AN: was forced into a conversation with my friend due to this chapters ending, dark themes ahead. I'm not sure how other people react to some of this stuff because I know I'm desensitized to most things, but I will warn others. other than that enjoy and leave feedback.
Shinji pushed open the heavy door to the training room, the metallic hum of its automatic systems barely registering in his ears as he stepped inside. The bright lights clicked on, revealing the pristine facility designed to endure the brunt of even the most destructive quirks. Normally, the sight of the reinforced walls and state-of-the-art equipment would have steadied him, but tonight it only fueled the storm raging in his chest.
He threw his shirt onto a nearby bench and exhaled sharply. His scars caught the fluorescent light, crisscrossing his torso like battle maps. Anger, frustration, and exhaustion mingled in his veins, pushing him to the edge. He clenched his fists, the faint glow of his quirk sparking to life around his hands.
"You've gotten soft."
Shinji froze, the voice chillingly familiar yet twisted. He turned, and there it was, a reflection, yet not. The corrupted version of himself stood in the shadows near the far wall, its form flickering like static on an old TV screen. Its eyes burned with a malevolent glow, its face twisted into a mocking grin.
"You let that kid off easy," the specter hissed, stepping closer. "Why didn't you just kill him?"
Shinji's stomach twisted, but he didn't flinch. "You're not real," he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.
The corrupted version let out a low, guttural laugh, its voice reverberating through the room like nails on metal. It began circling Shinji like a predator stalking wounded prey.
"Let's not rehash old conversations," it sneered, its eyes glinting with malice. Then, in a sudden burst of venom, it roared, "Why didn't you kill him!?"
Shinji flinched despite himself, his breath hitching. He turned to glare at the specter, anger, and exhaustion mixing into something raw.
"Because this isn't the Breach!" Shinji snapped, his voice ricocheting against the reinforced walls. His fists clenched tightly at his sides as his energy flickered and surged, a visual testament to his frustration. "This isn't life or death, and he's just a kid! A stupid kid who doesn't know any better."
The specter's grin widened, a grotesque mockery of humanity. Its teeth seemed sharper now, its eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "Just a kid?" it echoed, almost lazily. Then its tone dropped low, almost soothing, dripping with venomous intent. "You were a kid once, too."
Shinji's breath hitched as the words slithered into his ears, far too close to truths he'd tried to bury.
"But they took that from you, didn't they?" the specter continued, circling him like smoke curling around a flame. "Their inability. Their inaction." It leaned in closer, its voice dropping into a mockery of sympathy. "And look at you now, a walking shell. Fighting is all you ever knew, all you were allowed to know."
Shinji's jaw tightened, his nails biting into his palms.
"And even now," the specter went on, its voice rising just enough to sound like a teacher lecturing an unruly child, "what are they doing? They're training you to fight. Again. Over and over, they'll put you in that same cycle. Because that's all you are to them, a weapon they can mold."
Shinji finally snapped, energy coursing through his body like a raging tide, surging into his legs and torso. His form shifted, plates of steel-like armor materializing over his skin as he activated his transformation into Cherno Alpha. His height shot up to an imposing eight feet, his frame now hulking and reinforced.
The training room quaked when he brought his massive foot down in a furious stomp, sending a shockwave rippling outward. Dust and debris flew into the air as the concrete beneath him fractured. "Shut up!" Shinji roared, his voice reverberating like a thunderclap, raw with anger and frustration.
"There he is," the specter sneered, its grotesque grin stretching wider, baring jagged, shadowy teeth. "There's the Shinji who survived the Breach. The Shinji who fought, who endured, but tell me this," it said, circling him like a vulture. "What's left for you to fight now? I see no Kaiju around, no titans to conquer, no cities to save. And you," it paused, its mocking tone turning sharp, "you won't even go back and deal with the brat."
It stopped in front of him, tilting its head unnaturally to the side. One clawed hand rose, its talons clicking as it tapped its chin in mock contemplation. "Hmmm," it hummed with an air of theatrics, "if there's no one else for you to fight…" The specter leaned in, its empty eyes locking onto Shinji's, its voice dropping to a guttural growl. "I suppose that leaves only one option, you'll have to fight me."
