Echoes of the Breach

The sterile hum of the hospital room was deafening in its quiet, the only sound that filled the space. The soft click of the machines, the steady pulse of the heart monitor, these were the markers of life, but nothing more. In the bed, Shinji lay unmoving, his body battered, bruised, and broken, but still clinging to the fragile thread of existence.

Yu Takeyama stood outside the door, her large figure now returned to her normal size. The towering presence that she once used to intimidate her foes had now shrunk to something far less imposing, though her presence in the hallway still held an unyielding strength. The size alteration had always been a part of her, but now, in this moment of silence, she felt smaller than ever.

Her heart ached as she hesitated, her hand hovering near the door. The thought of seeing Shinji in this state, a boy she had watched grow up, a young man full of fire and ambition, was almost too much to bear. She had hoped against hope that he'd wake, that somehow this time, the hero in him would overcome the despair that had pulled him under.

But now, she wasn't so sure.

Yu entered the room and made her way over to Shinji's side. She gently set a hand on the edge of the bed, fingers tracing the sterile sheets before she reached out to touch his hand. His skin was cold, and his chest barely rose with shallow breaths. His face was bruised, his eyes closed, and there was an emptiness about him that made her feel as if she was losing him all over again.

Shinji's condition was a horrifying testament to the toll his time in the kaiju-infested world had exacted on him. Lying unconscious in the hospital bed, his body was painfully thin, nearly skeletal, with his ribs showing clearly beneath his skin. His once lean frame had wasted away from months, perhaps even years, of near-constant hunger and dehydration. His skin had taken on a sickly, grayish hue as if his body was barely holding itself together. Every bone, every joint, seemed fragile, as though he might break apart at the slightest touch.

His face was a grim portrait of exhaustion and suffering. The bags under his eyes were dark and deep, the skin beneath them swollen and bruised from the sleepless days and nights he had endured in isolation. The exhaustion had sunken into his very bones, evident in the way his face had hollowed out. His eyes, when they had once sparkled with youthful energy, were now hidden beneath the weight of despair and exhaustion, sunken deep into his skull as though they'd seen too much for one lifetime.

His lips were cracked and parched, remnants of severe dehydration, and his cheeks were gaunt, barely clinging to the bone. The small cuts and bruises scattered across his face were evidence of endless battles and hardships, each one telling the tale of a long journey through pain and survival. Dried blood, now dark and crusted, stained the sides of his face where injuries had gone untreated for far too long.

His torso bore the most visible damage. There were deep, jagged gashes, acid and electrical burn marks scattered across his chest, some of which had been hastily stitched together, leaving thin, angry scars. His arms were in worse shape, his arm, the one that had once been torn off while piloting striker, was now stiffly held against his side with surprising force, the limb still fresh and raw, with fragments of bone and torn flesh peeking through. His other arm was covered in bruises, and open wounds that appeared to have been ignored or left untreated for far too long.

His lower body, too, showed the marks of an unforgiving journey. His legs, though still intact, were covered in scratches, abrasions, and large, gaping wounds that had long since turned a dark, infected red. His clothes, now ragged and torn, did little to hide the extent of the damage he had sustained, clinging to his skin in places where they had been shredded by the jagged edges of battle or the brutal conditions he had endured.

Shinji's heart rate was erratic and weak, a symptom of his prolonged stress and physical deterioration. His body was in a constant state of shock, overwhelmed by the amount of trauma it had experienced. His breathing was shallow, ragged, and uneven, making it clear just how taxed his internal organs were from the prolonged starvation and dehydration. His body was physically incapable of maintaining itself, and the malnourishment had made his immune system practically nonexistent, leaving him vulnerable to further infections and diseases.

The doctors had done what they could, but his survival was by no means guaranteed. Shinji's mind, too, was likely in a similar state of disarray, broken by the relentless battles, the overwhelming loneliness, and the constant, gnawing stress that came with being thrust into an endless war against monsters that seemed to never stop coming. His body was on the brink of collapse, but it was clear that his spirit, much like his body, had suffered the same fate. He was barely clinging to life, his body showing the signs of a young man who had been pushed past his breaking point in every possible way.

As Yu stood over him, her heart breaking at the sight of him, she couldn't help but wonder how much longer he would last, how much of the boy she had once known remained buried beneath this broken shell.

