“I'm telling you, the tit-scene in Gunbuster has legitimate artistic value,” Alan said, slurring a little.
“Uh huh,” Rich said, knocking back another drink. “Someone at Gainax just loves boobs, that's the long and short of it. Not that I'm complaining.”
“That's fair,” Alan said, “But that doesn't detract from the scene. Imagine getting so angry that you just whipped your dick out, but your dick was a shotgun. That's what's happening in that scene, okay?”
“Okay, okay, whatever,” Rich said, waving Alan off. “That sounds like some Imaishi logic.”
“Who?”
“You know, the Dead Leaves guy.”
“Wait, the Dick Drill anime?” said an entirely different person altogether. She'd just walked up to the bar, and was leaning on it, waiting for her drink. She was…
Alan's brain felt like it was short-circuiting. She was wearing a blue bob-cut wig, a very particular blue and white schoolgirl dress, and while that was to be expected, she'd also taken the step of powdering, at least as far as Alan could see, every inch of exposed skin to give it an unnaturally pale tone.
“Rei?” Alan said.
As she turned to look at him, he saw she was even wearing red contacts. Her build, too, was exactly on-model – rail-thin, clothes draped over her, no more than an inch or two over five feet tall.
She looked him in the eye, ran her gaze down him slowly, and back up again, smiling. “Ikari,” she said, matter-of-factly, and let her smile drop. It seemed… intentional. Now, even her expression was dead-on.
In any other moment, if he was significantly less inebriated, Alan would have been struck with a sudden bout of immense self-consciousness. Having the temerity to attempt to roleplay, act in-character, would be completely beyond him. That was for people who were good at things. But right now?
Thinking just wasn't on the table.
Rich had noticed what was going on, and flagged the bartender down, getting two extremely stiff drinks slid their way. The Rei cosplayer looked expectantly at Alan, and he decided to try something.
“Drink,” he commanded.
Something twinkled in her eyes, and she grabbed the cup, and put it to her lips. She looked at him around the side of the rim, as she tilted it further and further back. To Alan's astonishment, she downed the entire thing.
“Thirsty tonight?” he asked.
She let out a satisfied sigh, putting the empty cup back on the bar. “You didn't say to stop.”
Those words were far more intoxicating than anything Alan had had tonight, and he took a large swig of his own drink to try and help process it. Rich gave him a meaningful glance, and Alan didn't know what he was supposed to convey, in the moment. But whatever it was, Rich saw it, and took his leave.
“Why did you come here?” Alan asked. It was a presumptuous question, completely uncalled for, but it felt right.
“Research, sir,” she said.
“Oh?” He waited for a response, and sensed that the pause was going on ever-so-slightly too long. “Have you found anything useful to the mission, Rei?” he said, launching himself more on instinct than anything else.
She tried to prop herself up on an elbow, finger held to the sky as if educating him on something, but it gave way, and she stumbled into him. He couldn't help but hold her. She was so… small. Rei looked up at him, smiling, blushing – “My capacity for intoxicants,” she hiccuped, “sir, is less than expected.” She fell slowly, carefully, towards him, and he held her by the shoulders. She was so light..
“Should I take you back to your chambers?” he said, his voice taking on the cadence of the character.
She shook her head. “Not yet. I can take more. Don't take me out of the experiment yet,” she said, pausing. A beat passed. “Daddy,” she finished.
It was said like a question, like she wasn't sure if it'd land. Without context, it might not have. But Alan felt how much she was exposing herself, how much power she was lending him, and Alan grabbed the hair at the nape of her neck. She sighed into him, her body relaxing almost in totality, before she straightened and looked into the crowd, finding one of Rich's cronies. “We need a room,” she whispered, and before Alan knew it, her nape still in his hands, they were being ushered into an empty hotel room down the hallway.
As the door closed behind them, the heavy lock slamming shut, she kissed him. It stole his breath away – he had no idea or plans of what to do in this situation, and just gave into it, drinking her in. He followed her, leaning forward, pushing her deeper into the room, even though his eyes were closed.
She pulled away from him, backing a few steps away, standing in the low light of the accents of the hotel room. “Do I…” she began, shimmying herself out of her uniform, her shoulders barely keeping her dress from slipping away.
“Yes, Rei,” he said, his words less his own than that of the narrative.
The girl smiled, and wiggled her shoulders. “Yes, daddy.” He could see the blush running all over her now – she was perfect, she was Rei. A normal human couldn't have skin that pale, not all over like that. Alan – no, Gendo – looked her over, and nodded approvingly. “Come. Should I have to take off my own clothes?”
“No, daddy.”
The term made him uncomfortable, but the authority rushed through his veins stronger than anything he'd ever tasted. As she stripped him, he forcefully grabbed her by the hips, and shoved her onto the bed. She gasped, pulling him on top of her. Her legs took the lead in guiding him towards her, but her arms traced their way up his sides, to his arms, to his hands, to her throat.
Briefly, instincts fought in Alan's head, but the arousal drowned out any semblance of sense. He grabbed her by the throat, and felt her contract around him. The warmth… She nearly squeezed him out. He took that as a challenge, and thrust into her. She gasped, and he embraced the authority. He couldn't remember the last time someone had trusted him like this. He tightened his grip around her neck, and she pulled him closer.