Shinji's fists clenched the metallic groan of his transformed hands echoing in the broken training room. His breathing quickened, the weight of the specter's words pressing down on him. "I don't have time for your games," he spat, trying to keep his voice steady despite the rising anger in his chest.
The specter chuckled, a low, bone-chilling sound that reverberated in the empty space. "Oh, you'll make time," it taunted, taking a slow, deliberate step closer. "You can't ignore me forever, Shinji. I'm the part of you that survived, the part that knows what it really takes to win. And deep down, you know I'm right."
Shinji stepped back, his body rigid as the specter mirrored his movements. Its clawed hand reached out, curling into a fist just inches from his face. "What's the matter?" it asked, its tone dripping with malice. "Afraid of a little self-reflection?"
"No," Shinji growled, energy flickering around his body as his quirk activated in response to his rising emotions. His form started to shift again, armor plates materializing over his chest and limbs. "I'm not afraid of you."
The specter laughed, a chilling, inhuman sound that echoed in the shattered room. "Good," it said, stepping back and spreading its clawed hands wide. "Then show me. Show me that fight you're so desperate to cling to."
The words were a spark, igniting the fury already simmering in Shinji's chest. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, his enormous fist driving toward the specter with the force of a freight train. The room shuddered as his punch connected with the floor instead, the specter dissolving into a cloud of smoke and reforming just behind him.
"Disappointing," it sneered, the mocking tone cutting through the dust-filled air. "You're all power, no precision. Just a blunt instrument, just like they want you."
"Shut up!" Shinji growled, spinning around and launching another attack. His left arm, a reinforced slab of Cherno Alpha's iconic armor, swung in a devastating arc. But again, the specter evaded with ease, slipping through his grasp like a phantom.
"Face it, Shinji," it said, reappearing just out of reach. "You can't fight me. You can't fight what you are."
"I'm not you," Shinji spat, his voice a deep rumble in his transformed state. His foot slammed into the ground, sending a shockwave rippling outward and deepening the cracks in the already fractured floor. "I'm not just a weapon! I'm more than that!"
"The savior of humanity at one point sure, but what about now? The breach opened again kaiju keep coming through. You think you're more than a weapon?" it continued, relentless. "That they'll see you as something else? No. They'll use you until you're nothing but scrap, then toss you aside. But us? The rage, the fight, that's always here for you. Always has been. Come back, Shinji. Give in. You'll never have to feel discarded again."
Shinji slammed his fist into the nearest wall, the reinforced surface denting under the force of his blow. "You don't know anything!" he roared. "They won't discard me, they can't. I won't let them."
The specter laughed, a guttural, hollow sound that filled the room. "Won't let them? Do you think you have a choice? You're built for one thing and one thing only: destruction. It's in your blood, Shinji. In every scar on your body. And when the world decides it's done with you, when they've drained every last ounce of fight from your bones, I'll still be here. I'm the only constant you'll ever have."
Shinji roared, his transformed body towering over the specter as his right fist slammed into its chest. The impact shook the entire training room, sending cracks through the concrete floor as if a seismic tremor had just struck. The specter was thrown back, its claws scraping against the surface to slow its momentum, leaving deep gouges on the once-smooth floor.
The specter's smoky form reconstituted itself, snarling as it looked up at Shinji. "Is that all?" it taunted, its eyes glowing with dark amusement. "You're still holding back, Shinji. Afraid to really let go, aren't you?"
Shinji's hands clenched, his transformation glowing a dull red as he prepared himself for another strike. "I'm not afraid," he growled, his voice vibrating with the force of his anger. "I'm not going back to being what you want me to be!"
The specter's form wavered its laughter a low, mocking sound. "Pathetic," it sneered, its voice dripping with contempt. "What would Striker think if he saw this mockery? All those years, all those battles only to forge this pathetic excuse."
Shinji clenched his fists tighter, his whole body trembling with rage. "Shut up!" he shouted, his voice raw with emotion. "You have no right to speak his name!"
The specter's eyes gleamed with malice, its grin widening as it studied Shinji. "Oh, I think I do. Do you not understand what I am yet, Shinji?" it taunted, its voice echoing off the concrete walls of the training room.