Two months had passed since Shinji was brought back from the brink of death. The hospital room, though still sterile and clinical, had become a place of quiet refuge. The sound of the steady beeping of the machines monitoring his vitals was a constant presence as if the world outside had faded to nothing. The pale light from the overhead lamp cast long shadows on his frail form, and although his body had begun to show signs of recovery, he was still a far cry from the person he once was.

Shinji's condition had stabilized, but his appearance had changed little. His skin was still ashen, the gaunt features of his face nearly unchanged, though the deep bags under his eyes had begun to fade slightly. His once-powerful frame had filled out a bit, but he remained painfully thin, his limbs weak and fragile. Many scars lined his body, permanent reminders of his time in hell.

Shinji was still lying in the bed, eyes closed, unmoving. The medical staff had made the decision to allow him the space to rest, but there was little comfort in sleep. His dreams were filled with monsters, endless battles, and flashes of a life he could no longer remember. And in the silence, a sense of isolation weighed heavily on him.

But as the days dragged on, a few familiar faces started to visit.

It was All Might who came first, a towering figure of hope and strength, but now with a somber air. He stood at the foot of Shinji's bed, staring down at the unconscious boy with a heavy heart. His usual bright smile was replaced by a grim frown, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

"Shinji…" All Might whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I wish I could have been there sooner. I didn't know. I didn't realize the burden you were carrying. You're a hero, whether you know it or not."

His hand hovered for a moment over Shinji's limp one, before he gently placed it on the boy's shoulder. His touch was warm, but there was no response from Shinji. All Might sighed, turning away with a deep breath.

"I failed you, didn't I?" he muttered, his voice barely audible.

A few days later, Nezu arrived, accompanied by the pro hero Eraserhead. The brilliant and enigmatic principal of U.A. High School, Nezu's small stature did nothing to diminish his commanding presence. His sharp, intelligent eyes scanned Shinji's condition, taking in the frailty of his form, the machines keeping him stable, and the weight of the trauma etched into every line of his face.

His usual clever demeanor was tempered with concern, the kind that came from someone who had seen too many young lives put through trials they never should have faced. Though his mind worked quickly, assessing every detail and possibility, there was an unmistakable sadness in his gaze.

"Shinji Takeyama," Nezu said softly as he approached the bedside. His voice, though gentle, carried a quiet authority. "You've endured more than anyone should ever have to. But you're here. That's no small feat."

Beside him, Eraserhead crossed his arms, his sharp features giving nothing away, though his eyes betrayed a hint of empathy. He stood silently for a moment, observing the unconscious boy with his usual measured calm.

Nezu turned to Aizawa. "It's remarkable, isn't it?" he murmured. "To endure so much, to survive against all odds. But even the strongest of wills can be frayed."

Aizawa gave a slight nod, his gaze still on Shinji. "He's been through hell," he replied, his voice low. "You can see it in every scar, every line on his face. The kind of exhaustion that comes from years of fighting... it doesn't just go away."

Nezu's ears twitched as he took a step closer to Shinji's bedside. "If you can hear me, Shinji," he said, his voice soft but unwavering, "know that you're not alone anymore. You don't have to keep fighting by yourself. Whatever you're facing, you have allies now. People who care about you."

Eraserhead finally spoke, his tone as direct as ever. "You've made it this far," he said simply. "Don't stop now. You've done enough. Let us take it from here. You just have to wake up"

The room fell silent again, save for the steady beeping of the heart monitor. Nezu and Aizawa stayed for a while longer, their presence quiet but steady, before finally taking their leave. Though Shinji remained unconscious, there was a sense that their words might have reached him, if only just a little.

As Nezu and Eraserhead turned to leave, Yu Takeyama, who had been standing quietly by the door, stepped forward. Her usually towering confidence was absent, replaced by a solemnity that weighed heavily on her shoulders. She stopped at Shinji's bedside, her eyes tracing the sharp angles of his face, sunken from starvation and the heavy toll of his ordeal. The dark circles under his eyes, the pale tone of his skin, and the faint lines of old and fresh wounds painted a vivid picture of the battles he had endured.

"He always looked up to heroes," Yu murmured, more to herself than to anyone else. Her hands clenched at her sides as she fought to keep her emotions in check. "And now... I don't even know if he'll wake up to see them."

