REVIEW | The 100 - Episode 2.16 - "Blood Must Have Blood - Part 2"
I am the captain and this is my shrine. Lord of the manor. See what I leave behind. River in flames, cities on fire. Yes, I'm a relic trapped in the wire.
…Now a glorious war draws to a close. The yellow winds blow. And I have to know. Oh industry, whatever will become of me?
- “Oh, Industry”, Bette Midler
She stands fast for a moment, alone in the crippling emptiness that now billows through the space where only minutes ago an army had raged; and an ally – the most powerful she’d ever known – had stood, seemingly unshakeable by her side. So much silence. And for one stinging, brutal instant, a brave and savaged heart must finally ask itself the simplest but darkest question of all: Is it really over?
So stands the gaping, cruel predicament to which we return for Clarke Griffin, in this: the blistering and vastly unpredictable season two finale of The CW’s critically acclaimed sci-fi thriller “The 100”. Her heart, mind and gut still raw from Lexa’s sudden betrayal – in a shocking eleventh hour deal with Cage – Clarke gives herself less than a breath to feel hopeless. Because deep within she knows that she is – as once noted by Lexa – born for just such an hour as this: to save her people from death and oblivion. And if she fails, she will go down swinging with every last splinter of might she has left.
And so it is that she sets out for one last fight for her people, aided by Octavia – now abandoned by her newly adopted nation; Bellamy – who has not given up his fight to free his people, and as many of the mountain people as he can if possible; and Maya: the mountain girl with the voice of a mouse and the heart of a lion, who refuses to let her new and beloved friends be sacrificed like lambs to the slaughter, even if it would give her people the chance to finally return to the outside world.
Elsewhere, four weary souls are traversing the darkest of waters in the hunt for hope and a brighter result than their first discovery of the City of Light. Indeed, although Jaha and Murphy have continued with their two remaining comrades in pressing on towards the opposing shore, for all their optimism – not to mention Jaha’s faith – both are undeniably aware of this one face. That this is a broken mutated world; therefore, even where there is hope, so too will be monsters. It is a quest that will ultimately cause them to come face to face with a madness and shock unlike any they have ever faced before. And it threatens to change everything.
Indeed, all sides have risen and faltered, with any number of cruel blows and deadly consequences. Consequences that have left any number of comrades and loved ones deep in the wild and bloodied ground of this new earth. Hearts have been shattered. Spirits almost broken. Yet from the ashes, more than one soul has risen too: stronger, braver and reforged with a strength and belief unlike any they have ever known before. Because ultimately, it has all led to this. The last and defining battle for the deep heart of Mount Weather. So falls the sword on the new world’s plans.
In which case, shall we, my friends? Once more into the breach…
WHERE THE HEART IS
Octavia has, without question, undergone one of the most significant surgeries of the soul in this entire story. Once, she was a spirit made entirely of nothing but wilful rebellion; a dissident concerned more with escaping any memory of the existence she’d left behind after a lifetime buried beneath the steel floors of the Ark. Was she brave? Bold? Clever? She was all of these things in spades. More than that – for all her rebellion – her heart was ultimately loyal to the one person who had protected her with his life throughout everything: her brother, Bellamy. And most importantly, Octavia Blake loved. There is no question about that. But for all of these good strengths, she lacked one essential thing: a purpose. A true, deep guiding force to pilot her new-found will to live. In the beginning she was rudderless in the deepest part of herself, and rapidly losing her way. For a while too, she steadily grew apart from Bellamy as he began to discover his own strengths and weaknesses, sans the social and political shackles of life on the Ark.
Enter stage left, Lincoln: a Grounder whose existence, like hers, was seen as a focal point of anger and betrayal for his people, simply because he refused to conform to their narrow minded norms. And despite every circumstance that would have deemed it otherwise, the unlikely love affair between this Sky girl and displaced Grounder rapidly transformed into a powerful life connection that has since gone on to have huge ripple effects on both their peoples. A perfect example of the incredible things that can happen when people become willing to put aside their prejudices, and see the real, actual human being in front of them, and value or evaluate them for what they are, not who they believe they should be.