Shinji's breath hitched as he recognized the creature before him as its form shifted into the twisted reflection of the kaiju that had nearly claimed his sister, that had fused him with Striker, turning them into one being. "You're the thing I brought back from the breach," he snarled, his transformed form quaking with the effort to keep control. "The nightmare that turned Striker and me into one that, almost killed my sister."
The specter's laughter died down, replaced by a low hum. "Ah, yes, Striker… your partner, your other half. How fitting, that it's because of you two that I exist," it purred, circling Shinji with a slow, deliberate pace. "But unlike Striker, who tried to fight me off, you kept me locked inside, making me a part of you. You can't escape that, Shinji. I'm inside you, and I'm never going away."
Shinji's fists clenched, his body trembling with the effort to maintain control. "I won't let you consume me again," he growled, his voice breaking as he remembered the darkness that had almost claimed him. "I won't let you turn me into a monster like Striker!"
"You don't have a choice in that matter," the specter sneered, its form flickering as if made of shadows. "Every day, I grow stronger. You can't resist me. You already failed once, what makes you think you won't fail again?"
Shinji's eyes flared with a mix of fear and determination. "I didn't fail!" he retorted, his voice rising as he struggled to keep his form steady. "I survived! I'm not the same person I was back then. I'm not going to let you take over again!"
The specter's grin widened, its voice dripping with mockery. "Survived?" it echoed, circling Shinji once more. "It took the number one hero your pathetic excuse for a species has to pull you out, and even then, I'm still here."
Shinji's fists clenched, his muscles aching with the strain of holding his form together. "I don't need anyone to save me," he snapped, his voice steady despite the tremor beneath the surface. "I survived on my own! I don't need you to define who I am!"
The specter let out a low, sardonic laugh. "Define? I AM you, Shinji. I'm everything you were before, before you lost everything," it said, closing in, its eyes narrowing. "You can't escape that. You can't just run away and forget the truth. You're a monster, a killer, just like me. And no amount of fighting will change that."
Shinji's body trembled as he fought back the panic threatening to overwhelm him. "I'm not a monster!" he yelled, his voice breaking slightly. "I'm not like you! I won't become you again!"
The specter leaned in close, its voice a harsh whisper in Shinji's ear. "We'll see how long that lasts," it hissed, its form solidifying as it leaned heavily on Shinji's insecurities. "One mistake, one misstep, and I'll be back in control."
Shinji's eyes filled with fierce determination. "Not this time," he growled, his body shifting as he summoned every ounce of strength to push back against the specter's influence. "I will find a way to shut you out, to make sure you're gone for good."
The specter's grin widened, and it leaned back slightly as if sizing Shinji up. "We'll see," it said, its voice low and ominous. "We'll see who wins in the end."
The specter phased out of existence with a malicious laugh, its haunting voice lingering in the air. Shinji stood motionless for a moment, his fists clenched, his breathing heavy. He didn't say a word. Without looking back, he grabbed his shirt from the floor, pulled it on, and strode out of the training room. His steps were heavy, the weight of exhaustion and frustration bearing down on him as he made his way toward home.
Shinji arrived home just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a deep orange glow over the quiet streets. His small apartment felt colder than usual as he unlocked the door and stepped inside, the familiar creak of the hinges greeting him. He shut the door behind him with a heavy sigh, leaning against it for a moment before kicking off his shoes.
The living room was sparse, a reflection of his life since returning from the Breach. A single couch, a coffee table littered with notes and training schedules, and a kitchen barely used. The silence was deafening.
He dropped his bag onto the floor and made his way to the bathroom, his reflection staring back at him in the mirror. His eyes were tired, dark circles forming underneath. Slowly, he peeled off his shirt, revealing the scars crisscrossing his torso and arms, memories of battles fought and lives saved.
Turning on the faucet, he splashed cold water on his face, trying to clear his thoughts. The specter's mocking words echoed in his mind: "You can't resist me… I'm still here."
With a growl, he gripped the edges of the sink, the porcelain creaking under his strength. "Shut up," he muttered to no one, his voice low and strained.
Shinji made his way to the couch, collapsing onto it with a sigh. His body ached, not just from the physical toll of the day but from the mental weight he carried. He stared at the ceiling, the faint hum of the city outside his only company.