Nezu paused by the door, his gaze softening as he turned back to look at her. "He will," the principal said, his voice filled with a quiet certainty. "Resilience like his doesn't disappear overnight. But when he does, he'll need time and understanding."

Aizawa nodded in agreement, his sharp eyes flicking toward Yu. "It won't be easy. He's been through more than most of us can imagine. But he'll wake up, someone like him won't give up that easily."

Yu swallowed hard, her throat tight. She wanted to believe them, but seeing Shinji like this. So fragile, so unlike the fiery, stubborn boy she remembered, made it difficult. She reached out hesitantly, her hand hovering over his, before finally placing it gently on his arm.

"You're not alone anymore, Shinji," she said softly, her voice trembling despite her efforts to stay strong. "I'm here. We're all here. You just have to... find your way back to us."

Another month passed in quiet anticipation. Yu Takeyama visited Shinji every day, her unwavering presence a constant in the sterile hospital room. She spoke to him softly, told him stories of the world outside, of the heroes who had come to see him. She refused to let the silence of the room become an enemy, her voice a steady lifeline tethering him to the world he'd once fought to protect.

But the day Shinji finally woke, the room was empty.

His eyes fluttered open slowly, his vision blurred and unsteady. The light overhead was bright and harsh, cutting into his disoriented mind like shards of glass. He winced, his head rolling to the side. Everything felt wrong. Too soft. Too quiet.

He struggled to focus, the dull hum of medical equipment buzzing faintly in the background. His body ached in ways that felt unreal, deep, pervasive pain that spread through every nerve. He tried to move, but his muscles were sluggish, heavy, and uncooperative.

It was too strange, too unfamiliar. His heart raced as confusion took hold, panic creeping in. This isn't the breach, he thought, but that couldn't be right. It had to be the breach. He hadn't left. He couldn't have left.

His fingers twitched weakly against the rough hospital blanket. He swallowed hard, his throat dry and raw. His gaze drifted to the chair beside the bed. A blanket rested there, neatly folded. On the table next to it sat a cup of tea, steam curling lazily into the air.

Shinji's breathing hitched, his chest tightening. This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

"No..." he whispered, his voice hoarse, barely audible. His eyes darted across the room, scanning every shadow, every corner. He tried to sit up, but pain lanced through his body, forcing him back against the pillows.

"This is a dream," he muttered, his voice trembling. "It's not real. It's... it's another trick."

He shut his eyes tightly, his mind racing. Images of the breach swirled behind his eyelids, roaring kaiju, the endless, choking darkness, and the crushing pressure of his Jaeger falling apart around him. That was real. That was where he belonged.

He shook his head weakly, his breathing uneven. "I'm still there," he told himself. "I never left. I'm still fighting. Still in the breach."

The sterile walls around him seemed to close in, the steady beeping of the monitors blending into the pounding of his pulse. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.

Wake up, he thought desperately. Wake up and get back in the fight.

The room swayed slightly, the edges of his vision blurring as his exhaustion tugged at him. His mind fought to reconcile the quiet calm of his surroundings with the chaos he remembered. It didn't make sense. It couldn't make sense.

A faint sound reached him, the door opening softly. Footsteps. Someone was entering the room.

Shinji didn't dare open his eyes. It's just part of the dream, he told himself. Nothing here is real. None of it matters.

The footsteps stopped, and a gentle voice called his name. He flinched but didn't respond, didn't move. He was afraid to.

Just let it end, he thought, tears slipping silently down his gaunt cheeks. Just let me wake up already.

But no matter how much he wished for it, the dream refused to fade. For now, he lay still, trapped in the limbo between his memories and the impossible reality surrounding him.

The soft footsteps stopped just beside the bed, and for a moment, there was only silence. Then came the faint rustle of clothing, the subtle creak of the mattress as someone leaned in closer. A hand touched his left arm gently, the contact meant to be reassuring.

Shinji's reaction was immediate and visceral.

"No!" he gasped, his body jerking away with more force than he thought he had. The sudden movement sent pain shooting through his battered frame, but it didn't stop him. His eyes snapped open, wide and panicked, and he scrambled to push himself away, his back slamming against the raised head of the bed.