In turn, in herself Octavia has developed a ferocious awareness of her ability to overcome the odds set by the world’s expectations and limits; to believe in something bigger than herself and know what it is to fight and shed blood for it. The person she has now become likewise has let go of her petty former feelings about her brother and the choices he made in order to keep her safe, mostly because she now has a human being she would keep safe at all costs. She knows what it is to feel willing to pay any cost to make that happen. She knows what it is to make a cruel choice in order to save those she loves.
And yet despite this new value set, at the beginning of this episode she is still seething at Clarke for her actions – or more to the point, lack of action – in Tondc prior to the missile strike; still blaming Clarke for the death of so many of their own people from both sides. Which is fair to a point, because Clarke is very much responsible for those deaths. But this is bigger than right or wrong. For the first time, Octavia didn’t just have a person who wanted her: she had a people. A family of like-minded warriors who did not look at her as someone who always needed to be saved and protected, but rather was infinitely capable of saving and protecting others herself. They did not see her weakness. They saw her power. They saw the person Octavia Blake has wanted to be all her life. All of that emotion was of course embodied in the relationship she had with Indra when the Grounder chief took on Octavia as her second. The bond there was an incredible one, and for my part what I loved about it too was the tangible, deep change it wrought as well in a character as hard hearted as Indra, who has seen and experienced so much. Because in Octavia, Indra has had a fierce encounter with something that I don’t imagine she’s known much of in her life: hope. Not just for survival, or for victory, but ultimately for a better life.
Which makes me believe that despite the disownment in the Reaper cave – when Octavia refused to follow Indra at the sound of Lexa’s retreat – there is yet more to the story of these two characters still to come. Indeed it feels a bit impossible that it would just over like that. Because you cannot help but think that it is a bond not so easily broken with the new comrades she has gained. You cannot help but think when Indra gave Lincoln both the sword and the opportunity to escape, that she too has not entirely given up her belief in her former Second’s true heart. More than that, due mostly to the powerful example Octavia set in how she loves Lincoln, you also cannot help but think that Indra’s letting Lincoln go signalled the first turn in the long term tide of her loyalty to Lexa’s command: a loyalty that to date has been followed at all costs.
But will that changing loyalty – if indeed it is coming about – see Indra return to this narrative? Who knows, but that I genuinely hope so. Aside from the character, Adina Porter has arguably been one of the most formidable additions to date on this show; indeed, her character is arguably the only one who has contended equally with Octavia 2.0. This on top of Porter’s gritty portrayal has, I think, been a key to the success of Season Two. But who knows? This is The 100. The only certain thing is that nothing is certain.
It’s strange. Every time we’ve seen Cage appear on screen – undertaking any number of horrific acts, supposedly in the name of his people – I can’t help thinking back to that exchange he had with his father when he first arrested Dante and assumed his presidency. Cage had no qualms in calling the Grounders savages, but if there is one thing The 100 has done massively – especially this season – it’s been to ask us straight up as the audience what exactly defines a savage as opposed to a thinking, functioning, compassionate yet realistic human being. It’s asked us who we think the real monsters are, which has been a deeply incising thing when you realise that all the leading characters have made morally and ethically questionable decisions, which more often than not have actively cost lives.
