested, though a mutual contact, that the group responsible deliver a warning to certain parties in the city. That was all.”

“Who was the warning for?”

“I can't say... We don't know why they abducted that woman, nor why they abused her in such a manner. I can only imagine that a very disturbed mind was behind it. I suspect it was the gang's leader, as he had a history of psychotic disorder.”

“Of course.”

“I would assume that your stopping of the getaway vehicle further enraged that man, so much that he blindly threw nearly all his subordinates into the hospital attack, which you also foiled. Once my superiors became aware of what was happening, they ordered me to intervene. Regrettably, I did not arrive in time to prevent the second attack. I did, as you said, deal with the remnants of the group, however, and I do not believe there is a further threat from that direction.”

“That's all very well,” I muttered. “Now what?”

“My orders are to protect you.”

“Eh?”

“The members of the Committee may find you—in their own words—irreverent, obnoxious and unamusing, but they do not deny that you have been a valuable intelligence source. I have therefore been instructed to ensure your survival, at least until the remaining Angel threat is dealt with.”

“That's nice of them,” I remarked sourly. “They don't trust me to take care of myself?”

“You have a marked affinity for throwing yourself headlong into dangerous situations.”

“What makes you think you can keep me out of them?”

“I didn't say I would.” She picked up the AUG again. “I just have to keep you alive.”

“Wonderful.” I stood up. “Well, thanks. I don't mean to sound rude, but I have places to go and things to do.”

“Of course... Thank you for the tea.”

I waited for her to pack up the Steyr—she had a very innocent-looking carry bag—and make for the door. “You know I can't believe a word you said without independent confirmation, don't you?”

“Of course. In the meantime, I will be watching over you.”

“One other thing.”

“What's that?”

I reached out and lifted the sunglasses off her face. Her eyes were the same color as her hair, and reminded me of those of a fox. There was something hauntingly familiar about them.

“You have pretty eyes,” I said, returning the shades. “You shouldn't hide them.”

“Thank you again.” She turned away. “Excuse me.”

As she stepped out the door, some bits of information came together in my head. I swiftly pulled out the photograph given to me by Kaworu and examined it for a few fleeting moments.

“Kirov.”

She froze, one foot in the hallway. “What did you say?”

“It's your name, isn't it?”

“Don't call me that.”

“Then what should I call you?”

“I don't care.”

“I'll call you 'Y.T.', then.”

“'Whitey'?”

“No, no. Two initials, for 'Yours Truly'.”

“That works.”

“See you 'round, then.”

“If you see me before I see you, I'm doing something wrong.” The messenger took a step, then another. “Goodbye for now, Mister Smith.”

***

She really did have a bike, a fast one. My head was spinning like its wheels all the way to NERV's medical branch.

First the T-RIDEN-T people and now Kirov, a face from the future. Had the me from the failed timeline known she worked for the old men? Did he care? According to the audio logs, the future Smith had been on intimate terms with this woman. While I certainly found her appearance attractive, I couldn't see how a relationship with someone who was, ultimately, an enemy agent could work out, let alone last five years.

But then, Third Impact would have changed everything, wouldn't it?

She had said some interesting things, as well. I didn't for an instant believe that what had been done to Maya was merely the depraved action of an unhinged underling; the question now was whether SEELE had indeed ordered the rape—in which case Kirov was lying through her teeth—or whether Number Six had gone rogue as I originally suspected, which would imply that Kirov was either in the dark or not at liberty to mention any knowledge of the issue. When all was said and done, I still found myself gravitating towards the idea that Number Six was acting alone or with a disloyal faction within SEELE's infrastructure.

Either way, the real message was the same: Kirov had revealed herself to me because the old men wanted it known that they were keeping a close watch on my actions, and that they could take me out if I ceased to be useful. It would be harder to pursue my own agenda with that sniper lurking nearby.

I put the matter aside for the time being and decided to read the letter to Shinji. It wasn't that I wanted to pry, but I felt that I should know if anything vital was in it.

***

“Sumisu-san!”

“Hello, Shinji. How do you feel?”

“It hurts, but I guess I'm getting used to it... I can't sit down or lie on my back, though.”

“Pretty annoying, I would think. Listen, Shinji, someone asked me to deliver this letter to you.”

He accepted the envelope with a quizzical expression. “Erm... Why has it been opened?”

“Because it came from Kirishima Mana by way of Musashi Lee Strasbourg, and anything that comes from Kirishima Mana by way of Musashi Lee Strasbourg is cause for suspicion. Anyway, it wasn't booby-trapped, which is what I was worried about. Be careful, however.”