The person, a nurse, her expression full of concern, froze, her hands held up in a placating gesture. "Shinji, it's okay," she said softly, her tone calm and measured. "You're safe. You're in a hospital. No one's going to hurt you."

Her words didn't register. Shinji's breathing quickened, his chest heaving as his gaze darted around the room. His left hand gripped the blanket tightly, knuckles white, while his right arm hung limp at his side, unmoving. It was as if the limb didn't exist to him.

"It's not real," he whispered, his voice hoarse and frantic. "It's not real. You're not real."

"Shinji," the nurse tried again, her voice steady but filled with worry. She took a cautious step back, giving him space. "You're safe now. You're out of the breach."

"The breach?" Shinji repeated, his voice rising in disbelief. His eyes locked onto hers, wild and unfocused. "No, no, no. I'm still there! I never left!"

His body trembled with the effort of holding himself up, his muscles weak and shaking from malnutrition and exhaustion. The nurse reached out instinctively to steady him, but the moment her hand touched his shoulder, he recoiled again, his breathing turning into shallow, panicked gasps.

"Don't touch me!" he shouted, his voice cracking. The exertion was too much; his strength gave out, and he slumped back against the bed, his head lolling to the side.

The nurse hesitated, clearly torn between wanting to help and knowing her presence was only adding to his distress. She stepped away slowly, pressing a button on the wall to call for assistance. Within moments, a doctor and another nurse entered the room, both assessing the situation with practiced calm.

"Shinji," the doctor began gently, his voice low and soothing. "I know you're scared, but you're safe now. You're on Earth. You're in a hospital. We're here to help you."

Shinji's eyes flicked toward him, filled with distrust and confusion. "No," he muttered, shaking his head weakly. "It's a lie. This... all of this... it's just another trick."

His breathing hitched, and his left hand instinctively moved to his chest, clawing at the hospital gown as if trying to tear it away. "I can't... I can't breathe," he gasped, his voice breaking.

The medical team moved quickly, their voices calm but firm as they tried to stabilize him. One of the nurses gently took hold of his left wrist to check his pulse, but even that small action caused him to flinch violently.

"Get off me!" he cried, his voice raw and desperate. "Leave me alone!"

"Shinji, listen to me," the doctor said firmly, stepping closer. "You're dehydrated, malnourished, and exhausted. We're trying to help you, but you need to let us."

The words barely penetrated the haze of fear and confusion clouding his mind. His body was failing him, his limbs trembling uncontrollably, his vision blurring. His heart raced, pounding painfully in his chest, and he felt as though the room was closing in around him.

The doctor signaled to one of the nurses, who prepared a mild sedative. "Shinji," he said again, his tone softer now, "we're going to give you something to help you relax. It's not going to hurt, I promise."

Shinji's protests faded into incoherent murmurs as the sedative took effect. His body slackened slightly, his tense muscles loosening as his breathing began to slow. Even as he drifted into a calmer state, his expression remained strained, haunted.

The team worked quickly to check his vitals and address his immediate needs, their movements careful and precise. Though he was unconscious now, his reaction had left a mark on everyone in the room, a stark reminder of the toll his time in the breach had taken, not just on his body, but on his mind.

As they finished, the nurse adjusted the blanket over him, her movements tender despite the chaos of moments ago. Her gaze lingered on his right arm, limp and unmoving. The faint scarring where the grotesque flesh had once been was visible now, stark against his pale skin.

"He doesn't even use it," she murmured, her voice heavy with concern. "It's like... it's not even his anymore."

The doctor sighed, his expression grave. "The trauma runs deep. It's not just physical, it's mental, and emotional. That arm was taken by the breach, just like everything else. It's going to take time for him to trust that it's really gone."

The nurse nodded, her gaze lingering on Shinji's gaunt face, the dark circles under his eyes stark against his pale skin. "I just hope he knows he's safe now," she said softly.

But even in the quiet of the room, the tension in Shinji's unconscious form suggested that safety was a concept he could no longer recognize.

Not long after the medical team left the room, the faint sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway. The door opened softly, and Yu Takeyama stepped inside, her usual presence tempered by a deep weariness.

She had visited every day, sitting beside Shinji's bed and talking to him in the hope he'd hear her, even though he never responded. Today, she had come as soon as she heard about his episode, concern etched into her features.

