Ultraman: It turns out this is the easy mode.

Rokubun Gigendo's life was not going well.

He was still in that yoga pose, his legs forced into an unnatural angle, his spine stiffly bent, his whole body like a caged beast. His wrists were marked with deep red marks from the rough ropes, and every slight struggle brought excruciating pain.

The most important thing is that the head is in the location of the hemorrhoids.
And he wanted to cry.

Those eyes, usually hidden behind orange lenses, always chillingly calm, were now glistening with moisture. Not from fear, not from humiliation, but from a deeper, more profound weariness seeping from the very marrow of one's bones.

He, Rokufen Gigendo, the commander of NERV, the chief executor of the Human Instrumentality Project, and the thirteenth member of SEELE—had actually fallen to such a state.

The agents who came to rescue him were old acquaintances.

Yes, those bastards who treated him terribly before!
He recognized them; he had seen their photos countless times in NERV's intelligence files, tracked their movements on surveillance screens, and even caught a glimpse of their backs in the distance during some clandestine transactions.

They are the kind of hounds that operate in the gray area, willing to do anything and try anything as long as the price is right.

But these damn bastards want me as their reward this time!!!

Holy crap! What kind of people did you hire, Kiro?!
Although he was successfully rescued, he paid an enormous price.

In any case, the cost was huge, and the sextant has not yet been restored.

He bit his lower lip hard, not letting any sound escape, his nails digging deep into his palm.

This is a disgrace, a disgrace that Rokufen Gigen-do had never imagined in his life.

He would rather face the Apostle's AT field, rather be pierced by the Spear of Longinus, than recall everything that had happened in the past few hours.

However! I'll soon be able to return to the loyal NERV base!
The scenery outside the car window gradually changed from desolate suburbs to a familiar steel jungle, with the outline of Tokyo-3 appearing and disappearing in the twilight.

Those launch towers disguised as ordinary buildings, the armories hidden among skyscrapers, and the massive Geo Front underground—his kingdom, his fortress, the foundation of his power. Just step through that heavy blast door, and he can put on those orange glasses again, sit back in the command chair, and once again become the fearsome Gendo Ikari.

That damned Choi Myung! He'll be out of his acting command position soon!!!
The thought of the man who had seized command while he was missing ignited a cold fury in Rokubungi Gendo's eyes. Choi Myung, that arrogant fool, thought he could replace him with just a few verbal authorizations from SEELE? When he returned, the first thing he would do was revoke all of Choi Myung's authority; the second was to investigate all of Choi Myung's orders during this period; the third thing—a twisted smile—was to make Choi Myung understand what true suffering meant.

The vehicle slowly entered the underground passage of NERV headquarters, the familiar red warning lights flashing overhead. Rokubungi Gendo took a deep breath, forcing himself to straighten his back, even though every movement aggravated the wound on his back. He raised his hand and wiped away the remaining moisture from the corner of his eye with his sleeve—it was sweat, not tears. The commander of NERV never cries.

However.
"Who the hell are you?! Get lost!"

The security guard's shout echoed through the underground passage, thick with an accent and undisguised disgust. He was a man in his forties, wearing NERV's standard navy blue uniform, the badge on his chest reflecting a cold light under the red warning lights. He had been leaning against the blast door smoking, squinting at the slowly approaching black sedan, wondering which high-ranking official was returning late at night.

The moment the car door opened, he saw a sight he would never forget.

A ragged man staggered out of the carriage, his expensive suit jacket crumpled, his tie hanging crookedly around his neck, and his shirt collar torn and deformed.

The most terrifying thing was his face—his usually meticulously combed slicked-back hair was now a mess, like a bird's nest, and his orange glasses were nowhere to be seen, revealing a pair of bloodshot eyes underneath.

The man's gait was extremely strange; his legs were stiffly together, his waist was leaning forward at an unnatural angle, his hands were tightly covering his back, and his face was as pale as a corpse that had just crawled out of a coffin.

The security guard's pupils contracted sharply, and the cigarette butt in his hand fell to the ground, scattering a few sparks. His heart pounded, and his throat tightened—what the hell was that? The twisted figure presented a bizarre posture in the dim light, its back bent into an unbelievable arc, its legs dragging in an almost reversed joint motion, each step leaving dark marks on the ground. The face was ashen and swollen, the corners of its mouth were crooked, saliva dripped from its chin, and its eyes were bloodshot yet unfocused and lifeless, resembling a specimen just crawled out of a formalin vat.

"Aaaaaaah!!!!!"

Rokubungi Gendo was sent flying by the kick, his back slamming heavily against the cold concrete wall. The excruciating pain in his tailbone caused him to let out a scream that was not human. He curled up on the ground, his body trembling uncontrollably, his legs convulsing uncontrollably, displaying a bizarre twitching posture, like the legs of a frog with severed nerves still making their last struggle.

The security guard was genuinely terrified. What a freaking scary thing!
The middle-aged security guard stumbled back two steps, his back pressed against the blast door, cold sweat instantly soaking through his uniform. He had witnessed the horrific scenes of the apostles' invasion and the corpses of failed experiments, but the horror of this "thing" before him was no less than that—it was a morbid deformity resulting from the extreme twisting of humanity, with every joint bending at an angle that defied common sense, and every twitch accompanied by the subtle sound of bones grinding together.

Fear turns into rage, and rage turns into the urge to attack.

"Monster! Monster!!!" the security guard roared hysterically, grabbing his baton and charging forward. The first blow landed on Rokubunji Gendo's arched back with a dull thud. Rokubunji let out a muffled groan, his body curling up even tighter like a shrimp, his hands covering his head, his fingers twisted into a claw-like shape.

The security guard didn't stop. The second blow landed on his shoulder, the third on his thigh, each strike carrying the frenzied force driven by fear. He dared not look at the face, dared not confirm whether it was a person or something else, he could only mechanically swing his baton until the twisted figure collapsed to the ground, motionless.

"Huff, huff."

The security guard was panting heavily, his hands still trembling. He looked down at the mangled mess on the ground—his suit was soaked in blood, the dark liquid spreading across the concrete. The "thing" lay face down, its limbs outstretched at an unbelievable angle, like a crushed spider. (End of Chapter)