Hard Labor 4.5: You Can (Not) Go Home

She’d been prepared for a rough night sleeping on him, but what she wasn’t prepared for were the klaxons that went off in the dead of night.

Ellen started awake, the situation taking a moment to register. Red lights flashed along the walls of the vast bath, and the floodlights along the ceiling flared to life automatically. The Evangelion under/around/above her barely stirred, but she could see that his eyes were open, and harder than she’d ever seen them. Something in the massive being changed, and she was suddenly terrified.

“You wanted to stay with me?” he thundered, a huge and wicked grin spreading across his face as he began to stand up in the LCL. Ellen clung to the grain in his under-armor for dear life and struggled to not look down. “Well kid, here’s your fucking chance.”

The human was crushed against his shoulder as they shot up on a lift, which took them to the scramble decks above.

Ellen had never been present to watch an Eva get suited up and sent topside, and now she was suddenly in the thick of it, even as she struggled to shed the lingering fog of sleep and attempting to cover her naked body. When the door to the lift opened, a bright white room opened up before her. Calling it a “room” was probably an understatement, though. Football fields long, 40 stories high, and already crawling with personnel, the Eva stepped over to an impossibly huge collection of machinery directly off to his left, where he was clamped in. Ellen had to get out of the way of one of the hulking things as it secured itself to a mooring on his shoulder with a heavy whir and hiss of hydraulics. Massive robot arms came out like spider legs to check the integrity of his armor plating, and sparks rained down from his towering body from a dozen concurring spot welds.

“Get me a plug,” he barked with tremendous volume, sending her to her hands and knees on him. Her ears rang.

A voice replied to the command via PA system, and Ellen felt dozens of eyes on her.

“A… a plug, number one? You haven’t–”

“Did I fucking stutter?

The engineers scurrying around on the machine he was hooked up to paused for a moment before getting back to work.

“…a-acknowledged,” the voice said. “Securing plug A7 from storage bay 9. Inbound…”

01 released himself from the machine with a series of booms, hisses, and deep, resounding clacks, stepping into the middle of the bay and reaching up to the back of his neck. Curious and deeply troubled, Ellen watched as the plating between his shoulders unfolded, and out shot a long, black tube, which he removed and dropped to the floor with a cacophonous crash. Yells and shouts rose up from men in HAZMAT suits running around his feet as the thing, some 5 feet in diameter and 15 feet long, hit the floor .

“Plug primed and ready for entry,” came another voice on the loudspeaker.

Unit 01 ignored everyone and turned to where a new capsule-shaped tube, this time white, emerged from a conveyor system in the wall. This was that exact moment that Ellen had wished she’d never had met him. He plucked her off his shoulder with one hand, and held the plug with the other.

By some unseen signal, a hatch on the side appeared and hissed open, and she looked from it to him, shaking in his grasp.

“You’re going to hate this,” he said, grinning, and proceeded to shove her inside.

Ellen screamed bloody murder and struggled futilely against his massive fingers as they pushed her deep inside the dark recesses of the compartment. When the hatch closed behind her, leaving her in pitch blackness, she started banging on the inside of the door.

No, no, no, no… this can’t be happening.

“Let me out!” she screamed. “Please let me out! I don’t want to be in here!”

If LCL was an acquired smell, then this was downright gross. It reeked of old blood with the faint musk of bodily fluids, and it was all she could do to cover her nose and breathe through her mouth when she suddenly started being tossed around inside as the plug was being handled. She could hear faint and muffled sounds; but no voice, not even his, was discernible anymore.

There was some kind of large device in the middle of the plug, but she couldn’t tell what it was by feel, other than that the surface was vaguely greasy.

It was only a few moments in between being forced inside and hearing mechanical sounds surrounding her; whirring, clanging, and after a rough jerk, the thing came to rest. And only another moment after that when a console on the device lit up, faintly illuminating the claustrophobic space.

The inside of the plug looked dingy, and, assuming that the story of 01’s last pilot were true, then it hadn’t been used in a while. Being only an intern, Ellen was never told anything about the mechanism of piloting, even when she was still led to believe that the Evas weren’t autonomous and intelligent. She just assumed that it was a closely guarded Nerv secret that had something to do with the spinal column. So now that he was willfully switching out his own plugs, there was nothing she could come up with to explain how he was able to do it. Or how he was able to keep Nerv from trying to hack into whatever part of him was computer-driven, or at least the dummy plug that he apparently always had in him anyways, to regain their lost control.

In him.

Wait.

“I’m…”

Suddenly she was aware of LCL pouring into the space… and breathable air retreating. Saturating first her feet, then her calves, then her thighs…

Ellen’s pulse quickened and she scrambled to get away from the rising liquid, running on autopilot and terrified of drowning. When the stuff was up to her chest she couldn’t help but start thrashing around, clawing at the inside of the plug like a coffin that she’d been buried alive in, breaths coming out short and ragged, interspersed with frantic moaning…

And then the air was gone.