“Sumisu-san?”

“You will be tempted by the dark side of the force.”

Shinji read the letter much faster than I had, his eyes widening with every line. “Su-Sumisu-san... This is..!”

“I know.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I think,” I replied carefully, “that I might make further inquiries.”

***

I stayed with Shinji for a little while, discussing various trivialities, then moved on to Asuka's room. I found Asuka herself starting up at the ceiling, while Hikari perched on the edge of a chair with an uneasy expression. The tension in the room was so thick it could practically induce coughing.

“Hi, Smith,” Asuka said flatly. “How's the leg?”

“It's okay... You?”

“Hurts.” She twisted her head towards me. “Where's Miss Perfect?”

“At headquarters. Why do you ask?”

“...I can't believe she stuck her neck out for me. Did the Commander tell her to do that?”

“No.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“She's a doll,” the Second Children said quietly. “She's always been a doll... Why? Why did she save me?”

“What do you mean?”

“She pushed that idiot Shinji under a bench... and then she came back and grabbed me.”

It seemed to be that Asuka was having a crisis of faith, hopefully minor in scale. “I don't understand a lot of things Rei does, Asuka, but I think she cares about all of us in her own way, even if she doesn't express it.”

The redhead snorted. “How do you figure that?”

“She saved me, too.”

“Huh?”

“After she got you out of the way, she went back out and recovered my Siminov. When she ran out of ammo, she unfolded the bayonet and skewered a guy who was going to blast me.”

“The Wonder Girl skewered somebody?”

“I kid you not. She picked up a carbine weighing almost four kilograms and chucked it like a spear.”

“I wish I'd seen that.” Asuka let out a wistful sigh. “When I first came here, I said we should be friends... You know what her answer was?”

“That she didn't see the point?”

“She said she'd do it if she were ordered to. Ordered! That's the kind of person she is!”

Hikari intervened, presumably alarmed by the rise in tone. “That's not really fair, Asuka. I mean, it's true that she keeps to herself, but it's not as if she totally ignores us. Hasn't she always been cooperative when we do our training?”

Asuka's voice turned bitter. “That's only because she's told to.”

I felt it preferable to nip this mood swing in the bud. “Now, Asuka—yes, who is it?”

Kensuke stuck his head into the room. “Class Rep, we're going to visit Shinji for a bit. Are you going to hang around?”

“Er... Yes, I think so.”

“Okay... Hey, Sumisu, that Chinese babe wants to talk to you. So do the Ibukis.”

“Thanks for the warning.” I turned back to Asuka. “I have to keep moving. Want me to drop by again later?”

“Sure.”

“All right. Look, about Rei... I know she isn't the most approachable of people, but you have to remember that she had a very isolated upbringing. I think she ignores a lot of social conventions because she simply doesn't understand how to use them. If you want her to be more outgoing, maybe you should give her some advice, you know?”

“I'll think about it.” Asuka closed her eyes. “Thanks for visiting.”

***

“Ah, box-cannon man! Ni hao!”

“Hello, Miss Cheng. Hi, Takao, Maya, Kang.”

Maya lifted her head a little. “Sumisu-san... They said... you were hurt.”

“It's not serious... I saw the doctors' report, by the way.”

“You... did?”

“Yeah.” I walked over to the side of her bed and sat down beside Takao. “This probably sounds utterly corny, but if there's anything you need assistance with, I'll do what I can to help.”

“Thank you.”

“If you don't mind me asking, where do you intend to go from here?”

“I... don't know. I can't stay... can I?”

“Keep your job, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“I don't see why not. Are you afraid of discrimination?”

She nodded.

“I don't think you have to worry about that,” I replied.

“Then... I'd like to stay.”

“All right, then.”

“But... my parents...”

“Mom and pops are real assholes,” Takao interjected, causing her sister to blush. “Actually, pretty much the whole family except us two are all assholes.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I'm serious.” She looked it, too. “I'll bet all this year's pay on them whisking us away and sweeping this whole thing under the carpet.”

I frowned. “You don't really mean that, do you?”

“I do.” Takao leaned towards me a little. “If sis and I suddenly disappear, try looking in Tokyo-2's historic district; that's where the family mansion is.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

Maya chose that moment to speak. “Takao, Chengu-dono... If you don't mind, I'd like to speak... with Sumisu-san alone for a minute.”

