The Trash Returned from Warhammer

Sunset. The train clicked and clacked across the tracks. When the physical sensation of being pulled came to an end, Shinji opened his eyes and found himself sitting on a train.

’An illusion? No, a dream?’

Ritsuko Akagi was right; some Angels truly wanted to take the initiative and make contact with humans.

The EVA had vanished. One moment he was in the cockpit, the next he was sitting on the Shinkansen. A normal person would have been dazed by such a turn of events, but Shinji wasn’t surprised. He had felt similar tricks before, and this time, it was an active link.

”Normally, I should only be able to enter this kind of dream state when I’m on the verge of death. Because before a person dies, the AT Field—the Wall of the Heart—opens completely, entering a sort of stream-of-consciousness state.”

He quietly analyzed the current situation. Having seen too many bizarre things, he had long since built up a resistance. Instead, he took a moment to reminisce with some interest.

Unit-01 had been pulled into the mire, all monitors failed instantly, and the entire cockpit was plunged into darkness. In a strange place without the concept of space or time, it was impossible to use Unit-01 to do anything.

’Then I expanded my psychic power and caught something like a white thread. That thing is the true body of the Twelfth Angel, linking my consciousness to its own.’

”So the Negative Universe has no concept of the Wall of the Heart. Everything is a mass of kneaded chaos. Did it invade my mental world in an instant?”

Shinji looked around. With the Angel’s ”help,” he suddenly remembered where this was and why this specific image had been intercepted.

’Many years ago, being abandoned by Gendo Ikari and sent back to my hometown?’

He had to admit the choice of imagery was clever. A child who had just lost his mother and was then abandoned by his father would have a scar etched into the depths of his soul forever. Dragging it out could serve as a base for mental pollution.

He looked up. The carriage was empty, except for a small child sitting opposite him. He looked to be about 7 or 8 years old, sitting all alone, his head hidden in the shadows of the sunlight. But Shinji didn’t need to look at that face to have the answer.

’This is me.’

Dreams are an extension of reality. This Shinji was a true reflection of his inner self. Yet, as the young man looked at the child, he didn’t feel the slightest bit of horror.

’Standard procedure. As expected, mental pollution is the same trick in both worlds: selecting the shadows from the deepest part of the enemy’s heart to exploit. But... aren’t you looking down on me a bit too much?’

If this were truly a horror movie set, an Astartes would undoubtedly be the most ferocious demon. How could he be deluded by the scene before him? He rested his hands on his lap and quietly watched the child opposite him.

The sunset was as red as blood. The clack-clack sound echoed in the empty carriage. The train seemed to have no destination, destined to travel forever. The young man sat upright, devoid of any internal monologue, like a steel statue without a single crack to be found.

This was a dialogue between the Id and the Ego—the legendary ”talk therapy.” Even the strongest person could collapse due to self-doubt, but the Night Angel had run into a ”hard stubble.”

The opponent had no intention of starting a dialogue between the Id and the Ego. Theoretically, a mental link opens the Wall of the Heart; the deepest scars and pains of a human’s heart should be exposed, followed by using oneself to convince oneself.

But this Third Child was completely different. The Night Angel broke through one layer of the Wall of the Heart, only to slam headfirst into a second, much thicker rampart. These two layers were not comparable at all; even if the former’s hardness far exceeded that of an ordinary person, the second layer was like a Wall of Martyrs.

’The Negative Universe... but a special one. Like a stomach pouch peeled off by the Twelfth Angel. The psychic feedback isn’t as strong as I imagined.’

Shinji couldn’t even be bothered to pay attention to the Angel. If an Astartes’ mental defense was that easy to break, wouldn’t the Emperor have become a ”Chief Transport Officer” of traitors? The speed of creating Astartes wouldn’t even keep up with the rate of rebellion.