She was holding that lungful of air, quaking with horror, unable to let out her last breath, even though she knew somewhere inside of her panicked head that the amniotic fluid was completely respirable. The small human was frozen, suspended in the liquid, somehow quite sure that she was going to die, when a deep, rumbling voice filled her ears.

“Breathe, kid.”

And just like that she opened her mouth, bubbles escaping her, and without a single conscious thought, inhaled.

She thrashed once more as the thick fluid poured down her windpipe and into her lungs, filling her chest with an aching sensation. But that was all. This wasn’t the end.

“Now sit down so we can get this show on the road.”

Nodding wordlessly, she floated over to the device and console, now seeing that it was the old pilot’s seat. And when she did, the visual displays flickered to life around her.

All around her.

And not just that, but she was inundated with bizarre, disorienting sensations: of standing; of being armored; of being huge.

What the -?

Before her was the wall of the lift as the two of them sped towards the surface, girders passing them at a hundred miles an hour. And a few seconds later, they were topside. The ruins of old Chicago sprang down to meet them as they jettisoned upwards, and she saw his hands, gloved, armored, and one quickly lifted up to toggle a visual display inside of his helmet. Her panoramic view was partly shunted, and in its place were complex HUDs that covered half her – and his – field of vision.

A distant human voice sounded in her ears, distorted by a wireless radio connection. “Arms arriving in 3, 2, 1–”

A white, massive monolith shot out from the ground beside them, from another lift mechanism. 01 turned his attention toward it, and the front face of the structure slid away in a series of metal ribbons to reveal a locker of guns and progressive knives.

He reached for two knives, stashing one away in each towering shoulder pylon, before quickly grabbing what she somehow knew to be his favorite weapon. A shiver passed through her when he took it, and she could feel the thing as if she were holding it with her own two hands.

Distantly she heard more voices from Nerv HQ sound in his helmet, briefing him about the Angel as he quickly and powerfully strode among the empty, ruined streets of the city. To say he acknowledged the intel brusquely would be… an understatement.

“Welcome to my world,” he said, startling her. Where was his voice coming from? Part of it had to be an electronic voice connection, but when she pieced together her likely location in his body – just behind whatever it is he had for a heart – then half of what she was hearing was the vibration of his larynx as he spoke.

Another shiver cascaded through her despite the stifling heat of the LCL, the temperature of which seemed to hover around… 98 degrees.

“Smart kid,” he said, still on the prowl. “That’s exactly where you are.”

Ellen froze.

“That’s the thing about being in a bubble of electrostatically-charged amniotic fluid tucked away in a cyborg’s spinal column. There’s gonna be some neural bleed-over.”

She could feel him smile. She could feel why: his merciless sense of humor, his ego, his love of nothing that this world had to offer aside from inciting fear and violence. Ellen could feel the pleasure he got from lording over her.

And it was beginning to create a feedback loop.

She felt a tingling in each of their loins, and he laughed.

Ellen tried to ignore it, but it soon became apparent that this, this right here, was why he liked to see her after returning from a mission. She swallowed, shivering – a veritable speck of sentience lodged deep within the hot recesses of his chest, under slabs of muscle and girders of bone… or whatever it is that he had for a skeletal structure.

Nestled safe and sound between cords of nerves and electrical conduits.

She was in him. She was him. He’d devoured her whole, and it wasn’t her body that was being digested, it was her mind.

Ellen could do nothing but watch in horror as he did the very thing that he was bred and built to do – watch and feel his all-encompassing power and lust.

Up ahead, through the wreckage of what was once Chicago’s financial district, Ellen spotted a massive shape through the clutter of his helmet’s HUDS (which were too complex for her to even begin to decipher). What she recoiled from, his aggression pushed them toward, and she could feel the rippling of the muscle in his thighs, the crumbling pavement under his incomprehensible weight. Underneath the beastly helm he set his jaw and narrowed his eyes.

“Israfel,” he growled deep in his chest, vibrating the LCL around her.

There were more voices then, human voices crackling into his helmet from the Nerv geofront far below them, and from what she could catch they were attempting to suggest a strategy.

But 01 – as usual, she guessed – was barely listening. Taking advice from his old masters was always a last resort. And even then, she could sense that the Eva was not in any way averse to dying either by saving the world or in trying to destroy it himself. An image from his side of the neural synch flickered in her mind for a split second: a razed Nerv headquarters; facilities drenched in the blood of their tiny occupants; a strange figure of his size, legless and faceless, hooked up to a machine, and torn limb from limb; his AT fields chipped away by a battery of missiles before finally, and like a candle flame, he’s snuffed out by the white heat of a thermonuclear explosion.

Even the image of his own death, and the sheer scale of destruction such a thing would require, was enough to send his hot blood surging to all the right places.

“This… this is fucked up,” Ellen mouthed; with her windpipe flooded, she had no voice.