“Huh? ...Well, okay.” Takao stood up. “C'mon, Mei; we'll wait outside.”

I waited for the three to file out, then focused on the patient. “There's something else bothering you, isn't there?”

“Sumisu-san, have you ever... been in love?”

Of all the things I hadn't expected to hear, it had to be that one. “What's it to you?”

“Please...”

“There were a few times when I thought I was, but... no. No, I haven't.”

“I... I think I'm in love with... a person I shouldn't be.”

“Why not?”

“The person I like is...”

“Don't force yourself, Ibuki-kun. If you don't want to talk about—“

“No,” she said, firmness creeping back into her tone and posture. “I have... to talk about it, I have to... tell someone, or I'll go crazy... The person I like is... a woman.”

“Oh,” said I. “Well, there's nothing wrong with that.”

Maya responded with a hint of a smile. “Takao told me... that you said that to her, also.”

“So you know where her preferences lie?”

“Yes.”

“Does she know about yours?”

“No... I haven't told anyone.”

“I see. And how long have you known you were attracted to this person?”

“I always looked up... to her and admired everything about her... But it wasn't until today... that I was sure it was love.”

“Ah.”

“Do you really... think it's all right?”

“Yeah, I do. People who say it's a sin, say it's not natural, they're just bigoted.”

“I'm glad I asked... But even if it's not wrong, I don't know if she's like that.”

“So that's what you're worried about,” I prompted. “Rejection.”

“Yes.”

“It's certainly true that the good doctor isn't the most approachable—whoops.”

A pink tinge spread across the invalid's cheeks. “You... You knew?”

“Well, I had a a feeling it was something like that, and what with the way you were talking just now... It really is Akagi?”

Maya nodded.

“That complicates things.”

Is she with... someone else?”

I decided to be honest, reasoning that a little pain now might prevent a lot of pain later. “Yes, she is.”

“Do you know him?”

“Yeah... To be blunt, the guy's a jerk and I'm pretty sure he's only in it for the sex. The whole thing will probably end in tears.”

“Oh...”

“Pardon my asking, but is this going to influence whether or not you stay with us?”

“I don't know... Do you want me to stay?”

”I do, but it's your choice.”

“I think... even if Sempai doesn't know how I feel... if I can be around her, I'll be happy.”

“Perhaps... Anyway, think about it some more, all right?”

“Yes... Thank you, Sumisu-san.”

“Before I go,” I said quietly, “can I ask why you wanted to talk to me about this?”

“Because of what you told Takao... and because you know about... a lot of things.”

“I wish that were true,” I sighed. “Unfortunately, long-term personal relationships are something I don't know about.”

“Oh.”

I spied an opportunity to do some good and ran with it. “But I do happen to know another person who is in a situation like yours... If you like, I could try to set up a meeting; maybe the two of you can come up with something?”

“I would like that.”

“I'll see what I can do... In the meantime, don't loose too much sleep over this, all right?”

“All right.”

***

“That was one long minute,” Takao muttered once the door was closed.

“She had something important to say.” I looked around. “By the way, where's Katsuragi?”

“She went back to work.”

“So soon?”

“She's got crutches.”

“Ah.” I dug out my watch. “I guess I'm going to head to school and try and get a lesson in.”

“May we come?” Mei asked. “I would like to see your teaching.”

I was a little wary of the idea, especially since Kirov would presumably be hanging around, but I had no easy way to refuse. Besides, Mei had come here largely to see me and had endured multiple setbacks with great patience. I owed her this much, at least. “Of course you can.”

***

We traveled the last leg of the journey on foot, allowing me to point out some of the more interesting locations in Tokyo-3. Mei took it all in with great interest, of course, and even Kang lost a little of her usual sour edge. If Takao had come along, maybe even she would have lightened up a little.

***

“What in the world are you apologizing to me for?” Fujinami demanded. “You've got more important things to worry about, haven't you?”

“Technically, yes, but—“

“Technically, my foot. You've got a duty and you honored it, and that's no cause for apology... Yes,” he added upon seeing my reaction, “I've heard about what happened last night.”

“Should have known.”

“Anyway,” the grizzled caretaker went on, “you're off the hook and that's that. You still want the job, you still want to come in and pull weeds tomorrow, that's your call.”

“It's true that my finances are in better shape now,” I confessed, “but I think I ought to stay on, if for no other purpose than character building.”

“Then I'll see you tomorrow... Now go make those kids happy, why don't you?”

***

As always, there was a group of students waiting in the appointed area with chairs and blackboard already deployed.