He'd never felt like this before. Rei was giving all of herself to him. He had total control over her. She breathed when he wanted. She came when he wanted. She held him close when he wanted, and let go when he wanted. His thumbs dug into her throat, and he felt more powerful than he'd ever been. He could do anything, couldn't he? Rei was a clone. Rei was disposable. Rei was made for him. He squeezed tighter, and he could feel her squeezing around him, every pulse milking another out of him. He could hardly feel anything, but he wasn't letting go anytime soon. The world faded away, and Alan… well, saying he passed out wasn't strictly accurate, but it was as close as could be.
Alan regained his senses, spent, on top of Rei. She was ghostly pale, as perfect as could be, like a still doll. He ran his thumb over her blue lips, adoring the accuracy.
“You're beautiful, you know that?”
She said nothing. He must have done one hell of a job. He was, after all, the right character for the moment. Alan might not have had sex recently, but he felt proud of himself, and levered himself off the bed. She'd definitely passed out. Out of consideration, he picked her costume off the floor. A wallet fell out of a pocket in the skirt. He looked at it, and felt a pang of alarm. There was a school ID, and it was clearly, undeniably, a high school ID. Of course, there was an entire year where that would be okay in the eyes of the United States government, and certainly Rich wouldn't have let her into the party unless she was legal, right? The thought ran around in Alan's mind, circling a couple times like a terrified greyhound, and he was just drunk enough to think that asking her was a good idea.
“Hey,” he said. “Are you…” Alan really had no idea how to phrase it. Are you legal? That sounded terrible. But he had to ask it, even if it was in the past tense. So, he did.
There was no response.
Well, fuck, Alan thought. She'd have said something if she was. He just had to… I dunno, slip her some money? Treat her well? Get the morning after pill? It'd cut into his con budget, but it'd be better than the alternative… Fuck, he hadn't even used a condom, what was he even thinking-
“Where are you staying? I'll take you back there. I'm sorry for the uh… mess. I'll get you the pill.” His blood flushed at the very, very recent memory of what he had just done. “And we can do it again, if you want,” he said with false confidence.
Nothing.
Alan looked at her, lying there, on the bed.
She hadn't moved.
Alan's eyes went wide.
She hadn't moved at all.
Alan's gaze went to his hands, and then to the marks on her neck.
Oh fuck.
A full ten-page essay comprised entirely of variations of “fuck”, “I'm fucked”, “Why would you”, and generally panicked noises conjured itself into being in Alan's mind. Not a single line of them willed any motion into the girl.
Alan grabbed her by the hand. It was growing colder by the moment.
His blood ran cold, his stomach dropped, and with immediate need, he ran to the bathroom, and puked his guts out into the toilet, collapsing.
Feverish visions took over his gaze. This wasn't his room. This wasn't his body, this was Gendo's. He didn't know this girl. This wasn't anything.
He looked back to the bed, saw the girl unmoving, and ran back to the toilet to throw up again.
Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, he thought, several times over. He needed to get out of there, to leave, to escape – the hallway was no real option, if he opened that door, other people could see inside, could see the body, could see what he'd done, his seed dripping out of a fucking corpse, and that was not okay. One wall was glass, a sliding door opening onto a balcony. He threw it open, and stumbled outside, sucking in the cool seaside air. For a moment, he considered jumping, but then he looked down. He was at least twenty stories up. There was no way he'd survive, and he'd definitely have time to think about it on the way down. That wasn't an option. In terror, he looked around. On every horizon, there was just city skyline. Behind him was the thumping bass of the party, muffled behind the door, and the body.
And directly underneath him, twenty-something stories down…
Was a dumpster.
It was hard to tell in the darkness, but it looked like its flaps were open, beckoning trash to be disposed within. His brain made the connections without any input from him, and within moments, he was dragging the body off of the bed, out onto the balcony. Alan clumsily put her back into her costume, with all the grace of un-shucking an ear of corn. She was so light. So small. God, how did he not know she was underaged? She was just in-character, a voice inside him argued, but even as his muscles strained to lever her onto the balcony's railing, he knew that was a lie. He'd have to follow her down, wouldn't he? He was fucked. He was done. There was no way out.
He held her by the ankles, and after a terrible moment of dangling in the vague direction of the dumpster, he let go.
Alan waited for the sickening crack of bone on sidewalk, or worse yet, on the metal edges of the dumpster. But there was only a quiet thud, as the body dropped, improbably, directly into the yawning mouth of the dumpster, right into a pile of trash. The bags gave way, and then collapsed in on the dead body, covering it neatly in refuse.
He blunk in astonishment. It couldn't possibly be that easy.
But nothing happened. He stared for another five minutes, and still, nothing happened. No one knocked. He cased the room. Everything he brought in, he shoved in his pockets. He might be okay. Maybe this never happened. Maybe this was a dream. Once he had everything, once he'd flushed the toilet three times and did several passes for any strand of hair he may have left, he burst out of the door and ran.
Within five minutes, he was back at his hotel room, desperately swiping his keycard at the door. The first two swipes failed, but on the third, the lights turned green, and the door unlocked. He stumbled through, fell onto his knees, and panted on the floor.
“Alan?” Steve said. His friend was only exposed by his head, the rest of him covered by a sleeping bag, “You okay?”
Alan nodded, shut the door as quietly as he could, and hid in the bathroom. His skin felt like it wanted to run away from him, and within a half hour, he was nude, covered in his own puke in the bathtub, the water running hot, because as cold as he could set it, it couldn't get cold enough to feel like he was outside of whatever this was.
He fell asleep in there, crying, water running over his slumped head.