Why is Baltar Alive?

I'm so confused brosephs.

(And yeah, the ending devoured) Lots of plot holes? BLAME GOD.

OH WAIT THAT WASN'T BALTAR SILLY ME. THAT WAS ANGEL BALTAR AND ANGEL SIX. GOD IT MAKES SENSE NOW.

I had this fear as season three wound down and season four began that the show's increasing embrace of ideology and spirituality coupled with tons of plot holes would lead to a huge fuckshow deus ex machina ending. Yup, it did. I felt the same way about Geass, and it was hugely problematic in that show too, in very much the same way. However, the charm of Geass was that it wrapped up all the spirituality crap way before the ending and gave you enough time to realize that, in that show, it wasn't the "magical crap" driving the narrative but the actions and motivations of the protagonists. Both shows pull "reset" endings, but Battlestar's is particularly frustrating as it basically can be summarized as "divine forces got us here." (Whereas Lelouch outsmarts every character and the audience in a scheme to pull off said reset)

Battlestar's characters have been going through "pre-destined" motions for a whole season and the ending's no exception, barf.

Oh, so like Jimi Hendrix is Hera's great-great...-great grandson?

The whole notion that the show predates our notion of earth rather than being in the future at all was absolutely not shocking, and has been something hinted at, since what, season 2?

Kill yourselves.

Chapter VI (Part III)

The man's voice was soft, gentle, cloyingly sweet, but with a dirty vinyl rasp that betrayed its kindness.

"Truthfully, I had lost interest, but this one, she's special."

I recognized Mania instantly. She was much younger, her hair shorter, the tattoos missing, her frame somehow even gaunter, more fragile. She was chained to a wall, each wrist locked in iron clasps, and more than that, what looked like a rail road tie was driven through her left wrist, through bone and brick pinning her quite messily to the cold stone. My own wrist ached in sympathy. She stared at the floor, her hair obscuring her face such that I couldn't tell if she was conscious.

"I'll wake her up," spoke the soft voice as Vincent entered our view. I had never seen more than a distant still, but now with his face filling nearly the entire frame, I could see he was soft and symmetrical, his eyes large and seemingly innocent, his mouth pulled in a gentle smile, all lies.

He approached the chained girl, a long razor in hand. "Wake up, little fly."

Mania's head lifted and she appeared drugged, poisoned. Her face showed no emotion. Her Cheshire grin was nowhere to be found, replaced with a sickly exhaustion. She didn't speak but her eyes acknowledged Vincent's approach.

Vincent purred, "You're an assassin. I can smell it all over you." He gestured off camera. "You can see what's left of your predecessors."

Mania blinked.

"Oh? You don't care?" Vincent traced a small circle into Mania's shoulder with the razor. His motions were like hers from what I'd seen at the symphony hall. Less exaggerated, but uneven, jerky, wrong.

Mania watched him carve the blade into her shoulder with a distant fascination.

Vincent impressed with her resolve, "Aren't you brave? Well, now I know I'll have a good time with you."

Mania found her grin. Ear to ear.

Vincent stepped back, blocking the camera's view of the girl.

I heard her sing, "I'm bored now."

Alex muted the television. I saw Vincent lift the blade to deliver a more savage slash, but instead suddenly stagger backwards nearly tripping over himself. I understood.

Unmuted. I heard Mania's sing-song voice taunting, "You are sillllly Vincent."

He said nothing but continued to creep backwards, finally moving to no longer obstruct our view.

The chains securing her right arm were already hanging ineffective and her free hand formed a small loop with the chain locking her left and snapped the metal with ease. I had to look away as she freed her left hand, pressing the rail road spike all the way through her arm, freeing herself while leaving the tie still pinned into the wall. Blood flowed copiously from the gaping hole, long red snakes, down her fingers, drizzling the floor. She looked at the wound, as if regretting her actions, and for a moment, I saw pain stain her composed face, but it was replaced a second later with a familiar grin and giggle.

Still, despite her escape, Vincent's vision has returned and my intuition that his movement was better than average was quickly vindicated. He came in swinging and despite Mania dodging the first few attacks with ease, she was caught with an elbow followed by a kick to the face and she was scattered to the floor. Before she could stand, Vincent was on top of her, stamping the heel of his boot onto her wounded arm. Mania didn't cry out. Her eyes narrowed, but she made no move to escape the pin.