But she didn’t need one for him to hear her echoing in his own head. “You think?” came the deep, rumbling, laughing reply.

You’re insane.

“Sanity don’t get the job done, kid.”

Entire skyscrapers – or their blackened, rusted husks, at least – swam past them like aisles at the supermarket as they drew closer to the being before them.

The angel called Israfel was huge. Twice as big as 01, and it had never occurred to her that a living creature could get much bigger. She wondered for a fraction of a second if the Eva was intimidated by the thing’s size, but the thought was put to rest as soon as she’d thunk it: the tiny, captive human was suddenly inundated with feelings of gleeful, violent rage.

And, more than anything in the world, Ellen found herself wanting to tear the angel to pieces with her bear hands.

“Patience,” he cooed dangerously, lifting the gun to his shoulder and firing.

Though it looked like a weapon she could have held in her own (human) hands, the volume of the blast and the power of its recoil were more than anything she could have imagined. Fired underwater, the thing would have triggered a tsunami. She was distantly aware of things flying out the side of it as he continued his barrage, and once she actually turned to look, they shone like brass as they were flung away two blocks over: spent shell casings. Each one as big as a refrigerator.

Up ahead, Israfel stood still, almost lifeless, as 01 attacked, and Ellen noticed a red sheen separating it from the bullets aimed precipitously at its chest. He advanced, still firing, and the feeling of doing so sent another tremor down her spine.

After a few moments, the sheen rippled sharply, turned redder, and then shattered like an electrified windowpane.

Is it…?

“No,” the eva growled around her. He paused, watching with the eyes of a devastatingly skilled hunter, surveying his quarry. Just then, Israfel sprang to life, its body wracked with shudders as it tore itself apart. Ellen would have gasped if she had air.

The part of her that was her shook in the LCL, wanting to be back at Nerv, or dead, or anywhere but here. The her that was her wanted to claw at the inside of the plug until her fingers bled. But the her that was him… was restless. Hungry. Hateful. Even if it meant getting torn limb from limb she wanted to fight.

01 was ignoring her; the smear of blood and bone and gray matter shoved deep inside of him, slowly going mad under the sheer weight of his mind, was inconsequential compared to the violent puzzle before him.

Israfel had become two beings, and this posed a logistical problem.

When he wasn’t thinking at her, his brain was a blur. Ellen could catch wisps of thought here and there, but it was like trying to fill a water bottle from Niagara Falls, and what tiny bits she did manage to recognize stunned her.

There was a lot of math. Physics, probability – was he computing their mass and speed and energy output? She caught him thinking about the massive gun in his hands, but thinking in terms of entire schematics and technical specifications down to the second decimal.

He was only standing there, surveying the situation for about four seconds before raising the gun up again and firing.

He missed.

They were fast now – incomprehensibly fast – and his growl vibrated her bones at having missed his target. What she wasn’t expecting, though, was the severity of the sensation of being hit by one of them. A blow delivered to where, on her, a kidney would have been sent a shock of pain through him and her.

A wordless moan escaped her as she opened her mouth and winced, hugging herself at the searing ache that had her doubled over on the console, trying to catch her liquid breath. It had been sudden and terrible and whatever part of her that was him was shrinking in the face of her own native terror.

How did that happen?

If he gets killed, does that mean…?

“Sure does,” he ground out through gritted teeth, dodging attacks from both of the angels and carefully avoiding getting trapped between them.

The fighting was fast and it was ugly.

The angels, still huge, still terrifying, wanted the both of them – no; his mind told her that they wanted all life on Earth – deader than dead.

They tried to grab him, tried to rip him apart like hungry wolves, but he was just as fierce.

In a flash a knife appeared in his hand and he slashed at them both. The damage was superficial by their standards, she somehow knew, but blood spurt everywhere. It sprayed all over him, reddening his armor and helmet, and he reached up to wipe the red hot filth from his optical arrays.

A harried human voice came in over the radio: “01 do you need assistance? I repeat, do you need assistance??”

He was hit square in the jaw and sent sailing backwards with a grunt, hitting pavement and stumbling down into an apartment building. Clouds of old dust filled the air and blocks of concrete scattered across his belly like crumbs. But the pair didn’t let up.

He rolled out of the way, destroying the rest of the flimsy building. The two of them, in concert, stabbed with fifteen foot claws at the spot where 01 had just been, and the Eva took this opportunity to thrust the knife up and into the thing’s chest, aiming for what she knew, through him, to be its core.

It cracked, but nothing came out. He was expecting blood as he yanked the blade free, but as soon as he did, the crack healed itself and the two angels lifted him into the air before tossing him into the highrises a few blocks away.

This hurt too, but not too badly. Steel and rebar groaned in a chorus of a thousand twisted beams under the Evangelion’s weight. He didn’t even let himself come to a stop before violently finding purchase on the fifth story of one building, yanking himself into a coiled pose as it collapsed under the rending strength of his fingers.