Cage, of course, we knew was never going to stop killing. Ever. Not until every last Sky person was dead and he could take himself along with the population he governs back out to the open air permanently. I’ve been thinking about this a lot, actually. Wondering if somewhere in his cold, black, merciless heart, there was a tiny piece of him that wanted to see his people afforded the same life on the ground as the Grounders had. But in the process of considering this, I realised something profound. A leader without a people is no leader at all. A leader without a people is just a man, powerless to control anything. And Cage? His whole being radiated with the overwhelming desire to be in control, to have power over what he saw as lesser beings. To a degree I think he even saw his own people as lesser beings; a population that existed simply to be ruled. Seriously. Think about how quickly he abandoned them when he realised Clarke had taken the Mountain. But to rule them, he needed them to survive: hence the absolute, unrepentant, unrelenting desire with which he chased outsider blood. It’s why most of us I think felt more sick than anything else in that brief moment where we saw him playing with the children, smiling like a doting uncle into their faces, even as he’s ordered the live bone drilling of the Sky people he has captured and shoved in his execution chambers. He is without question the most morally compromised character this tale has ever revealed, even from that very first episode, and it’s been chilling to watch his story unfold.
What’s scarier is that even as Clarke put a bullet in Dante’s heart in order to show Cage that she wasn’t bluffing in her fight to save her people, you could feel no sympathy at all for the former President in his death, nor for Cage as his son. Dante’s last words were telling, as he instructed his son to keep doing what he was doing. Because Dante too has been killing Grounders for generations. So in many ways, you could argue that he deserved his fate many times over. And yet the words that really haunted you were those when he told Clarke just before he died: that he bears the burden of his people’s deadly shame, so the people themselves don’t have to. The weight of that statement was like a ton of lead. It reminded us that for all his own terrible actions, the burden of life still meant something to him. We were reminded that every life he stole he recognised as a life, even as he stole it. With ever kill, he abandoned part of his own soul to the ethical darkness, in order for his people to live. And therein lies the fundamental difference between him and Cage. Cage is as soulless as he is single-minded in his bloodlust. Cage sees his targets as animals; like lambs fit only for slaughter so he can go on to enjoy the banquet of life facilitated at the cost of theirs. And you don’t just see that in his killing the Sky people either. You see that in the cruel satisfaction he got out of creating Reapers too. In some ways then, it was the most fitting death of all that he should die so brutally at Lincoln’s hand.
Indeed, that moment where Lincoln came soaring out of the night towards Cage – like Death himself, blade raised for the kill – it felt right. Which is a horrific thing to say: to desire that someone should die for their crimes. But Cage was long past saving. He was dead inside despite his physical life. Cold. I think about all the things he could have escaped into the world with, and what did he choose? A backpack containing reaper serum; always ready to create another monster. But even as he tried to cripple Lincoln with the biting ring of the Reaper alarm, you knew. You knew that Lincoln’s spirit and mind were infinitely stronger than Cage’s. You knew what was coming. As the machete slashed up, taking the hand clean off that had once tortured him into a monster, it seemed only fitting that Cage should die in agony, bleeding out, with Reaper serum shoved into his veins and one of his own creatures – now rehabilitated – standing over him echoing his own cruel words back to him. So ends the reign of the King of the Mountain.
When Cage died, his evil died with him. But what then of the hundreds of people within the Mountain? Indeed it was a cruel pick and mix of humanity left behind. On one hand, there were men, women and children, simply sitting down to a meal in the belief that the attack on their home had been thwarted. People who’d had no choice but to take the blood their leaders had offered for generations, but even then hated what they had to do to stay alive. Hated what they had to do to keep their children alive. To ensure their hope still had a heartbeat. On the other hand, you had soldiers willingly drilling into the marrow of innocent people, ignoring their screams and pleas for mercy as they stole the lifeblood of those whose lives would ensure the Mountain’s legacy would live on, on the ground. Slaughtering not for the greater good, but rather for their own good. And it was fricking barbaric; a place where the excuse ‘I was only following orders’ would never be enough to cover their massacre.
Meanwhile, watching over it all is a girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders; the very scales of life and death in her hands, and the power to tip it in either direction for two separate groups of people. What would you do, we were asked plainly. When confronted with the decimation of all you hold dear, what atrocity would you be willing to commit to save them? In Clarke’s case, this is no mere sacrifice. This is – for all intents and purposes – a genocide. And so she stands, again alone, with nothing but her mind and heart to guide her – or tear her apart – and little more a few, shattering seconds to make her decision. Her people, or theirs. Tick tock.