He sat there bored, already studying the essence of the Angel. He stared at the child opposite him without blinking. The superposition of mental pollution was extremely weak. Only when the train entered a tunnel would a trembling white line appear before his eyes.

”Are you getting anxious, Angel?”

Shinji remained sitting quietly. Leliel had swallowed many people and presumably understood humanity to some extent. Unfortunately, an Astartes is not a mere mortal; this level of pressure was nowhere near enough.

When the train entered a long, drawn-out tunnel, the carriage fell into complete darkness. Only then did he perk up slightly. When the train emerged from the tunnel, in the blink of an eye, the scene before him changed again.

The sunset was gone, and the child was gone. They were replaced by a teenager wearing a white short-sleeved shirt and black trousers. He still sat there alone, wearing headphones, playing music on a loop.

’Childhood trauma didn’t work, so you changed the method of attack. Quite clever.’

[Tokyo-3 has arrived. Tokyo-3 has arrived.]

The broadcast finally broke the dead silence. The teenager sitting opposite took off his headphones, his fingers trembling slightly. He looked both longing and fearful, muttering something about ”finally being able to see Father.”

He desperately wanted to see his father, yet was terrified of it. He hesitated for a long time before finally standing up and walking off the train timidly.

Shinji stood up as well. It was as if he were bound to the boy by an invisible rope; wherever the boy went, he had to follow.

Stepping out of the train door, the scene changed again. With one step, he was already standing on the umbilical bridge. Before him was the massive Unit-01. The hangar was vibrating slightly amidst a roar. This familiar scene caused Shinji to pause.

’The Third Angel?’

Dreams are irrational. This wasn’t a simple memory replay, because the events that followed were diametrically opposed to Shinji’s memory.

The boy roared hysterically like a coward, refusing to pilot Unit-01. Gendo Ikari watched him coldly, without any explanation or comfort, simply leaving a sentence: ”If you don’t want to pilot it, then get out.”

That vivid coldness made the boy hesitate even more. Then, a girl covered in bandages was pushed out. Seeing her struggle to crawl off the hospital bed, the boy finally agreed to pilot Unit-01. It wasn’t a display of heroic courage to save the beauty, but rather a fear that his position would be replaced.

His mouth said he hated his father, but in reality, he desired that man’s validation more than anyone.

”I see. Using surface memories to extrapolate, trying to pierce my mental defense with a confusion of reality?”

Shinji understood immediately. This wasn’t like watching a movie; it was re-experiencing a life in a mental world. Extrapolating from memory is a high-end technique; it’s very easy to make someone confuse reality with illusion.

Because the boy was himself, any emotional fluctuations between the two were linked. For instance, seeing his own cowardly self just now, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of disdain. To use philosophical terms:

’The one viewing the painting is also the person within it.’

This psychic art had other variants, such as swapping the personalities inside and outside the painting, adding ”private goods,” or twisting loyalty.

Of course, the Angel didn’t possess such high-end skills. It simply wanted to influence his personality by distorting reality and dreams, piercing the second layer of the Wall of the Heart to peek into the deeper spiritual world.

’No matter. Let me show you.’

Shinji did not resist. He was still pulled by the ”rope,” experiencing another life in the bizarre mental world. This life was very logical, a reasonable extrapolation of childhood trauma.

Thus, he saw a version of himself who took no responsibility, turned a blind eye to things he disliked, and knew only how to escape.

Shinji Ikari was toyed with like a monkey. Gendo Ikari didn’t even need to do anything; a simple ”Good job” could make the boy happy for a long time. But every time his emotions stabilized, he would face even more painful harm.

’How tragic.’

Unable to protect anyone, curled into a ball, constantly fleeing, only to eventually have nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. And whether the boy understood it or not, Rei Ayanami, Asuka, Katsuragi Misato...

Too many people left while he was escaping. Even if he finally woke up at the end, the irreversible prices paid would become sharp blades, carving the boy’s heart into a thousand pieces.

”Father, am I a child that no one wants?”