Her gaze immediately fell on his sleeping form. His pale face was slack, framed by messy hair that hadn't seen a comb in weeks. The dark circles under his eyes seemed even more pronounced now, and his frame was so frail he barely made an imprint on the bed.

She noticed his right arm, limp at his side, a stark reminder of what he had endured. Her jaw tightened, and she swallowed hard, pushing down the anger and sorrow welling up inside her.

Quietly, she approached the bed, pulling a chair closer. As she sat down, she hesitated, her hands hovering in the air as if unsure whether to touch him or keep her distance. Finally, she settled on resting her elbows on her knees, leaning forward as she studied his face.

"You scared everyone today," she said softly, her voice trembling slightly. "They told me what happened... Shinji, you've always been stubborn, but this..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

For a long moment, there was only silence. Yu let out a slow, shaky breath and leaned back in the chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

"I don't know if you can hear me," she continued, her voice steadier now, "but you're safe. You're here, on Earth. I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."

Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she glanced at his hand, his left hand, which still clung faintly to the blanket even in his sedated state. Tentatively, she reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against his, testing the contact.

When Shinji stirred, her hand immediately withdrew. His face contorted briefly, a flicker of distress crossing his features, but he didn't wake. Yu sighed and rubbed her temples.

"You're still fighting, aren't you?" she whispered. "Even now, even here."

She leaned forward again, resting her forehead in her hands. The silence stretched, broken only by the steady beeping of the heart monitor.

"Whatever it takes," she said finally, her voice firm despite the tears slipping down her cheeks. "Whatever it takes to help you heal... I'll do it. I don't care how long it takes."

She sat there for hours, watching over him, her heart breaking anew with every labored breath he took. When she finally left, the room felt even quieter, as if holding its breath for the next storm to come.

Shinji's eyes snapped open, his breath coming in ragged gasps as if he had been running for miles. The sterile white walls of the hospital room did nothing to calm the panic gnawing at him. His body ached in places he hadn't realized he could feel anymore, his right arm pressed stiffly against his side as if it didn't belong to him at all. His eyes darted around the room, searching for anything familiar, anything that could explain what was happening to him.

A voice broke through the haze of confusion.

"Shinji, you're awake!"

He didn't look at her right away, but the sound of the voice brought his attention to the figure sitting beside him. A young woman, in casual clothes, her face both familiar and utterly foreign. There was something about her eyes. Purple. Her eyes were purple, a brighter shade than his own, but... why did she look so familiar? His heart hammered against his chest as panic surged.

"Who... are you?" His voice was strained, hoarse. "Why do you look like that?"

The woman's lips trembled, her smile faltering as she looked at him. "Shinji, I'm Yu," she said gently. "Your sister."

For a moment, Shinji didn't react. His mind reeled with disbelief, confusion clouding his thoughts. "Sister?" he croaked, trying to make sense of her words. But nothing felt right. Nothing at all. His eyes locked onto hers again, those impossible purple eyes.

"No, that's... that's not possible," he muttered, his voice shaky with fear. "I don't have a sister. I don't even know you."

Yu's expression softened, her sadness evident in the way her shoulders slumped. "I know this is hard to understand right now," she said, her voice steady despite the pain in her eyes. "You've been through so much, Shinji. I don't know what's happening in your head right now, but you're safe. You're here, with me."

But he couldn't process it. His mind was still trapped in the breach, still in that hellish place. He wasn't here. This wasn't real. His breathing quickened, his hand instinctively moving to his chest, his fingers brushing against the hospital gown as if it would tear away the illusion. He tried to push himself up, but his right arm, his lost arm, remained still, a dead weight at his side. It was like it didn't even exist.

His heart pounded harder, his panic building. "I need to wake up," he gasped. "I need to wake up. This isn't real. This isn't real..."

Yu's eyes widened, and she reached out a hand, her voice trembling as she spoke. "Shinji, no–"

But he jerked away from her, his body stiffening, his eyes wide and filled with raw terror. He didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to believe it.

"Please," he begged, the words choked and desperate. "Let me wake up. Let me wake up!"

"Shinji..." Yu's voice cracked, but she didn't move closer. She didn't want to push him. "You're already awake. You're safe here."

He shook his head violently, his eyes darting around the room, but there was no escape. The walls felt like they were closing in, and he felt suffocated by the weight of his own confusion.