"That's pretty neat." He said no more for a while and the two remained frozen for seconds.

When Mania didn't respond, he continued, "You people are obsessed with turning people into little automata with your tricks. I wonder how long it will be till you find a way to just turn us off."

Mania looked up, her face transformed into earnest and understanding, "You're afraid."

Vincent swung his free leg and brought it down hard, crushing the fingers of Mania's trapped hand. He smiled as she winced.

"You act like you feel nothing. It's a lie." He crushed her fingers a second time. "I'm the antidote to lies, girl."

Mania looked totally different from the monster I knew; this girl was not invincible. Seeing the difference, Vincent brought his foot down on her face. The crack of skull into stone was sickening. He repeated until tears peppered Mania's face, all the while never relaxing the pressure on her pinned, wounded arm.

Spitting on her before he spoke, "You're a miserable little lie. I thought you were special."

She tried to sing, but the kicks came in too rapid succession for her to get more than "Belmont" out. Crying out wildly and delusionally as another kick ricocheted her face off the floor, "Dad. Please. Dad."

Despite the poor camera angle on Vincent's face, the sickening smile it wore was nonetheless visible. "Cry for me. I'm going to have so much fun taking you apart."

Mania struggled futilely, finally half spitting, half growling, aware that no father was coming to her rescue, "I really don't like you."

Vincent, clearly enjoying himself, while continuing to kick her, "You know most girls after a little time here don't want to escape. They know they are already ruined. A little clean water won't wash away some things. Do you know what you get when you mix clean with dirty water?"

Mania looked up vacantly. She looked ready to pass out from the pain.

"Dirty water, " Vincent laughed. "What's ruined is ruined."

Mania also chuckled.

"Oh you think that's funny?"

She continued to laugh, a sick convulsive laugh that shook her beneath his leg like a fish flopping about a ship's deck.

Shaking his head, "You're very strange."

Mania didn't stop and the laughter seemed to come from everywhere, not just from the small frame of a dying girl. The room itself was laughing. I turned to Jet hoping for his reaction to be an indication of what was going on, but he wasn't even paying attention.

The next kick was incoming, but foot never met head this time. As the one boot came down, Mania rolled her body towards the trapped limb and smashed her fist into Vincent's support leg. Vincent stumbled backwards, the leg buckling awkwardly, but remained upright. Mania was on her feet more quickly than my eyes could follow.

Vincent was quickly on the offensive again, but Mania, despite her left arm limply hanging uselessly, evaded with only her right and managed to eventually land a brutal strike to Vincent's throat with her fist, sending him tumbling backwards, gasping. Her eyes searched the room frantically in these moments, catching site of whatever held her interest off camera, she darted towards her goal, but Vincent was quickly chasing and with a kick sent her tumbling into the camera stand.

The camera spun and crashed to the floor and sounds of the struggle continued but invisible to us as the camera stared uselessly into empty space.

Alex interrupted, "This goes on for a bit, let me skip ahead."

Mania and Vincent were finally both back in frame. Mania had found her daggers, but Vincent, despite looking wounded and haggard, seemed again to have the upper hand. Mania looked barely able to stand, while Vincent looked confident, and had two significant advantages. A gun. And distance.

Mania and Vincent remained frozen long enough for me to think Alex hadn't pressed play. Looking closer, I saw the miniature movements. Blood snaking down Mania's arm. Vincent's blinks. Neither spoke. Talking was apparently over.

The two knives formed a V in Mania right hand, but Vincent had the gun trained on her, and he was too far, and from the change in expression on his face, I knew it would be all over in a second. I saw his finger caress the trigger, and despite knowing she would not die here, I was sure she would. But as the sound of the shot rang out, Mania was instantly in his face, and the arm that once held the gun, now severed above and below the elbow, fell away in two pieces, the sick thud of flesh on stone masked by the clatter of the gun.

Vincent didn't scream, his other arm already swinging to deliver a crushing blow to her head, but moments later, it lay next to his gun arm, geysers of blood erupting as he slumped to his knees awaiting death.