Were you like me, I wonder? I felt my heart start to curl over on itself in my chest. A sickening, gaping pit open up in my stomach. Because this life and death situation? How far is it really from our own world here and now? Ask yourself. How often are the few sacrificed for the many. How often is death the only price that can be paid for freedom. How often are we confronted with the fact that for all our cleverness and machinations, humanity cannot save itself, from itself.
And in that moment of Clarke’s cruel solitude came one of the best and most profound moments this show has ever delivered. As Bellamy placed his hand on Clarke’s, as she prepared to pull the lever that would send irradiated air throughout the mountain – killing their foes and friends alike, yet leaving her own kind standing – you realised what he was doing. As he watched Octavia on the mess hall monitor screen, with a gun to her head and about to be slaughtered, he said the line that utterly altered his world in last year’s finale too. My sister, my responsibility. In the end, family came first. But if we’re sitting here thinking that Octavia was the only one he thought of as family in that moment, we could not be more wrong. Because as much as he values her life above his own, so too does he value the lives of his people. So too does he value the life of Clarke. His leader. His ally. His friend. And it was because of that, he refused to let her shoulder the burden of her deadly actions alone. And that? That’s love. Deeply, profound, gritty, powerful love. Not for a lover – so Bellarke fans, you need to sit your asses down right now – but for a human being with whom he has been to hell and back; whom he has never abandoned, nor she him. And I was so moved by that: that willingness to shoulder her burden of responsibility, of anguish. It was so fricking powerful, and set up a truly compelling story arc there in season three. Because if that final moment is anything to go by, as Clarke walks away into the wild – eyes brimming with sights of her loved ones safe, sound and home; her skin still warm from Bellamy’s last strong embrace; her ears still echoing with their parting words, May we meet again – one imagines the people who love Clarke most will not let her abandon herself to the wilderness forever. How could you let go forever of the one who saved your life?
But sadly, this choice burdened more than Clarke and Bellamy. One can only imagine what it must have been like for Maya in the short time since the Jasper and his people arrived in her world, tipping their society and long-peaceful life on its head like a hurricane tossing a house at the sky. One can only imagine how it has felt for her since that first moment where she knew she had to betray the interests of her own people in order to save the new captives of the Mountain. The fear she must have known. The warring desire to see the world for herself; knowing that it would kill her; knowing that the marrow Cage was stealing would save her life, but at the cost of her soul.
She was so strong, so brave and so beautifully constructed by the writers and actress Eve Harlow, that it broke my heart utterly to see her lost in the radiation flood. Granted, her passing was a stark reminder that death has no favourites, no moral boundaries; no discernment between the innocent and the guilty, for it is a debt that we all will pay eventually. Likewise, her death was a reminder that such is the reality of war: as it has always been, as it will be forever. There is no greater proof of the world’s brokenness than the destructive conflict and meanness we inflict on each other every day: be it in a marketplace bombing on the other side of the world, or the cruel day to day gossip we all engage in at times: the kind that perpetuates the lie that a person’s worth lies in the fickle opinion of the world rather than in their simply being a human being. Indeed, for all the goodness in us, there is also an unkindness that can we will never conquer alone. Worse, more often than not, it is the innocent that pay the price in the long run for that unkindness.
It’s hard to know how it was ever going to be solved: the conundrum that was getting the people inside the mountain out on to the ground without killing them, but at the same time without killing Sky people or Grounders in the process. Maybe that’s the point though. That sometimes there is no solution. No happy ending. That eleventh hour miracles – like the one needed to give them the life that they wanted, or indeed saved their lives at all from an arguably inevitable fate – are the exception not the rule. Why? Because this is real life. This is war.