He didn't bother turning on the lights. The darkness felt more fitting. Reaching for a notebook on the coffee table, he flipped it open to sketches of Jaeger configurations, diagrams he'd drawn in moments of clarity. But tonight, the lines blurred together.
Shinji's fingers moved absentmindedly, dragging a pencil across the blank page in his notebook. What started as vague lines and shapes began to take form. His hand moved faster, the lines sharper, darker, more deliberate.
When he finally stopped, the breath caught in his throat. He stared at the drawing, his heart pounding in his chest.
There, in perfect detail, was the corrupted version of Striker.
The hulking frame loomed on the page, jagged and monstrous. The features twisted into something barely recognizable as the Jaeger he once piloted. The long claw that had replaced his right arm, the glowing cracks of energy that seemed to radiate malevolence, and the grotesque amalgamation of machinery and Kaiju biology, it was all there.
The specter's grin stared back at him from the page, mocking him even now.
Shinji's hands trembled as he tossed the notebook onto the coffee table and shoved himself off the couch. He paced the room, running his hands through his hair.
"This isn't real," he muttered to himself, his voice shaky. "It's just… just a memory. That's all it is."
But deep down, he knew better.
His gaze flicked back to the drawing, and for a moment, he swore he saw the lines shift, the grin widening. His heart skipped a beat, but when he blinked, the drawing was still.
Shinji backed away, his chest heaving. The notebook seemed to taunt him from its place on the coffee table.
"No," he said aloud, his voice shaky. "You're not here. You're not real."
The words echoed in the empty apartment, the silence that followed only making them feel hollow. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms as he stared down at the notebook.
The drawing didn't move, didn't shift, but it still felt alive. Its jagged lines and twisted grin seemed to mock him in their stillness like the specter had left a piece of itself behind.
Shinji tore his eyes away and moved to the sink, splashing cold water on his face. The shock of it grounded him momentarily, but the heavy feeling in his chest lingered.
He looked at his reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink, water dripping from his face. "Get it together," he muttered. "You're better than this."
But the reflection didn't look convincing. His eyes were shadowed, his face pale. He looked as tired as he felt.
Pushing himself away from the sink, Shinji walked back to the living room and picked up the notebook. For a moment, he considered tearing the page out, and shredding it to pieces, but he stopped. Destroying it wouldn't make it go away. It wouldn't change the fact that the thing had been there, that it had fought him, that it had spoken to him.
Instead, he closed the notebook and shoved it into a drawer, slamming it shut with more force than necessary. Out of sight, out of mind, that was the best he could do for now.
He slumped onto the couch, his head in his left hand, but both shaking The fight, the specter, the scars, it was all too much. He felt like he was drowning in memories he couldn't escape, a past he couldn't outrun.
Shinji didn't know how long it had been. It was still dark, and he was still exhausted but he couldn't bring himself to move, his mind plagued by memories, and thoughts of whether he was worth the trouble.
With a sudden, sharp movement that seemed out of place in the stillness of the house, he stood up, maybe if he could prove he was still himself he would be able to sleep.
With a sudden, sharp movement that seemed out of place in the stillness of the house, Shinji stood up. The action was abrupt, almost defiant as if he were rebelling against the oppressive weight of his thoughts. His fists clenched at his sides, his body tense with unresolved energy.
Maybe if I could prove I'm still myself… maybe then I'd be able to sleep, he thought.
The room felt suffocating, the silence pressing down on him. He glanced toward the door, his mind racing. What would prove it?
Shinji's eyes scanned the house, lingering on each familiar detail. The quiet was oppressive, heavy with the memories that lived within these walls. His gaze finally settled on the small kitchen, tucked neatly into the corner.
The thought formed before he could stop it. Simple. Quick. Easy enough to play off.
He walked toward it, his steps deliberate but unsteady. The cool tile beneath his feet helped ground him, but his chest tightened with every step. Reaching the countertop, he opened a drawer and saw the array of utensils inside. His hand hovered for a moment before he grabbed a knife.
He turned it over in his hands, the cool steel catching the faint glow of a nearby light. It felt foreign, alien in his grip despite its familiarity. His breath quickened, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.
The specter's voice echoed faintly in his mind.
"You're nothing but a weapon... a tool... a killer."
Shinji's grip on the knife tightened, his knuckles white. He stared at the blade, his reflection distorted on its surface. The distorted image stared back, mocking him with every thought he tried to suppress.