She could hear the rush of his blood around her. Arteries big enough for her to crawl through were pumping god knew what to and from his behemoth lungs, working overtime then. She could hear the rasping whoosh of air all around her, hundreds of cubic feet being sucked in and pressed out every dozen seconds or so – the fastest she’d ever heard him breathe.

She could hear him swallow then, too. A noise that made the hairs on her neck stand on end. It was a long, loud, gushing sound, followed by a sort of deep fluttering of clicks; that’s when she realized that the bottom of his throat was right in front of her.

Nerv sounded in their ears again.

“01, do you read? Do you need assistance?? We’re getting damage reports, and –”

If you don’t shut the fuck up I will pop you like a fucking blister!” he snarled into the receiver in his helmet. Ellen started, freezing like a startled opossum. Still, he ignored her.

She wanted him to acknowledge her – say something, anything, because she felt like she was getting sucked down again, threatening to disappear. His hands became her hands again; his feet, her feet; his heaving back, her heaving back. She could feel the rebar bent under his harsh grasp like pipe cleaners, and the asphalt like a cracked rug under his massive feet, bunched up behind him and erupting with the dead soil from underneath. Long-since broken glass glittered in the flayed street before them, beaten into dust by his apocalyptic steps.

His HUDs came quickly to life as the two monstrosities approached him, and the giant around her growled deep in his throat.

She sensed his plan: somehow get the both of them within arm’s reach at the same time, and crush both of their cores at the same time. It wouldn’t be easy, but he didn’t want Nerv’s help. He could do this by himself, and if he got beaten to a pulp trying? The behemoth didn’t give a shit.

He cracked a smile behind the horned helmet, tongue darting out to lick his teeth. She found herself doing the same thing.

His left hand reached up and into it the second knife got released from the left shoulder pylon. He was waiting. Waiting…

Waiting…

Now.

Like a shot he moved between them, arms poised to try and take them both, but they were fast.

01 twisted to face them, ready to pounce, but each of them grabbed a bicep, preparing to throw him again.

But they didn’t really know who they were dealing with, did they?

Muscles in Ellen’s body tightened in time with his and with a bloodthirsty cry, he wrenched his arms free and tackled them into whatever buildings were still standing. They hit the ground with a wretched thundering, and she couldn’t help the smile that crept across her face at the sight of them prone among the rubble.

The Eva repositioned the knives in his hand in half an instant as he raised his arms above his head. He grit his teeth as he brought them down, aiming for their twin cores, but they escaped the blades. Almost. 01 sunk the knives into their arms, pinning them to the ground. There was more blood. Gushing, red and hot, and Ellen watched through his terrible green eyes as they jerked in a silent scream at the pain.

Good. His voice rumbled in her head. Let’s see you hurt some more.

Heat bloomed deep in her belly again, and she could feel it mirror in the giant’s twitching cock. All fifteen feet of him.

Their free arms lashed out at him in a frenzy, slashing open the forearms of his suit. She grabbed her own arms in pain, but all she was met with was his slowly building hard on. She was hurting inside of him, trapped, feeling everything that he felt (except more) as he did one of the only things that he loved to do: kill.

They decked him in the head again with those claws, making a loud bang against the metal of the helmet, and she could feel the hardware inside hit him in the face. Blood trickled from a split lip. His heart rate surged from 15 BPM to 20.

Hers goes from 90 to 105.

Wrestling with each of their huge, angular arms as they started clawing toward his neck, she could feel a spike of adrenaline – or something like it – enter his bloodstream like diesel gasoline enters a cylinder, ready to ignite.

They settled for slashing open his exposed deltoid muscles. He roared, she cried out into the amniotic fluid, muffled and flat, clutching at her searing shoulders. It hurt. It all hurt. But this time, the pain just made her angry, and her anger went straight to her cunt.

If he could detect this infinitesimally small change in the chemical composition of the LCL-filled plug, then his reaction was automatic: she could feel the heavy mass of his cock lazily push up against the tight armor as he violently restrained the angels again.

His thoughts were a silent blur as they tried to outmaneuver the Evangelion as he stood over them, bent, straining, boiling over with rage and sadistic lust.

But he had them. She knew he had them the instant he knew, and with a wicked grin he was given a split-second of opportunity as he stomped down on each of their free arms with booted feet like shipping containers. Like lightning he ripped the knives from them and raised each above his head.

He didn’t stab directly at the cores this time: he stabbed just under them and with a horrible sucking, squishing, heaving, he pried them out. The rich, glassy red orbs rolled off each of their seizing bodies, leaving a trail of blood in their wake, and deep, bloody holes where they were once embedded, spurting with geysers of blood and drenching him.

The sight of their death throes below fattened his cock the rest of the way, and still the adrenaline burned.

He sunk the progressive knives deep into their chests, even as life was quickly leaving them, and he tore them straight down to their groins in a mockery of the precision of an autopsy technician.

No one razes this city but me,” he growled with animalistic hate.