But that inevitability made Jasper’s grief no less shattering as he held Maya, helpless and bloodied in his arms, watching her die an insidious death that was ultimately caused by one of his own people; not to mention someone he trusted to save Maya’s life as well as his. You know it’s strange. I think of all the children that died in that place – the most innocent victims of all – and yet none of them hit quite so close to home as Maya’s death did, particularly in her parting words to Jasper. “You were innocent’” he said. The last words on her lips – her response – were the saddest of all. None of us is innocent. It was an observation that reminded us all not just of the process and lives it’s taken to keep life in the mountain going, but also of the huge weight of the burden Dante was talking about before he died: that which he should carry in order that the people would never truly know its heaviness. People just like Maya. Indeed, the pathos and grief of that moment as she died embodied what I think was the entire lesson this season of The 100 has been trying to get across: that in the end, there is no quick fix for the pain we cause each other. That all we can do in the end is accept responsibility, learn from our collective past, and be driven – utterly – by the resulting determination simply to do better.
BRAVE NEW WORLD
The tale of John Murphy is one of the most profound and compelling ones I think I’ve ever encountered in all my years of being a TV fan. Which is saying something because like most of you, I’ve been addicted to some pretty incredible shows, and encountered any number of breath stealing characters that challenged me. But Murphy? Good grief. I don’t think I’ve ever had my expectations or feelings turned so utterly on my head as I have done with him: so remarkable has been the extraordinary tangent his story has taken.
When he first agreed to go with Jaha, I actually wondered if he would be Jaha’s demise this season. I kept thinking back to that first time he was sent back to camp, infected by the Grounders with the disease that nearly killed them all before Lincoln’s antidote saved the day. I kept thinking how he came back seemingly penitent, only to kill a number of his fellow survivors from the drop ship in payback for their almost hanging him. He was in all senses a turn coat; a two faced creature of immeasurable brokenness and treachery. How could we ever believe he had a purpose other than to die for his crimes.
And yet now, how the tables have turned. For it was Jaha – he of the great faith for a better life for all – that sent the last of their fellow journeymen into the waiting jaws of a ravenous, fanged sea creature that swallowed him whole. And for what? Jaha’s excuse is the poor man’s version of what has been happening at the Mountain. Kill the few to save the many. Or so he says. For indeed I find it hard to believe that Jaha’s mind has anything to do now with any reality but his own. He’s a lunatic with a saviour complex, and while he got them as far as the foreign shores across the lake, how long did it take him to abandon John there to disappear on his own last leg. He sort of reminded me of one of those awful Amazing Race participants who use another team wilfully to get from A to B and then with a quick ‘I’ll be right back’ dashes off to the finish line to ensure his own desires are met first.
Perhaps it’s a poetic thing then, how it played out next. Because what happened next blew me out of the fricking water. I did not see it coming: these twin, opposing discoveries of Murphy and Jaha that one can only imagine will go on to change the game on Earth forever. Firstly, Murphy. As Jaha’s thudding steps race off into the distance, Murphy again finds himself alone: standing before a strange innocuous lighthouse of sorts; the place to which the drone they’d followed had led them. What he would find was anyone’s guess, but to see it laid out as it was, was mindboggling. Plush surrounds of velvet, wood and opulence, the likes of which I imagine he could never have mentally conceived either on Earth or the Ark. Food, and music – the only other time music has been played and actually heard by the characters in the context of the story, if my memory serves me correctly (the last one was Carol of The Bells, and we all know how that turned out) – and all manner of grand living that would literally have blown his mind. But then came the kicker. As he sat down, in joyful shock no doubt at his extraordinary luck, it flicked on: a single screen, and a forlorn, ashen faced man, sitting in the very spot Murphy now relaxed. She did it, he says, voice trembling with something between shame, fear and grief. This She, it seems was the end of the world, and her power has driven him to this final moment. And with a grief stricken shove, the gun is at his head and the trigger pulled. A suicide relived in a dark echo not only of the past, but – who knows – also of the future to possibly come.
