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.