“If I recall correctly,” I began, trying to get back into the swing of this, “when we last met, we were discussing the popular works of William Bryson... Who remembers what page we ended on?”

***

After the lesson was over, I decided to finish the tour by walking to the south side of the city, a part of Tokyo-3 I rarely visited otherwise. Mei perched on a parking barrier beside one of the docks, her skirt and sleeves fluttering in the breeze, while Kang eyed the Frank Knox with an expression of grudging approval.

“It is pretty,” Mei opined. “Your little battleship, yes?”

“Yeah... And two more waiting in Sasebo.”

“How will you move them?”

“In pieces, presumably.”

“The city will be protected very well.”

“I hope so.”

***

“Thank you, box-cannon man. It was very nice, no?”

“Very nice.” I meant it, too; my time with the pair had relieved quite a bit of stress. “How long are you going to be in the city?”

“Another two days, then we return to Beijing for a time. If it is all right, may I stay in touch?”

“Certainly.”

“Then I will say good night.” Before I quite knew what she was doing, she had leaned in, given me a peck on the cheek, and disappeared into the hotel.

“'Night!” I turned to Kang, whose cheer had promptly evaporated. “Don't look at me like that. You know as well as I do that I didn't ask for it.”

“You enjoyed it, though.”

“A little, maybe... How are things between you and her?”

“The same as always.”

“Ah... Listen, I found out today that one of my coworkers is facing a similar problem. I thought maybe the two of you should meet; you might be able to help each other work out a solution.”

She perked up at that. “Really?”

“Yeah... I have to warn you, though: she's kind of shy about the subject.”

“I understand,” the soldier replied sadly. “It's not an easy thing.”

“I would have thought people would be enlightened by now,” I muttered, “but it seems we're still condemned to walk amongst the intolerant.”

“I hope I live to see the day that changes.”

“So do I... I take it you're interested?”

“Yes.”

“I'll pass that along... 'Bye for now.”

***

It wasn't actually night; in fact, the sun hadn't even set. That wasn't far off, though, and the ride down into the Geofront shaved a little more off the time left in my day.

***

“You are sure of this?”

“I saw it myself.”

Gendo didn't bat an eyelash. “Then they have violated the agreement.”

“The agreement being..?”

“Mutual non-interference, in the interests of national security. The proper response would have been for them to inform us of the situation and allow NERV to recover the runaway.”

“Instead, they risked an armed confrontation in order to snatch him themselves,” Fuyutsuki mused. “They're hiding something.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“I'm not going to let it slide,” I said flatly. “What do you make of this offer?”

“It's a big gamble. I don't like it.”

“We're not accepting it,” Gendo interjected.

“No? Oh, well; I've got a better idea anyway.”

“Explain.”

I leaned forwards, smiling coldly. “I say we take the bastards over, lock, stock and barrel.”

“Impossible,” the professor protested. “To do that, you'd have to convince the Prime Minister himself.”

“I see... So what are we going to do about the trespassing?”

“I will see to that,” the Commander answered. “It need not concern you.”

“If you say so.”

***

Boom!

The first .44 casing hit me a little above the right eye—I later discovered that it had left a red mark there—and tumbled down the front of my shirt. A classic sign of poor grip or posture, I reminded myself, and tried again.

Boom!

Dink-dink!

Much better. Onwards!

I put the Desert Eagle through its paces, then switched over to the Astra. It wasn't quite as elegant as my C96, but it felt no less solid and proved itself equally accurate. It was a pity that I couldn't test the full auto mode here.

I'd just finished loading up the Baby Eagle when I realized I had company. “Oh, Kaji. What's up?”

I hadn't seen such an utterly grim look on his face since I first met the man. “The Ibuki sisters are missing.”

I almost dropped the magazine I was loading. ”What?”

“They were checked out of the medical center a little while ago by a group who identified themselves as representatives of the Ibuki corporate conglomerate.”

“And the security people just stood by and let them?”

“The credentials checked out, apparently, and Maya was on indefinite leave, so they assumed it was fine to let her recover at home. The thing is, I tried to contact Takao to get her side of the story and I've gotten an answering machine four times now. She hasn't been seen since she left the school.”

“I can't take any more,” I moaned. “This is the last, the very last, that I am prepared to put up with... No more! No more, I say!”

“Sumisu?”

“Pack your stuff. First thing tomorrow, you and I are going to Tokyo-2.”

[chee]

Another excellent chapter. I applaud you.