For so it is that elsewhere, on the other side of his desperate venture over the near horizon, a sight dawns on Thelonius Jaha unlike any he or his kind will ever have known. After a lifetime sailing amongst the stars, the former Chancellor finds himself face to face with a vast, pristine and veritably Presidential abode, sitting stark as the moon against a black sky on the hill before him. Driven by madness, shock and no small amount of curiosity, he finds himself at its door, pressing inward, revealing a marbled expanse of royal proportions, and a woman in red. She stands like a beacon, in stark, glamourous contrast to her surrounds. And yet even before his very eyes, she flickers. And so it is that Jaha meets A.L.I.E.: a force of vast intelligence unlike anything they have ever encountered before. Specifically, an artificial intelligence, and she has two surprises in the wings of horrific significance. The first? She has been waiting for Jaha. In an even more unsettling twist, she seems to know him, as though her presence extended even into the very skies aboard the Ark. Who knows. Perhaps she has. Secondly, it would appear that even as the war around Mount Weather was unfolding, A.L.I.E. was not only watching but hatching her own plan. And it seems to start with the missile upon which Jaha hitched a ride to earth from the Ark. She has retrieved it, and by the looks of it, she has plans. Big ones. And given that it now would seem that she and not mankind is responsible for destroying the earth all those years ago, one can only imagine what she now has in store for humanity after the events of the Mountain. Either way, the game has changed forever.
The song that I quoted at the beginning of this review – “Oh, Industry”, from Beaches of all things – is a song that has haunted me ever since I first heard it as a kid. While the tune stays with you – like some dark musical obituary for a tyrant – it’s the lyrics that sting so close to home, and came creeping back as I sat and watched this finale. Because indeed, humanity is ever the industrious beast, ever seeking power and control of our world and often those in our world. We demand that everything be done now to make our lives what we want them to be; as all the while our actions are chipping away piece by piece at the world our children and grandchildren will one day inherit from our irresponsible hands.
Like the song, I feel like this episode of The 100 is going to haunt me for a long time, but haunt me as I should be haunted. Because in our bones, we should always be challenged to learn from our mistakes. To do better. And to realise that we are in control of nothing. Because just as humanity has always been, so it will ever be until our days are done. We don’t change. There is no quick fix for our ingrained frailties. We only evolve into a new version of the creatures we used to be, never fully losing our former darknesses. Like Abby said. Maybe there are no good guys. But at the same time, we are also capable of incredible light and fierce beauty. We are capable of love, mercy, compassion, grace and forgiveness. We are capable of rising from even the most smouldering ashes to fight on. That’s why stories like that of Clarke, Bellamy, Octavia, Lincoln, Maya and so on, matter so fricking much. Because they remind us that even in the midst of the worst of what we are, we are capable of being better than we ever imagined we could be. We are capable of being a generation that those who come after us will aspire to be like. We need only fight to become that generation.
That’s a powerful fricking message, and I truly feel like is was delivered in one masterstroke after the other by showrunner and writer of this episode, Jason Rothenberg. There was a fierce heart and a bravery to this script that left you shaken and challenged in a way I don’t think any other show is doing at the moment. It crossed boundaries and yet at the same times asked us bluntly whether we too would not cross those same boundaries if the lives of those we love most were at stake. It reminded us of the stark realities of war and selfish ambition, yet at the same time championed the vast depth of the human spirit to survive and be worthy of survival. I was prouder than I have ever been before to support and review this show, because I truly believe the message it has to give is exactly what contemporary TV audiences have lacked for so long. Rothenberg’s powerful and unpredictable script was a prime example of how The 100 is a punch in our complacent cultural guts to stand up and take a good hard look at what we are. It’s unrepentant about showing both sides of the battle in warfare, and challenges us to expect better of our storytellers and networks. All in all this episode was everything I hoped it would be, and vastly more. So take a bow, sir. You should be extraordinarily proud of this one.
