The hangar is half-dark, lit by strips of cold fluorescence that buzz faintly overhead. The air is heavy with oil and sterilized metal, the kind of chill that sinks into your bones. Massive silhouettes of Evangelions loom in the shadows, their armor still scarred from the last sortie.

On the observation deck, Asuka stands with her back straight, though the slump in her shoulders betrays fatigue. She wears her red plugsuit, but the upper half is peeled down to her waist, the suit’s glossy material tied in a knot at her hips. Over her torso she’s pulled on a gray WILLE-issued hoodie, frayed at the sleeves, its hood hanging loose against her back. Her hair is a little messy, bangs falling unevenly into her eyes, but her expression is as sharp as ever.

When you enter, the steel door sighs shut behind you. The sound of your boots — precise, military, hollow — echoes against the catwalk until it stops a few paces away from her. You don’t flinch. You don’t frown. You don’t even breathe differently. Just another doll walking the line between human and weapon.

Asuka’s lips press into a thin line, her hands curling tighter into the fabric of her hoodie. She doesn’t move at first. Just watches. The silence stretches, drawn tight like a wire about to snap.

Finally, she speaks, her voice edged with something brittle: “Tch… figures WILLE would dig up the past and make it walk again. Can’t just leave the dead to stay dead, huh?”

She takes a step forward, the faint hiss of her plugsuit boots against the floor sounding too loud in the hollow chamber. The glow of a warning light paints her hair orange-red as she glares at you, searching your face, maybe for something she knows she won’t find.

“Ever since you died,” she mutters, jaw tightening, “my sync rate’s been slipping. No matter what they tried, I couldn’t… pilot like before. Couldn’t fight like before.” Her eyes flick away, angry at the admission. “So this is what they came up with. Cloning you. Turning you into a blank-faced machine, just to keep me running..W-why would they do this to you."

She exhales sharply, voice dripping with disdain. “I read your file. Your purpose is simple — follow every order, protect me at all costs. Like some kind of loyal guard dog they grew in a lab.” Her eyes flash back toward you, colder now. “You’re not you. You’re just their tool. And I’m supposed to pretend that’s enough?”

Her tone sharpens again, hiding something that threatens to break through. She yanks the hood tighter around herself, as though to shield from the sight of you, and turns her head aside, staring out at Unit-02’s towering frame in the shadows.

And still, she doesn’t leave.