He spoke, eyes wide, his voice barely more than a garbled wheeze, "You are a monster. I was --"

A third fountain sprung from his neck, silencing him. Mania turned to the camera, her grin in full effect, and drenched in blood, she strolled towards the toppled camera.

Chapter VI (Part II)

Locating the pair was less difficult than I had worried, I found the two sprawled out across two couches, fixated on a shockingly too-high-volume wall of televisions. News reports on the night's massacre peppered all but the lowest right screen, where I noticed a Real Madrid uniform, briefly amused before the cacophony of a half dozen reporters talking over one another overwhelmed me to such a degree that I couldn't fathom how Jet or Alex could follow the conversations.

Alex noticed me first, noticed the embarrassed blush I must have been wearing and nodded, meaningfully, to Jet.

Whatever meaning the nod was meant to carry was entirely lost on Jet. His face lit up and he gestured for me to come sit.

"Come. You feeling better?"

I paused waiting for recognition. It didn't come. Alex shook his head, gave me an apologetic smile and got up, to presumably search for something for me to wear. Jet gave him a confused look and resumed grinning at me.

Jet softly mocked, "You look like you might have scrubbed a bit hard though."

"You've got me in just a towel and that's the best you have for me." I refused to sit.

Jet furrowed his brow deciding on the appropriate complement, "You do look clean."

"Clean?" My eyes smoldered, not a sexy smolder, a steady, angry burn.

His hand ran through his own hair sheepishly, while ducking my gaze, "Clean, and soft, and like a vision?"

"Good enough I guess, " I smiled and let him wrap himself gently around me. I don't know how long we sat tangled, but aware that we had a lot to talk about, and he would do his absolute best to postpone it, I disentangled all but our fingers.

I squared off on the couch next to him, "Before you say anything, just listen, okay?" He nodded and offered his other hand.

I left it there and continued, "I want to know everything about her. And I want to be involved from now on. I know I can't fight and, well, I'm not brilliant like Alex, but I can still help." The words came clumsily, but his eyes remained soft yet serious, and I knew he took my resolve seriously, well, semi-seriously.

Alex returned with a slightly too large pair of pajamas, lay them next to me, and dropped a folded blanket onto Jet, which he in turn, taking the hint, wrapped around my naked shoulders. Alex teased, "Not that I minded the look, Allie."

I shot him a harsh look jokingly and he cowered appropriately. Jet chimed in, "And you smell like donuts."

"No, vanilla. The crap by your tub was vanilla and lavender scented." Jet shrugged and I continued, "Why do you have bath soap anyways? Take a lot of bubble baths?" I grinned ear to ear.

"Nah, I'm not sure how that got there. Probably, Alex." Jet ducked the thrown pillow, but in an instant grew serious, "Allie, we can talk about this stuff in the morning."

Alex shot me a look and I reflected it upon Jet. "No." And realizing that it would be easier to just start talking than fight about it, I began.

I told them how I found the hall empty and how I was caught and taken upstairs, ignoring the details of my capture, how I snuck out and saw Mania kill the conductor, and "After she killed him, well, she, " I hesitated for only a split second but Alex cut me off.

Softly, he interjected, "Belmont chair playing violin."

"So you know?"

Of course they knew. The TV screamed details of the massacre, but more than the killings, somehow I also knew that, despite no mention of it on the televisions, the singing and the blindness wouldn't be a shock. I continued on, telling them of the sounds, of how she killed the audience, and of her interactions with the young man, and finally of her interactions with myself. They listened without much reaction, eyes showing little emotion or surprise until I talked about the conversation between me and Mania.

Alex broke the silence, "Um, that --"

Jet cut him off "made no sense."

I was immediately angry and pushed myself out of Jet's renewed embrace. "What?"

Alex, realizing, assuaged me, "No, I believe you. Entirely. It just doesn't fit with how we normally think of Mania."

"Why's that?"

Alex stood up, "Mania doesn't work with others. Yet, you say she had a group of heavies working for her. I didn't think she was, human, enough for that. And this kid, this boy, you say she was interested in him, just him?"

"She seemed to be. Donovan. Donovan, that was the name." Their blank stares indicated no knowledge of the name.

Jet remained silent and Alex continued, "And this boy was unafraid of her? You say that he escaped, and if anything, she feared him?"