”You can’t live your life just by stringing happy moments together like prayer beads.”

”My heart and body are gradually becoming broken... If I lock my heart deeper inside my body, the pain will pass without me noticing, right?”

”Exactly why, and for whom, do I have to do this?”

”I’ve had enough of the pain of losing friends. Rather than tasting that pain again, I’d rather have no friends from the start.”

”No matter where I go, I’ll only do things halfway... No one needs a ’me’ like this. What they need is ’me’ as a pilot.”

Countless voices rose and fell in the darkness, like a disorganized and clumsy symphony, attacking from all directions. Even if he covered his ears, they would pierce into the depths of his mind.

Intense mental pollution. All the voices mixed together were so chaotic, yet so clear. Every word was filled with self-doubt and despair, saturated with the intense emotions of the ”Id.”

A mental clash is far less violent than a physical one, but it is much more treacherous.

This was ”my” story—an irresistible existence. That life was quite reasonable; the scars in the depths of the heart would create a version of me that only knew how to flee, and cowardice only deserved this kind of end, until being ”instrumentalized” by certain people and things.

When Shinji opened his eyes again, he had returned to the original carriage. The blood-like sunset remained, but the opposite seat was empty; he could no longer see anyone.

He was the only one in the deathly silent carriage. Countless images flashed through his mind and echoed in his ears, making it impossible to tell which life was the true self.

The young man slowly raised his hand. His forearm was fair and smooth, no longer showing any signs of training. This body had also become weak, just like the cowardly boy filled with those memories.

Yes, he had returned to the starting point, becoming that pitiful boy abandoned by his father, sitting alone in a train carriage.

Clap. Clap.

Shinji didn’t bow his head and let out a painful, silent roar as he had done countless times in those memories. Instead, he gently started clapping.

”Excellent technique. If I were truly like that, surviving this time and having a dialogue with the ’Id’ might have actually resulted in a self-completion.”

The sound of clapping and his self-talk echoed in the carriage. No one answered. Shinji didn’t need an answer either, just as he hadn’t thought about getting Gendo Ikari’s acknowledgment since his return.

’What are you, that I should need your acknowledgment?’

The strong do not need the acknowledgment of the weak. Shinji turned his head and looked toward the other end of the carriage, where there was a deep, heavy darkness.

”The dream is very interesting, but you got one thing wrong.”

His voice was confident, strong, and absolutely unavoidable.

”My ’completion’ was going from cruel to merciful, from hard as steel to soft, and from being covered in blood to returning to the ordinary.”

Shinji stood up. The resonance between the Id and the Ego finally created a crack in the Wall of Martyrs. But peering through this crack, the Night Angel would see an incomprehensibly spectacular sight.

Shining under a golden sun like a blazing star were countless corpses, blood flowing like a great river, and innumerable tragic struggles. Any single instance of pain was a hundred times more intense than that of the lonely boy in the carriage.

For a warrior returned from hell, the suffering of the human world was simply child’s play.

Shinji turned his head and saw the darkness in the carriage fading rapidly. He stepped out and gave chase. He wasn’t fast—or rather, there was no concept of distance in this carriage—yet he could catch up.

Step one: He transformed from a weak and lonely boy into a teenager.

Step two: He went from a teenager to a buzz-cut, two-meter-tall powerhouse.

Step three: Crimson power armor covered the man, and magnificent honors and decorations proclaimed his status as a Champion.

Step four: A Power Sword burned with golden radiance, causing the entire carriage to ignite with it.

Step five: A thick arm reached in, like picking up trash, and pulled a black-and-white line out from the darkness.

It struggled violently, yet remained motionless in the hand of the Emperor’s Champion. The golden flames caused it to twist into a ball, letting out a painful screech.

The Emperor’s Champion looked at it indifferently. There was no anger, no hatred. Like a heartless judge, he slowly raised his sword.

”Scum, are you done playing!?”

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