Jack Lewitz

Slender but fit, partly from spending his time picking up car parts and partly because of his constant, borderline-neurotic level of energy. Looks like he wants to be James Dean. Dismissive of authority and advice. Hot headed. Gets along well with some, bad with others. Lives in the moment and is almost incapable of long-term thinking.

Smokes. Everything he owns is either completely worn out or almost broken. Good at redneck “There, it's fixed” repairs and other solutions that are so blunt that they do not occur to many. Not bad with automotive mechanics. Decent classic rock style guitarist and singer.

A classic problem child, Jack's life has been one of relocation and independence. He has gone from school to school and foster parents to foster parent, all the while existing in a perpetual clash with authority figures, which is apparently right where he wants to be. Though not a particularly bloodthirsty person, few things give him the rush of getting in a fight, and whenever he went too long without a brawl with a fellow student he tried his hand at boxing down by the docks.

He has been counting off the days until he turns 18 and can officially stop showing up at school. He's a terrible student but has always managed to get expelled for fighting and general misbehavior before he had a chance to flunk out. In fact, the only test he has ever done well on was a bizarre test given by some government officials that stopped by the school one day...

Jack’s ancient bike spluttered through the security checkpoints, each set of guards more serious than the last, until finally coming to a rest next to a hangar that he assumed was the right one due to its size and the seriousness of its guards. None had threatened to imprison, assault, or even remove him from the premises yet – so far, it seemed, he was off to a great start.

Lieutenant Follett waited inside, a tiny man whose exasperation was spilling over from behind a smile. When he spoke, he chattered nervously. “Ah, Mr. Lewitz, I was worried you had gotten lost.”

“Uh, traffic.” Jack mumbles, digging around in his jacket.

“Oh, well, I see... No harm, no harm, I managed to convince the pilot to delay,” he weakly laughs it off. Jack doesn’t say anything, so he continues on. “If you’ll just come with me - we’ll have to dispense with some of the briefing segments I had prepared, at least until later. Oh, uh, Mr. Lewitz, there is no smoking here, very sorry.”

Jack stares at him blankly from behind his shades, then exhales a plume of smoke and looks around the hangar, as if he didn’t hear him. He knew Follett’s type, and how far they would bend. After a moment, he says, “Well, we in a hurry or what?”

They wind their way around military craft and supplies to a temporary wall that had been placed across the hangar, with yet more guards, and a rebuffed Follett chatters on. “So, I trust you have reviewed the informational package I sent? It is a lot of information to take in, I know. Do you have any specific questions?”

“The what?”

“... I see.” The little man’s mouth tightens in annoyance, and he turns around to punch in a security code. He keeps the false good-natured edge to his voice. “Well, you are clearly a very independent lad, I’m sure you will figure things out by yourself.”
Jack follows him through the final gate and his feet drag to a stop. The thing sprawled out in front of him, being fastened busily by workers to some kind of giant loading tray, was simply not what he was expecting. “What kind of job you say this was again?”

He’s aware of Follett smirking. “We should keep moving, Mr. Lewitz. We've got a lot of work to do in the next few days.”

Slowly, Jack reaches up to take off his sunglasses, and a big grin spreads across his face.

“You f*cking sons of bitches.” Jack gasps hoarsley.

“Jack, if you had paid attention at this morning's briefing-”

“Go to hell.”

The woman on his comm patiently gives him time to compose himself. He had imagined piloting a giant robot would mean buttons and joysticks, not squeezing into a reject from David Bowie's closet and flailing about in a coffin, drowning. After a while, his heartrate and breathing become more regular, lungs tentatively sucking in the bizarre fluid like it was air. “Why can't you people just use steering wheels like the rest of the world?”

“You'll see. Now Jack, it's important that you listen to me – these initial stages with the Eva are dangerous and sometimes confusing. Please stay with me and maintain calm. The Evas link to the pilot's mind, sometimes unpredictably, and we don't want you having anymore episodes when you're connected... especially not with 04.” Jack could tell he wasn't supposed to have heard the last part, and he smirks.

For the first time, the Russian head engineer guy speaks up – the one who had been in charge of building this thing - and again Jack could tell that they were trying to use a private channel. These people acted like they knew what was going on, but little things like this were starting to make him not so sure. The thick accent fills the line, “I hope you and your organization understand that Russian government not responsible for damage caused by Unit Four under NERV supervision, even if construction defect.”

“We understand, Mr. Sergeivich. We would just like to have you on hand this time.”

The plug shutters around Jack, lurching violently as it inserts. “So what exactly is it about this bucket of rust that made you come all the way out to Arizona to pick up little old me? From what I saw, this piece of junk is barely holding together, let alo-”

A fist hits him square in the face, so hard that his head snaps back and he is almost thrown off the seat.

“WHAT... THE HELL?” Blood seeps into the fluid and little lights come alive around him. “Is this some kind of f*cking joke?”

Then, he can see the woman in the observation deck, all of the technicians around her scrambling to review readings and data on their screens. She is leaning against the safety glass, peering back at him. “Jack, are you all right? What's wrong? Please describe what ...” But in the background, all the Russian does is chuckle knowingly.

If his outburst had caused a disturbance among the orderlies, then they go positively crazy when his right arm slowly wrenches free from its bindings. The comm channel becomes a steady stream of frantic noise.

Its fingers balling into a fist, Unit Four reaches up and slugs itself in the face, three times. The first time leaves a dent, the second rips the armored carapace right off of its jaw, sending it crashing down into expensive equipment below. The third lands square on the Eva's unprotected face, and it lets out a bestial sound. Jack can feel its anger, even dormant as the thing was, and he smiles, his face now bleeding at an alarming rate. “Works both ways, buddy.”

That probably wouldn't have been the end of it, but enough tranquilizers to kill a whale are pumping into Unit 04's bloodstream, and the drowsiness seeps into Jack's mind as well.

The Russian's chuckle is now a hearty belly laugh. “I think, Miss Aubern, you have at last found right man for job.” He thinks for a moment, then adds, “Or perhaps very, very wrong one.”

“Can it be both?” She repsonds, sourly, then to her team: “Abort sync test one, notify the medical staff to prepare to see to Mr. Lewitz, and for God's sake, get Engineering up here for some better restraints on that monster. I'm not so much as running a maintenance check until then.” She shakes her head, massaging her temples. "They sent a second, smaller one..."