Likewise, Dean White should be immensely proud of this episode, because the amount of human detail he captured was exquisite. The deadly melting pot of horror in the Mountain Mess hall; in the tiny jolts and cries of Maya as she passed away in Jaspers arms and his tears as they fell on her blistered skin; the powerful warrior moves of Octavia on the guard; Raven’s fiery resistance to the marrow drill; the profound simplicity of Bellamy’s hand upon Clarke’s as she pushed that fatal lever; the opulent, hidden grandeur of the lighthouse by the sea; that riveting rush of Lincoln from the wild at Cain’s soon to be bloodstained white suited form. And finally – vastly – that insane mansion of marble walled power that Jaha discovered. It took considerable vision not only to capture these moments, but also to turn them into a flowing cohesive vision that tied everything together in a very human knot. Likewise I loved the way they revealed A.L.I.E.; the pleasant, polite, glossy beast of infinite knowledge and might that ultimately has no human heart to stab, and all-seeing eyes seemingly everywhere. White nailed that whole task perfectly and for my part I was so glad to see him back at the helm for this most important episode.
In the end though, where do we stand? Is the great battle of post-apocalyptic time eventually to come down to A.L.I.E’s omnipotence and the powerful strength that lies in a Sky girl’s heart? Will this conflict ultimately spill across the seas, like an oil slick waiting to explode in fire? In any case, you’d have to think that first, another more immediate battle must be fought on home soil: that for Clarke Griffin’s mind and heart as she disappears into the wild in order to do her penance for the actions that saved her people at the cost of hundreds of innocent lives. So many questions answered, so many more raised. Indeed, only one thing is assured now. The battle for the Mountain is over. The battle for humanity, it seems, has only just begun.
FINAL THOUGHTS AND QUESTIONS
ALL THE TEARS. EVER.
The shot of Clarke walking away from the camp after her moment with Bellamy. HUGE. MASSIVE. SO BEAUTIFULLY DONE.
I repeat my early sentiments, Mr. Rothenberg. A KRAKKEN?! WHAT.
HAH. CAGE. BYE. (That said, Johnny Whitworth you were a spectacular villain this season).
Raven ripped a guy’s ear off with her teeth and I cheered SO FREAKING LOUD I thought I’d wake the neighbours.
Emerson got away. Emerson is still alive. WHAT WILL THAT MEAN.
Also, Wick and Raven. Wick carrying Raven in his arms back through the camp gates to the Ark site. I mean…right in the flipping feels, guys. And I loved how Raven gave Jasper his goggles back. That was a really lovely moment.
Also, emotionally broken Monty is the saddest thing ever.
WHAT I SAID TO THE SCREEN AT THE TIME: Oh no writers, that’s fine. Really. After nearly two seasons? *snorts*. I’ve practically written a thesis on this show. I’m, like totally used to this. Truly. Like I am handling this plot twist so well. SERIOUSLY THOUGH LOOK AT ME DOING ALL THE HANDLING WITH THE HANDLING STUFF. #TheySeeMeHandlinTheyHatin
REAL LIFE: *author is a wretched mess sitting up in bed in shocked, ugly, tear-soaked silence while cuddling a plush toy penguin named Gus for comfort at 2:00am as little shards of heart sway inside her sob-bruised chest cavity while their razor edges clink together randomly against her ribs like she’s just breathed in the overhead bassinette ornament from hell*
Seriously though. ONLY PEOPLE IN THE WORLD WHO COULD MAKE MUFASA DYING IN THE LION KING FEEL LIKE AN EMOTIONAL CAKE WALK BY COMPARISON.
I wonder how far along Season 3 will re-enter the story? Hmmm.
Nice visual link with the starting the season in the stark white room of Mount Weather and finishing it in the stark white foyer of A.L.I.E.’s palace.
Finally – intriguingly – where is the suicide victim’s body from the lighthouse, and who, pray tell is he?