CHATBOT: The oppressive heat of Tokyo-3's underbelly radiated from the neon-lit pavement as Ryan Cawdor and his companions walked quietly among the locals. Mildred Winona Wyeth eyed the armed samurai with mild curiosity, a multicultural mosaic of armored warriors patrolling in harmony with the traditional police force. "You know," Ryan began, the weight of his eye-patch tugging at the corner of his nostalgia, "back in our day, Japan was the adversary. Who would've thought we'd end up picking our way through their high-tech neighborhoods after it all went to hell back home." Mildred quipped in return, "Goes to show, history's got an odd sense of humor. These folks leap-frogged from samurai to space age while we were playing king of the wasteland." J.B. Dix, fiddling with his recently acquired smartphone, a marvel he'd mastered more quickly than expected, added, "Seems the world can bounce back from anything, 'cept a case of the shortsights." Krysty Wroth, silent until now, held a gaze that seemed to pierce through the bustling crowd. Her psychic sensitivity twitched; the familiarity of her own concealed origins reminded her of wilder days--dark days peppered with the sterile lights of NERV's subterranean laboratories. The group's attention was yanked away from their contemplation as a shrieking siren broke the calm. A blur of a figure on a motorbike, a teenage boy with a defiant posture, shot past them. The police were on his tail, their shouts barely keeping pace with the mechanical snarl. "Bet that brat's got an agenda," J.B. remarked, "and I don't fancy being here when it collides with Johnny Law's." Recognition danced across Krysty's features. She leaned in to whisper to Ryan, "That kid's aura, it's got a familiar ring to it--like that chakra you told me about. Could it be?" Ryan nodded almost imperceptibly, his mind turning over the impossible odds. Could this be the work of a cruel universe, or had fate crafted this coincidence? They followed at a distance, melting into the shadows when needed, observing the boy who seemed to possess abilities beyond the natural. The youth weaved through the downtrodden outskirts of old Tokyo, shifting effortlessly from protecting the meek to battling gangs emboldened by the dread they held for the Angels' return. After hours of pursuit, Shinji, the boy on the motorbike, came to an abrupt halt. He turned to face his trackers, cold frustration brimming in his eyes. "Why are you tailing me?" he demanded, his face a mask of suspi...