"Wake me up!" he shouted, his voice raw, his chest heaving with exertion. "I don't belong here. I don't belong here! I... I can't..."

His words trailed off as his body shook, his heart racing, each breath more labored than the last. He was spiraling into madness, and nothing around him was real. His right arm still felt like it was missing. Broken. Gone.

"You're not in the breach anymore, Shinji," Yu said softly, her voice a quiet plea. "You're here, with me. It's okay. You're safe."

Shinji's breath hitched, his eyes locked onto hers, searching for any trace of truth in her words. He wanted to believe her, but it was too hard. Too much of him was still stuck in the nightmare, in the dark world he couldn't escape from.

"I just... I need to wake up..." he repeated, his voice quieter now, broken.

Shinji's chest tightened, and his breath quickened as the world around him began to warp. Yu's face faded from view, and the sterile whiteness of the hospital room dissolved into the haunting expanse of the breach. His body felt heavier, more massive, and when he tried to move, he found himself encased in a cold, metallic shell, his body no longer his own.

He was back in the Jaeger.

The familiar hum of the cockpit filled his ears, the vibrations of the massive machine reverberating through his body as he gripped the edges of his suit. His vision was distorted through the visor, everything stretched out, impossibly large, the world around him small and distant. His hands, covered in the thick, blue blood of the kaiju, The weight of what had happened, of what he had become, crushed him all over again.

The breach.

The battles.

More of them. More of the kaiju.

He could feel his pulse quicken in the cockpit, the adrenaline coursing through him as the massive, monstrous figures began to converge. Their screeches echoed across the ruined landscape, the sound of battle deafening as Shinji lifted the Jaeger's arms, his heart pounding with terror and rage.

The blood. The blood was everywhere. Kaiju blood stained his hands, and dripped from the Jaeger's limbs, pooling on the ground beneath him. It was a grotesque reminder of everything he had done.

The vision through his visor blurred, and the memory of the battle felt more like a nightmare than reality. He could hear the sounds of roaring, of flesh tearing, of metal grinding. His hands were slick with the blood of monsters, but he wasn't sure if it was the kaiju's blood or his own.

He looked around through the glass, his breath shallow, his mind reeling. The world was no longer the hospital. No longer the soft, safe place he had tried to force himself to wake up to. Instead, the breach loomed around him, its desolate, hellish landscape stretching endlessly. The blue blood, the pain, the violence, it all felt so real again.

In the distance, more kaiju approached, their grotesque forms filling the sky, their growls reverberating through the breach like the sounds of doom.

"No... no, not again," Shinji muttered, his voice hoarse, trembling. His hands gripped the controls tighter, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the Jaeger wasn't his. That the blood staining it was his own. He wasn't in control. He was trapped in the machine, trapped in the fight, trapped in the endless nightmare.

"Shinji!" Yu's voice broke through the haze, but it was distant. Faint. A part of him wanted to respond, wanted to hear her, but the breach's grip on him was too strong.

The kaiju charged forward, their massive, scaled bodies crashing toward him, their roars deafening. His body jerked as if to fight, but all he could do was watch, frozen in place as the Jaeger responded without his will. He was back in the battle, back where he had lost everything.

He saw the blood splatter across the glass of the visor. The heat of battle, the suffocating pressure, the screams of the kaiju, all rushing back as if it had never left. His hands gripped the kaiju harder, his knuckles white, but his heart pounded with helplessness as the screams grew louder.

"I can't..." His voice was barely above a whisper as he faced down the oncoming onslaught. He was still there. In the breach. The monster. The killer. The soldier.

More kaiju. More destruction.

The world around him began to tremble, the cockpit shaking violently as the Jaeger clashed with the beasts, the blood splattering against his visor, the world spinning. He felt himself slipping away into the chaos, his mind fraying at the edges. Was it real? Was he dreaming? Or was he still caught in the nightmare, in the never-ending war he couldn't escape?

But then, as quickly as it had started, the world around him shifted again.

Shinji's eyes fluttered open. The tightness in his chest remained, but the breach was gone. The battle was over. at least for now. The blood, the kaiju, the chaos, it all faded, leaving only the soft, comforting presence of the room around him. The scent of antiseptic, the sterile walls, and the gentle hum of the hospital machines.

Yu was still there. By his side.