In a terrifying frenzy he started to stab them with all of his might. In mere seconds he’d covered their massive, limp bodies in shredded holes, only dribbling blood now. But it wasn’t enough.

01 threw the knives away and started throwing himself at them with his fists. Beating them for what seemed like forever. He punched so hard that he ruptured their armored skin several times, drenching his gloved hands in their hot gore, and this only seemed to spur him on even more.

The sound of his enormous, pounding heart and his rasping, ragged breaths were all that she could hear aside from the sickening thuds of his bare hand tearing into them like slabs of meat.

The angels bodies were quickly becoming unrecognizable.

But the her that was her surfaced again when he tore into the holes where their cores once were, each one in turn, and ripped out was was clearly bowels with a bestial snarl.

Large intestine…

Small intestine…

Is that a fucking liver??

The human in her recoiled wildly, and suddenly she found herself wanting to vomit, wanting to claw her way out again.

He could feel her recede from him again and he paused as he stood on his knees only long enough to laugh at her.

The giant, raging soldier reached down to his codpiece and undid it with eerily deft fingers. In seconds his cock was out and was quickly being covered in blood by his hand fisted around it.

No, no, no, she mouthed. No, this is wrong, so wrong

so so so wrong

Her back hit the rear end of the plug, but she couldn’t escape the horrific view. His eyes were her eyes, even when she closed them.

“Awful, isn’t it?” he muttered, his voice like a wall of sound around her.

She just cowered in the hot slick of the LCL – his LCL – and tried to desperately ignore the heat in her belly. If she did, that meant that she still had some semblance of humanity. Some semblance of something of herself before the Angels came along. Before the oceans literally ran red. Before the world got so hideously fucked up that these creatures, the Evangelions, were the only heroes capable of saving them.

“Don’t forget, you wanted this.” He taunted with a thunderous laugh.

He made quick work of himself – the fight had worked him up – and with a deep, full-throated groan, his hips jerked and thighs tightened and he marked them with a sputtering splash of inhuman seed from an angry cockhead.

The sight was incomprehensible to her as he got up and surveyed the massive corpses before them, not bothering to put himself away. All that she could see were shreds of orange, white, and black, covered in masses of red and littered with the torn remnants of their disembowelment. He turned, spying their discarded cores, and stomped on them, creating small rivers of blood in the battered street. Aircraft came screaming by overhead and huge helicopters began to fill the sky. In the distance she could hear their quiet, fearful radio chatter.

01 ignored them all as he headed back in the direction that they came from.

He stopped not too far away, reached down to pick up his favorite gun, and turned only to sink a round into each defaced body. They exploded, covering the buildings around them in chunks of flesh. He threw the gun to the ground with a smile and continued.

Ellen was still pinned up against the back of that horrible thing, breathing short and shallow. She got the distinct feeling that she was never going to leave the plug now; that her last horrible moments would be here, that she would meet the same end at his last pilot from so many years ago.

“That how you want it to end?” his voice shook her from herself. She’d forgotten that in here, he could see everything going on in her tiny little human head.

She wanted to cry, but her body didn’t know how to do it while submerged.

They headed down the lift, and she could feel him getting hard again. Images of all the ways that he could murder her filled his consciousness and her abject terror was greeted with a slow, throaty groan.

He’s going to kill me this time.

He really is.

As she thought this, it echoed back to her in his mind like two mirrors facing each other, giving a glimpse into infinity. If she was crying, it was impossible to tell. All she knew was that she was making him harder, and while his bloodlust had been partially sated, the rest of him pressed down on her like gathering storm clouds. This was far from over.

The lift hit the bottom of the scramble deck and she could see people gathered on the floor, ready to receive their savior.

Get out,” he spat, and the throngs of personnel froze. He regarded them with thinly veiled disgust for a moment before lifting his foot and sending a tanker truck sailing across the floor, crumpling like a toy as it collided with a far wall. A puddle of god knows what spread out from underneath it.

Cries erupted from them and they began to scatter.

“Every single one of you pathetic humans!” he roared, pounding his fist into the wall beside the armor repair equipment when yellow-vested technicians there didn’t go flying down their ladders fast enough for his liking. Someone fell down to the level below, crying out at a broken leg, and he had to be carried away.

His eyes darted over to a window set high in the wall that still had people behind it: the control room. 01 took three steps over to it and shoved his gory fingers inside, sweeping its workers toward the door without a single whit of regard for any of its contents. Sparks went flying as he ruined machines and computer stations, and glass rained down to his feet like shimmering dust.

Out!

Soon, the two were alone.

Ellen didn’t want to be alone. She would have taken the company of 100 David Paskos right now over this. But that wasn’t in the cards. Instead, she was alone with an Evangelion who was still drunk off tearing two beings his size to shreds with his bare hands.

She watched him reach up to that bulging mound of equipment anchored to his back where the plug entry was, and suddenly she found herself scrambling to get to the other end of the plug and away from his end closest to his hand.