Shinji's movements were quick, fluid, and almost practiced. His breathing steadied, his mind hyper-focused as he raised the blade and pressed it against the skin of his arm.
He hesitated for only a moment before dragging the sharp edge down.
The sting was sharp and immediate, a jolt of pain grounding him in the moment. Crimson welled up in a thin line along the path of the blade, the contrast stark against his pale skin.
Shinji's chest rose and fell in uneven breaths as he stared at the mark on his arm. The crimson liquid welled up, swelling to the edge before spilling over, a single drop tracing a slow path down his skin. It hovered at his wrist for a moment before gravity claimed it, the droplet landing on the countertop below with a soft splatter.
One after another, the drops fell in a rhythmic pattern, an unsettlingly steady beat in the stillness of the kitchen. The liquid pooled on the counter, spreading in a small, dark stain that seemed to demand his attention.
He stood motionless, his arm outstretched and the knife still loosely held in his other hand. The sting of the cut was a faint buzz at the edge of his awareness, insignificant compared to the storm raging in his mind. He had felt worse, this was nothing.
His gaze locked on the blood, watching the rivulets form, each drop a small sacrifice from his body. His mind swirled with conflicted emotions: the need for control, the suffocating pressure, and the lingering echo of the specter's taunting laughter.
The cut was deep, but precise, just enough to draw blood without risking anything serious. A calculated act in an otherwise chaotic moment.
As the pool of blood spread further, Shinji's grip on the knife tightened, his knuckles whitening. The sight of it, the vibrant red against the cold sterility of the kitchen, felt strangely grounding. The contrast between the warmth of the blood and the stark, impersonal surroundings brought a surreal sense of focus to his chaotic thoughts.
And beneath that grounding sensation came an almost startling realization: This is normal.
His blood was red, just like anyone else's. Not the otherworldly ichor of the kaiju that haunted his nightmares, not some monstrous, alien substance. It was human. He was human.
He wasn't the kaiju specter that stalked him. He wasn't the weapon it tried to convince him he was. He was just a person, a flawed, broken person, maybe, but a person nonetheless.
The sharp sting of pain from the cut was oddly reassuring, an undeniable proof of his mortality. He could feel pain. He could bleed. Just like everyone else.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Shinji took a deep, steadying breath. The crimson streaks running down his arm seemed less like a weakness and more like a reminder. Of what he had endured. Of what he was.
I'm not a monster. I'm still here. I'm still me.
His grip on the knife loosened, and the blade clattered to the counter. The sound reverberated through the room, pulling him further out of the haze. He reached for a towel, wrapping it tightly around his arm to stop the bleeding, his movements careful and deliberate.
Shinji stared down at the stained counter, his reflection barely visible in the glossy surface of the blood. The storm inside him hadn't passed, but this small act, this proof of his humanity, was a step.
He cleaned the counter, rinsing away the crimson streaks until only the faintest hint of pink remained. He stood there for a moment, staring at the surface before whispering to himself, "I'm not what it says I am."
The weight of the day bore down on him again, pressing against his shoulders like an old, familiar burden. But for once, it wasn't unbearable. There, amid the chaos of his thoughts, was a faint glimmer of hope.
It wasn't much. Just a flicker, fragile and fleeting. But it was there, a tiny ember refusing to be snuffed out. Enough for him to almost say he felt… good.
Shinji leaned against the counter, staring at the cleaned surface as if it held the answers to the questions swirling in his mind. He exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest loosening ever so slightly. The day had been overwhelming in every possible way, physically, emotionally, mentally, but he was still standing.
He could almost hear his sister's voice in his mind, teasing him for being so dramatic. "One step at a time, Shinji. That's all it takes."
A small, barely-there smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Maybe she had a point. Maybe, for all the chaos and pain, there was still a path forward.
Shinji pushed off the counter, the makeshift bandage on his arm holding firm. He wasn't naïve enough to think everything was suddenly okay, but for now, it was enough to take one more step.
And then another.
He flicked off the kitchen light, leaving the room bathed in shadows as he made his way toward his bedroom. Tomorrow would come, and with it, more battles to fight, both outside and within.
But for now, he could rest.
And that was enough.