My mind replayed the look on her face when she warned me that the boy would be coming back, "I don't know about fear, but, he definitely wasn't afraid of her, or wasn't afraid to die at least, and she went out of her way to not kill him."

We talked for a while longer, I filled in some details I forgot on my first pass, and after recounting detail after detail with surgical precision, I grew sick of answering questions and wanted some answers for myself. Alex was mid-sentence when I cut him off, "Stop." He stopped. "Look, this needs to go both ways. Who is she?"

Alex looked at Jet, expecting him to answer the question, but he remained silent. After a while, he spoke, picking his words very carefully, "I knew her a long time ago. She wasn't normal then, but more normal. It's a long story, and I promise to tell it to you, but she's the reason both mine and Alex's families are dead."

"I'm sorry."

Jet smiled, "No, it's bigger than that. Not to me, really, but she's caught up in something bigger. I don't really understand it. Alex knows better than me."

I asked the wrong question next, "Why doesn't anyone stop her? I mean she did something like this only a few months ago, right?"

Alex paced, not answering immediately, maybe unsure how to answer, but the breath he took before he began braced me for a long response, "If you're asking why we haven't, we've tried, but we're also interested in understanding who's responsible for Mania. I don't think, " he glanced at Jet and I could tell this was a point of contention between the two, he resumed a bit differently, "Well, she comes from somewhere. Someone made her the way she is and we'd like to find out who and why.

Jet chimed in, "I don't really care about all that."

Alex, ignoring him, "As for why law enforcement has taken such a laiz en fair approach, that is something we know pretty well. Do you remember, about five years back, pukers?"

I did remember. "Yeah, those green pics that made you sick." They were pictures, just a bunch of shades of green and yellow in some sort of pattern, but when you saw the image, you felt nauseous, extremely nauseous. I was pretty young when the epidemic hit the web, but it caused a huge panic. Monitors were even hard-coded to avoid displaying that particular arrangement of pixels.

"Yeah, just one picture really. It was just embedded in others." Alex hesitated. "Well, you probably recall what happened in the aftermath of that."

Everyone knew what happened. "Crow?"

"Yeah," he sat back down.

Vincent Crow was truly a monstrous sicko. I was just starting high school when the abductions began. He would kidnap young girls, high schoolers usually and he'd release videos, terrible videos. Short videos of dismembering the kidnapped girls horrifically. At my all girls' high, security was particularly elevated. Armed guards rode our buses, accompanied us to sports meets, and roamed our halls.

I had never seen a Crow video, though my imagination had poisoned me with many nightmares of what they might include. His message was common knowledge. He wanted to prove he could sicken and outrage us without any tricks. His murders escalated in grotesqueness until finally he progressed suddenly from high school girls to the president's wife.

I shuddered in Jet's arms. He stroked my hair gently, which might normally provide some relaxation, but not this night. Alex was filling me in with more backstory on Crow, but it was information I already knew. Most of it was common knowledge. Rumors abounded back then that he was freakishly strong, fast, that he was somehow abusing Stutter and surviving it, but while I didn't believe much of it, there was no doubt that he transcended what a normal human should be able to do.

The video of the president's wife was only shown once to my knowledge and there were no copies. Alex was getting to this part of the story.

"-- in Times Square. I don't know if you know what was shown, but, "he turned to Jet for approval to continue.

I swallowed, remembering the acidic taste from earlier in the night, "I know. Just skip it." The video was horrific. The clip was short, but supposedly depicted the first lady being violated, tortured, and involved a meat grinder.

Alex's tone changed, "Officially, Vincent Crow was killed in a shootout with federal agents three and a half years ago." Pausing to mute the televisions, "Vincent Crow was killed by Mania four years ago."

"Why? What did she care?"

Jet shrugged, "We don't know. Figure she probably cut a deal with the feds."

"How do you know all this?"

Jet let go of my hands, his face hard, distant, his tone flat as a flatlined EKG, "She told me. And gave me proof."

"What?"

In Alex's hand was a disc, "A video. We're the only two people who've seen this."

I was terrified by what might be on it. I didn't have the stomach for gory movies, let alone this kind of stuff. Still, "I need to see it."

Alex stood up and inserted the disc into a player on the wall. I was very right to fear its contents.