No, no, no, no…

She tried to scream when she was ripped from him, the viewscreens and his mind’s eye both disappearing from her and replaced with literal static, but all that came out was a moaning gurgle. She couldn’t see or hear a thing now, only feel the jostling of what was surely the plug getting ejected from his body.

For about two seconds, she was weightless, and then the plug hit something and she was thrown against the pilot’s seat below her, tangling her up in its odd shapes and bruising her already sore body. The floor. He must’ve dropped the plug to the floor.

There was a creaking then, a groaning, and the sensation of the space being pressurized before half of the thing caved in on itself with a very loud crash. She saw his titan foot recede upward from where it’d come stomping down on that end of the plug. If she’d been over there, his foot would have smashed her like a bug.

Light poured in as LCL poured out of the gaping hole, and Ellen instinctively scrambled out through the jagged debris.

What stopped her short, though, was the need to breathe. With lungs full of liquid her chest was heavy, bloated, and painful. She didn’t get very far before collapsing onto all fours and choking out the amniotic fluid, body wracking as it tried to squeeze every last drop from her and taking big, ragged breaths.

Yes, she was sobbing after all.

“Hey kid,” came a deep, rumbling voice from overhead, distorted a little by electronics, and a moment later Ellen found herself thrown in a massive shadow.

She didn’t want to look. She wanted to keep her stinging, leaking eyes fixed on the ground below her so that whatever it was that was coming would at least be a surprise.

But she looked.

The first thing she noticed was the helmet and its yellow, glowing eyes. The front of it was sculpted into a horrific shape, part human, part demon. It was purple and green once, but now it was covered in a drying layer of stinking red that would have to be sandblasted off.

The second thing she noticed was his huge dick, swollen and twitching and jutting in her direction. It too was smeared in blood, the hole at the end weeping with precum. A glob of it dripped onto the floor in front of her.

Run.

She did.

She ran with every ounce of strength that she had because she knew her life depended on it this time.

Not even that was enough, though. Her most basic animal desire to live couldn’t even stand up to this thing.

His foot came down next to her in a flash of purple and black and yellow. Her fingers touched the ground as she scrambled to strafe clumsily away, a shriek tearing from her still aching windpipe. The sound was lost to the echoing, thunderous boom of his boot hitting the floor, though. The entire scramble deck trembled.

His other foot did the same, so close that the pressure differential it created sucked the breath from her and sent her to the floor. Her arm and side, still smarting from psychosomatic wounds, made her see stars, and ugly sounds escaped her with her every pounding step once she got onto her feet again.

It was really no use, though. His walking speed was 30 miles an hour. Ellen was pushing barely, what, 15?

And yet, stopping wasn’t even a choice.

The closest thing for her to find respite in was the massive tower of equipment that dealt with his armor. His right foot smashed down directly in front of her hard enough that it put a hole in the floor. The metal tiles warped and jerked upward around the sole of his boot like it was sinking into crumpled paper. Sparks flew from of the exposed infrastructure underneath and a gas hissed out.

But she had already banked hard to the right, toward the machine, and all of that was behind her. She ducked as she ran, ducked as though that would help.

“There’s nowhere to go,” he boomed from high above.

Ellen scrambled in among the hard jagged machines, scraping and bruising so easily without clothes on. The possibility of getting crushed if the thing turned on didn’t even cross her mind. Getting away from that voice was all that mattered.

“Who do you think is going to come to your rescue?”

She pressed on, forcing her body to fit into places that weren’t designed for bodies to go. She fought bundles of hydraulic cables determined to get in her way, and then she was crawling, squeezing. She’d found a deep, dark niche and she was going to lose herself in there because that was the only faint glimmer of hope that separated her from having a tomorrow and being reduced to a smear on the wall.

“It’s just you and me, kid.”

She was bleeding, crying, and it was as far as she could go. The end of the line.

The view out of her hole was narrow, and for a moment all she could see was the white of the room. But that was quickly replaced by his foot, stepping almost lazily now, and then a hand. He was crouching down.

His other hand quickly blocked out the light as he plunged a middle finger in after her.

She screamed, trying to disappear even further inside, preparing to kick away the digit. But his finger was thicker than she was, and he wasn’t able to get close enough to touch.

He chuckled with a gravelly huskiness through the helmet as his finger retreated. She didn’t know what to expect next, but she knew better than to think that she’d won. What she did see, though, was the head of his prick, hanging low under its own weight and nearly brushing the floor. 01 didn’t need to touch himself to stay hard at a time like this.

Her stomach turned inside out at the groaning of metal again.

Oh god.

Then, there was a sound like a car accident. Equipment shrieked and crashed and hissed. An explosion of sparks rained down, bitter-smelling hydraulic fluid dripped across her leg, stinging in her latticework of scrapes. She covered her face as bolts went flying and cables snapped.

01 had torn part of the goddamn machine out, and its mangled, billion-dollar pieces he tossed aside like nothing.

