there’s no such thing as an ironic nazi. pretending to be a nazi for the lulz or worshipping the aesthetic of the foot soldiers of the reich are indistinguishable from genuine belief in nazi ideology and it is right and just to treat them as such.
You know, in all those “humans are the creepy/fucked up alien species” posts I can’t believe we haven’t touched on organ donation yet.
When they heard that the human general had fallen ill to a disease of the organ known as the liver the troops began to hope that it might turn the tide of the war. Research indicated that such diseases could be fatal after all. The organ did something similar to the flagulaxin in that it filtered out toxins so when it stopped functioning the human would slowly be poisoned to death by his own body. Or so they believed.
But then he came back.
A foot soldier was captured and answers demanded. Was it a medication? Had the sickeness been a ruse to fool them?
“Nah, man. This kid on a motorcycle wiped out on the I9 freeway so they gave the general his liver since they were a match.”
“They gave him his liver. The kid was dead, and he was an organ donor. And he was a genetic match to the general.”
“They…cut the liver out of one of your young and placed it in an elder and it…worked?”
“I mean, he wasn’t that young. Mid twenties or something. But yeah, that’s essentially it.”
The interrogator and his assistant both regurgitated their most recent meal and ran from the room. Living in places like the “Australia” were one thing, but taking the organs of dead bodies and placing them in the living? What was WRONG with this species?
if the lowly white martian foot soldier, who has a kill on sight order on her, is willing to go back to her planet to lead a revolution then why shouldn’t the damn prince of a planet, who faces zero actual consequences for acting, not go back and try to do something similar
Man, this new worldview introduced is arguably one of the most bizarre pictures Isa has ever painted.
Our chapter is set in the middle of a war zone. Torn bodies plaster the fields, soldiers desperately scramble for the trenches trying to avoid machine gun fire coming from bunkers. Taking those uniforms and weaponry also into account, its incredible easy to imagine this chapter taking place in some WWI-esque battlefield. And when we as readers in the 21st century think about the “great war”, horrible images of terror, fear, and desperation easily come to mind. War is an awful thing that does awful things to people, and those participating in it are almost guaranteed to be heavily affected by it, and not in a positive way. We can all easily picture terrified soldiers who do not wish to be part of their fight in any way at all. So those are the kind of images we’ll get to see in this new setting, right?
Perhaps these reactions are more present among the default, expendable foot soldiers, but Isa doesn’t focus on those. Instead, Isa focuses on the new kids, who look even younger than the 104th when they saw their first share of hell in 850. But instead of the horrified faces we spent so much time looking at throughout the Trost arc, we get this
Smiling faces. Normal conversation.
Casual banter between comrades.
Straight up eagerness to run into enemy fire.
These are not the kind of conversations or reactions that would be considered normal in the middle of a warzone. ESPECIALLY NOT FROM KIDS. Those guys aren’t even breaking a sweat (except Uda but thats supposed to be more comical than anything I believe).
I mean, we of course were aware of Marley’s brainwashing, but this is just…a wholly different level, and it certainly doesn’t stop there.
The probably most jarring aspect of this exchange isn’t her eagerness to leave the trenches, but her talk about the numbers at stake. Her argument is entirely based on numbers, she doesn’t even take a second to reflect on her or other peoples lives. The worst part is that she places her own life on the same level as explosives, basically mere ammunition. Of course, in war, people are basically reduced to numbers and weapons when looking at it from a larger scale, but we’re looking at the perspective of a child caught in the middle of it. What the hell.
Look at Gabi running away from the explosion. The running style, facial expression and cry create a borderline comedic scene. In the next panel she’s overly excited about finding cover, completely ignoring the dismantled corpse nearby. This scene is just…utterly grotesque.
Lets compare ch 3 and 91 for a minute here. Eren talks about exterminating the evil titans, which’ll in turn bring humanity freedom. Yay
Here, Gabi talks about obtaining the armored titan to join the anti Paradis force and wipe out the devils there which’ll in turn improve the lives of the Eldians.
Just like at the beginning of the story, the main character has an extremely black and white point of view, desiring to change the world for the better by themselves, in a fight against evil monsters. Eren then spent the next 90 chapters being disillusioned until he finally saw the ocean he desired for so long, only to realize the freedom he sought still lied far away. And I dare say Gabi will go through a smiliar experience sooner or later. This bizarre representation of the war is so jarringly weird, Isa obviously plans to throw things around later on.
The difference between Eren’s and Gabi’s viewpoint is that Eren’s viewpoint was based off personal experience and because all his life, he felt the direct influence of the titans. Gabi’s opinion of Paradis’ population stems only from the brainwashing received by Marley’s warrior program. And this can be felt throughout the entire chapter. The carelessness of the kids, their smiles and casual talk, as well as their inexistant regard for human life all seem to originate from the warrior program. Not only does she make a difference between the “good” mainland and the “bad” island Eldians, the value of the human life is entirely lost in the process, most likely to facilitate genocide
Remember Bert’s and Reiner’s shocked faces? They gain even more weight now that we actually got to witness their mental state before the attack.
If there is one thing I’m taking away from this chapter is that Marley are seriously grade A douchebags. If anything, 91 further emphasizes the fact that, even though a return of the Eldian empire is not a desirable thing, Marley can’t keep existing the way it is if we seek an ending that ultimately ends of an improved situation compared to 845.
clowns? ive fought em all. bozos, bingos, booboos, all of em. name any clown that you know. ive fought them. ive fought every single clown in existence. lemme tell you about clowns, alright? we got fools. we got jesters. we got mimes. we got regular run of the mill clowns. jesters? theyre alright. kinda like rebels from the clown world. mimes? enemy medics. all they do is give emotional support. clowns? basic foot soldiers. but fools? fools you may ask?
the pevensie children do not look at mr & mrs pevensie and think “father, mother”. they are subject, civilian, unknown. they are threats or ambassadors or annoyances, not parents. to see the eyes of a man who knows war but only from the foot soldiers vantage and be expected to defer to him was alien. and to look at a woman who would pale at their deeds and know she saw them as nothing more than the porcelain doll expressions they held (for her sake) was worse
susan cannot understand the conversations of the young infantile school girls who expect her to sit with them during lunch. they speak of things like teachers and the young boys of their class, while susan wishes for her bow. all she learns is how to fake the pretense of attention so the naive teacher (younger than her- perhaps 21) will believe she is exemplary.
edmund learned that knowing too much, knowing the basics of the world, would throw him under a magnifying glass. he stayed between the shadows and the sun, letting the boys think he belonged. his father did not notice the annoyance behind edmunds eyes when he came to reprimand his youngest son. edmund bore the weight of the artificial world day by day, shrinking to fit the body of a ten year old boy.
lucy found she could not see. the height of a child did not suit a queen. she knew this from experience, from her true childhood, and was learning again the disadvantages of small hands and soft arms. she had to get used to exchanging her knives for corduroy bears, and kept her tounge when she found herself addressed in the tone she saved for edmund after duels. the sun was not right here, the stars were all wrong, and she could not speak with the trees.
peter’s skin was all wrong. in fact his eyes to his hair to his limbs were wrong. he’d left the body of a schoolboy behind, the day a dwarvish knife had ripped his mail and muscle. his voice was mismatched to the king he was, and he threw himself out of it with his eyes open and fists closed hoping that realigning his bones would snap himself back to himself. there was only so much a schoolboy (swordsman, wolfsbane, king, warrior) could do to protect himself from the onslaught of claustrophobia within his body