But even as his surroundings returned to normal, Shinji's hands were still slick with the blood of the kaiju. His right arm remained stiff, unfeeling, a dead weight by his side.

"Shinji?" Yu's voice reached him, tentative. "You're back. You're with me."

But Shinji didn't respond. He couldn't. He wasn't sure if he was awake. He wasn't sure what was real anymore. The line between the breach and the hospital had blurred, and the blood of the kaiju stained everything, everything he had been. Everything he had done.

"Just let me wake up," he whispered, his voice strained and his eyes shut tight. He couldn't stay here. He couldn't stay in this nightmare. He just wanted to wake up.

Shinji's chest tightened as he opened his eyes, but they weren't met with the soft glow of the hospital room. His heart pounded, his breath shallow as he found himself once again inside the cockpit of the Jaeger. The sound of the breach roared in his ears, the towering kaiju surrounding him like a nightmare made flesh.

He had gotten his wish he was awake.

Striker's…no his hands, slick with blue kaiju blood, he was back in the breach he had woken up finally, but something was different. His fingers throbbed with the faint, burning sting of the acidic blood. The jagged, sharp pain crawled up his hands as if the kaiju's blood was seeping into his very skin, eating away at him from the inside. He clenched his fists, the burning sensation still there, even as his grip tightened, trying to keep himself steady against the oncoming horde.

The glass of his visor was streaked with thick, viscous blood, some of it dripping down onto the controls. The metallic scent of death filled the air, and Shinji could feel it, feel the sting of the kaiju blood against his steel skin like a lingering burn. His breath hitched, and his pulse quickened. It was too real. The heat from the blood was suffocating, the burn spreading through his hands as the blood slowly ate away at him, leaving him with nothing but the horrifying sensation of the breach.

The kaiju screeched in the distance, and the world around him tilted with the weight of their incoming attacks. His hands shook as they held the dead kaiju tighter, trying to fight through the pain, trying to move, trying to survive. But his mind couldn't keep up. The kaiju were everywhere, closing in, their bodies massive and twisted in the light of the breach. He could feel their blood on him, feel it coursing through the air, seeping into his very bones.

"No," Shinji muttered through gritted teeth. The sensation of the acidic blood against his skin, the sting, the burning, it wasn't his, it was strikers. It couldn't be real. He couldn't be feeling striker's pain. Had he fallen that far?

But the pain was too real. The blood was too real. He felt it on his face, on his neck, on his arms, as if the very substance of the kaiju was attacking him. Every time he tried to move, the pain flared, the burning sensation crawling up his hands, reaching his shoulders, spreading through his chest. He was suffocating in it.

"No, no, no..." His breath quickened, his vision swimming as his body jerked, almost in panic. He gripped harder, his knuckles white, his fingers aching from the pressure. Striker's hands tightened the same, groaning with resistance. The kaiju were almost on top of him, and the blood, the burning, searing blood, poured from their wounds as they charged forward, each strike tearing apart his Jaeger.

Shinji couldn't escape it. He couldn't escape the blood. He couldn't escape the pain.

And then, as if from nowhere, everything began to fade. Was he still asleep?

His vision blurred, the breach dissolving as his body shook with the aftershocks of the battle. The cockpit, the kaiju, the blood, they were all gone. In their place was the sterile, soft glow of the hospital room again. But the sting, the burning sensation, remained. His hands, slick with the caustic blood, ached with the phantom pain.

He sucked in a sharp breath and sat up, his body trembling, the sharp sting in his palms still lingering as he gripped the sheets.

It felt too real. The kaiju. The blood. The pain. He couldn't shake it. His right arm, stiff and useless by his side, didn't feel like it belonged to him anymore. It was still the machine. Still part of the breach. The acidic blood had burned it away. It was lost, just like everything else.

"Shinji?" Yu's voice cut through the haze, soft and hesitant. He didn't look at her, didn't acknowledge her presence. Instead, he clutched at his chest, the sensation of the blood still crawling under his skin. The burning. The sting.

"What's real?" he whispered to himself, his voice hoarse and trembling. His fingers twitched, a faint, lingering pulse of sensation still coursing through his hands.

"You're safe now," Yu said, her voice cracking with emotion. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered. The blood was real. The burn was real. The pain of the breach was real.

So why couldn't he wake up?