It was nothing to him. All of it was.

And there he was, crouched high above her, balancing on heels with his fingers sloppily steepled together between his knees. He was so big.

“This is what happens when you engineer a god with nothing to lose, Ellen.”

The tiny human froze at the sound of her name on his harsh lips. She’d never heard him say it before. Didn’t even know if he knew her name.

“Please!” she found herself screaming, eyes closed and hands on her head. Her voice was going hoarse. “Please don’t kill me!”

“And why the fuck not?” he barked, his hand shooting out to finally snatch her up and out of her hidey hole. She was suddenly contained within the confines of his bloodied glove, pressed up against rolling curves of skin and unable to move. He stood up, she could feel, and then she was quickly rearranged in his hand so that only her head peeked out from inside of it, and just barely.

He punched the wall with her still bundled up in his fist. He moved so fast and so hard that the impact made her see spots and tore the air from her lungs.

No one here would save you from me,” he growled, punching again and again, leaving a gaping hole. “You’re not worth it.”

He reached into the broken control room again with his other hand, curled his fingers around the workstations and raked them out through the wall. Terminals and monitors and concrete and clouds of papers fell to the floor.

“No one and nothing,” he continued with a smirk she could only hear. “Is worth getting in my way for.”

He spied the broken truck from earlier, raising his leg up and stomping down on it, hard. It flattened and the liquid spilled from it ignited under a ball of black smoke.

Ellen hurt all over. Her tiny dots of blood were mingling with the vast stains along his palms and fingers, and her bruises would soon be turning the color of his armor. Ripe, red fear was slowly fading into trembling despair.

“Just fucking do it then!” she yelled, tears streaming down her face.

He regarded her silently. She could see his other arm moving a little as it hung down, muscles flexing the faintest bit. He was stroking himself.

“Is that what you want?” he rumbled.

She struggled against his grip impotently, but nothing else came out.

The Evangelion chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”

He walked over to the wall, stepping on the remnants of the plug along the way, and lowered her down to the level of his massive balls.

“Squirm,” he ordered, then deposited her into the soft patch of flesh between the top of his balls and the base of his rock-hard cock before crushing her between him and the wall with a thrust of his hips.

She didn’t really have a choice. If she didn’t squirm, she’d suffocate.

What she didn’t expect, though, was to hear the sound of his heartbeat, all the way down here, to feel the jerking of his tightened sack below her, and to feel a rushing of blood down to her own nethers.

Up above he stroked himself against the wall, skyscraper body swaying with a second round of pent-up lust.

Squirm,” he repeated with a vicious snarl.

He’s going to kill us all someday.

She squirmed, alright. Cheeks still wet from tears, hair matted from the dried LCL, body beaten red, black, and blue, mind exhausted… she squirmed, and was rewarded with a deep, thrumming groan.

She wrapped her arms around the base of his massive shaft, skin barely pliable to her at his size, and braced her feet in the rough, tight folds of his balls, focusing most of her energy on getting full breaths of air even as that fat, hard ridge down his length threatened to crush her head.

His breath hitched, tightening his abs, which jerked his entire ensemble. More precum oozed down the wall behind her and he made sure to press her into the hot, viscous fluid. It got in her hair and her mouth, and the taste was… good.

She was quickly interrupted by the rough reach of his hand again, though, and she watched in vague horror as he lifted up his jaggedly armored knee and smashed another hole in the wall. At pelvic level. He reached into the hole and ripped out a few bothersome pipes and electrical cables with a grunt before giving it an exploratory thrust with his cock.

01 lifted her up with one hand and reached under the chin of his helm with the other, prying it off as it hissed and clicked, tossing it to the floor with another heart-stopping crash.

She saw his face, though.

His wild, flushed, murderous face, eyes so dilated that they were no longer that hideous green. Lips like ocean swells curled upward in a smile that chilled her to the bone. He was showing jagged teeth and pink-red gums just as an apex predator does when it bares its teeth at dinner. His own blood ran a in a rough line down the curve of his hard, stubbled jaw, not quite glistening but not quite dry. One of his flaring nostrils wept blood too.

He looked like a man; deceptively so. But the 130 foot Eva was far from human. He loved nothing, valued nothing, and ultimately desired only one thing: to personally raze Nerv and its every disgusting employee before this was all over.

The images he forced her to see in his mind – the bombs, the blood, the keening rage – it was all still there, behind that face.

He was simply biding his time until the End.

His lips came together in a tight circle and the tiny human found herself suddenly covered in a puddle of spit. It rehydrated the blood stuck to his gloved hand, turning the liquid orange-pink and surrounding her with the sticky-sweet scent of bitter iron that made her gag.

She was roughly pressed up to the base of his prick again, its radiant, pulsing heat stifling her, overwhelming her. The pressure and the smell and the spit and the glove was disorienting. As she struggled against him, she didn’t even notice that he’d slipped his cock back into the wall, but she did notice when he started thrusting.

The sensation of such a mass of flesh moving against her quickly became uncomfortable – it was like being dragged along the length of a locomotive. Covered in blood.

Her mind began to swim and ears rang as her body ached and tingled and burned at the friction of his incomprehensible bulk against her. He was moving… moving so quickly, so roughly. It was hard to tell what was doing on. Hard to tell up from down.

Somewhere off in the distance she could hear his panting, his throaty grunts as he worked up a second load. His balls slapped at the wall below her, threatening to put another hole in it.

He thrust faster and faster, into both his fist and the wall. Ellen was lost to her senses, stretched as painfully as a tight pussy wrapped around a coke-can cock. It was hard to see, and impossible to think. Her entire existence was the smell of that blood and the feeling of her soft skin rasping at the underside of his hard length as he pistoned into that hole.

With a roar he ripped himself out and collapsed quickly into a kneel, throwing her to the ground between his knees from six feet up just as he gave one last hissing grunt and emptied his balls all over her. If she could see straight and wasn’t sputtering for breath amid the thick blanket of gooey white spunk, she’d have seen his hand shake a few last drops from his flagging length before reaching out to cover her. But she didn’t realize what was going on until he’d done it.

His hand pressed her into the floor harshly, and his eyes bored down into her as he watched with unabashed pleasure as she fought against his unfathomable weight, his unspeakable strength. He smeared her in his fluids, pressing harder until her lungs couldn’t fill, until it was all she could do to keep herself from choking on his semen. She clawed at his gloved hand, a sob threatening to erupt. Ellen managed to cough: “Please…!”

He watched her flounder a second more before ripping her away and splaying her out on his palm, with the flat of his tongue quickly pressed against her.

She was too weak and too witless to fight it.

Her body betrayed her, too. In spite of everything, it still felt like heaven. Or maybe, because of everything? She found her hips responding by thrusting into his blanket of taste buds, each one tickling her from tail to pubic bone. The titan was unrelenting in his assault as he licked, curling his fingers down onto her because he liked the way she struggled against suffocation.

Little gasping moans escaped her, and her hands grabbed pathetically at the tree-trunk fingers crushing her against his palm when the heat began to build beyond anything she’d experienced before. The moans turned into cries, and the cries into panting shouts, and as her orgasm ripped through her, she was sobbing. She buried her face into the side of his finger as she wept and cried and shook violently against him. It was unbearable. Her body felt like static – the culmination of hours of abuse, fear, pain, and adrenaline, all cresting in a crescendo of terrible, numbing bliss. A mind-shattering memento mori, delivered at the behemoth hands of this… this…

With a soft, wheezing whimper, her eyes rolled back into her head and she fell limp against him.


He smirked, staring at the tiny human laying prone and unconscious in his hand before lowering to the floor next to his puddles of spunk. He stood up, a little refreshed, and turned to look at her one more time before leaving the room, heading for the rack.

If there had been an onlooker, they might have wondered at that smirk. Was he pleased with himself?

The Evangelion would have been the first to tell them that they were asking the wrong question.


Ellen woke up in a hospital bed.

The room was dismal, and sterile, and windowless. There were stitches on her hands and fluids drip-dripping into a line in her arm. What time was it? What day was it?

Not a soul was to be found or a sound to be heard other than the gentle whoosh of central air and the hum of machines.

Blearily she looked around, and found only a single piece of folded paper beside her bed. It was uneven, folded carelessly – or hastily – and when she opened it the note was printed in some serifed type on a plain sheet of paper:

Whether you are here, or on the other side of the planet, you will have one guarantee in life

will be the thing that kills you.

Ellen swallowed, her mouth dry, and shivered. She folded the note back up and put it back where it was.

It was strange to be so plainly told something that she knew, deep down. Strange, really? Not terrifying, not dreadful, just strange?

Looking back on it all, everything that he did to her – there was a predictability to it. No question of whether or not today he might decide to treat her to dinner and a movie instead of make her wish she’d never been born. She was there for him to hurt.

In a way, he did that to everybody at Nerv. His mere existence was enough to make you question your sanity, your morals, your place in the universe. Question the motives of capital-g Gods who were said to be full of love and light and have a plan for mankind. The Evas then, surely, were part of that plan.

The Evas were the price humanity paid for… what?

For everything?

For everything.

It was actually kind of nice, when she thought about it. Kind of vindicating. As soon as he stepped out of whatever giant test tube they grew him in, he was become death, destroyer of worlds.

She was calm, she realized, as she lay there, staring at the closed door in front of her. Was someone going to check on her? Make sure she hadn’t flat-lined? Maybe they put her in here and hoped to forget about her, hope that maybe she just wouldn’t wake up and they could sweep another one of 01’s Babylons under the rug.

Sorry guys, the apocalypse is coming.

We never had control over it.

Ellen got out of bed, pulling the needle out of her arm, and walked out.

She was in the mood for a coffee.