There Are Many Who Have The Same Motivations As Zemo. His Family Probably Wasn’t The Only One Hurt

Bro…… you are me……. I am you…….

Am I the only one who usually is only capable of shipping one person for one fandom, although I may like a lot of the other characters very much?

* By “shipping” here I mean actively spending time searching gay ships centered around that character and reading fanfics.

(I’m only talking about myself, who’s incapable of shipping heterosexual couples)

For the MCU, although I love most of the heros and villains and even, uh, just normal citizens, I’ve been only interested in Bucky centered ships.

That being said, now here comes the first exception: now I just desperately need some Wenwu gay ships……

Agree completely.

Read the whole thing please.

I'm a say this one time but Wen-wu is a nasty assed butt. (this isn't hate on the actor, I love him)

I don't care how pretty he is or how much pain he is in bc he lost his wife. His kids lost their mom, they didn't go assassin. He should have been their for them. there is never an excuse for abusing your kids.

Example: Hank Pym(mcu) was not right but he wasn't completely horrible. it was the wrong thing to do but he was depressed. But HE didn't (a) physically and mentally abuse his kids (b) train them to be an assassin or (c) blame them

He deserves crap in my eyes. You can't watch a 7 year old punch wood until his hands bleed and think huh his dad's not at fault for basically encouraging this. Ok, but he healed his hands! uwu good dad! He watched as his kid was hit severely, not saying a word, and encouraging it in the name of strength. he watched and did nothing as his kid was whipped for hesitanting to kick wood with a hurt foot. He trained a 7 year old to kill. So many things are wrong with it. He sent a 14 year old to kill a man half way across the world. he neglected his daughter and was just a butt to her. he throws his son down to the stone ground for objecting to what he says, and throws his daughter down for trying to stop her brothers abuse.

and in case someone cries racist please let me inform you that I am currently in a both Asian and abusive household. So if you disagree with this. Block me. and dm me so I can block you back. I don't give a fish fried fuck about the actors face. This forgiving abusers is teaching kids that it's alright, it's normal, your abuser is in pain, they didn't mean it. You missed half the movie if you thirst over him or say he deserves a happy ending for being civil for 5 seconds to his kids. and if you use this as a way to hate on Asians I will fill you liver with uncooked spaghetti. This is the first Asian lead movie you better 👏step 👏it 👏up. You want to do better? reblog this, say it in your own words, hell I don't even care if you copy and paste this and claim its yours. I'm sick and tired of this fandom being like this. Do. Better.

He's My Collar

Featuring snapshots of the three most important road trips in Zemo and John's journey of working together.

I take her down to somewhere drab and naughty I clear my system, I don't need no other This is my persona, secret lover (She's my collar)

WARNING. Before you move down any further, there are some disclaimers. The content below contains:

- discussion of cheating, infidelity

- unhealthy/toxic relationships, abusive behavior

- derogatory language, slut-shaming used in an intentionally derogatory manner

- attempted suicide (in slight graphic detail)

I am not advocating for any of John or Zemo's toxic behavior. Please treat your loved ones with kindness and respect. Cheating is unacceptable and should never be condoned. I will always try to explore the psychology that drives people to do different things, but this is not meant to be an accurate representation of reality.

That being said, if you choose to continue, ENJOY <3

JONES GALLOWAY ROAD, AMERICA

“You don’t have to be such a fucking bitch,” John spat. He slammed the car door shut, making the entire car rattle. Crossing over to Zemo’s driver’s seat, he yanked the door open and motioned angrily. “Get out. I’m driving.”

It made Zemo’s skin crawl - usually, John’s displays of violence would leave his spine (and his cock) tingling pleasantly, but now, directed against him, it’s been whittled down to fear. Fear, fear, fear.

“No,” Zemo ground out, unable to hide the contempt in his voice. “What are you afraid of? You’ve hidden us from her, after all.”

John’s eyes widened - Zemo had struck a nerve, and the thought gave him pleasure.

“There’s nothing between us. It’s just sex.”

“Just another word for infidelity."

"Infidelity," John repeated, but Zemo knew that he did not fully understand the implications.

Before he could say anything else, he was gripped harshly around the wrist and dragged out of the driver's seat. John shoved him into the passenger seat on the opposite side with little care, and he bit back a whimper at the sharp jolt of pain that raced up his arm. Just another few ounces of pressure and Zemo's shoulder would probably be dislocated from his body.

John looked as if he wanted to end the conversation right there, his face like thunder, dark and unbridled in a way that a man was when his honor was at stake.

“I love her,” he said.

Zemo laughed, hollow and mocking. “Love is just a four-letter word.”

The long road to John’s house in Michigan was full of splendor, with great yellow rock dunes resembling that of a desert mesa, and a smattering of lichen and bushes coating the land, so green and dense they looked like moss from afar. Zemo watched the landscape drift by, gaze unfocused. What a shame, this beautiful oil painting spoiled by the foulness of their destination.

John spoke, after half an hour of driving. Zemo wasn’t entirely looking at the clock, but the dullness of the sun told him of the time that had elapsed. “It’s pathetic how you pretend to be so morally upstanding when you whore yourself out to a married man. Hypocritical bitch. You’re just as disgusting as I am. Don’t even pretend that you give a shit about fidelity, we both know that’s not why you’re doing this.”

The words stung. It was with the vulgar, careless way that John had said it - that made him feel dirty, used, like a ratted old washcloth wrung out too many times. Zemo carefully kept his face still, so that nothing would give him away. He swallows thickly- “Care to elaborate?”

“I think you’re doing this because it makes you feel better. Because it’s always about you, isn’t it? The moon and sun revolve around Helmut Zemo. I think you’re insecure because you know I’ll always choose her over you. And you think that the fact that I keep secrets from her means that I have more to lose? That gives you power over me? Give me a break. Newsflash - if I stop giving a shit about you, Zemo, there’ll be no one else who wants you. Or will ever want you.” John snarled, his face contorted in anger. Zemo had to turn away, heart trembling in his chest. He felt like he was hyperventilating - with the anger, the fear, the humiliation of having his trust betrayed, his willing intimacy taken and strangled in John’s fists. He brought this upon himself.

“You’ll save her life over mine?” He’s addicted to pain the same way he can’t stop chewing on an ulcer or pinching a bruise.

“Won’t you do the same for your wife?” John countered.

Zemo did not answer, instead buried himself in deep thought, recalling Heike’s beautiful ideas and soulfulness, her supernal form of love that could knock Goliath to its feet. Soon, he had no more bitter recrimination left in him. John sat beside him in morose silence, anger dampened by Zemo’s tepidness.

After a while, the urge to speak became too great, “If she and I were held at gunpoint, who would you save?” The question was childish. Zemo asked with the tenuous expectation of someone who couldn’t quite accept what they had heard and doubled back to demand a different answer.

“I’ll save you both.”

“You can only save one.”

“Then I’ll save her since you’re experienced enough to get yourself out of the situation.”

“We’re both unconscious.”

“I can’t answer this question in a way that makes you happy, Zemo.”

The hardness in John’s eyes made Zemo pause and bite down everything that he had wanted to say. There would be no more discussion here.

“I know,” he confessed, feeling oddly magnanimous. “That’s why I asked.”

John Walker couldn’t be fully trusted to protect him - this fact Zemo understood from the very beginning. John Walker had been a tool to be used, playing the part of shield and sword to perfection.

Trust is quixotic in nature. John still had dangerous attachments to others in his life, attachments that could put Zemo’s life in peril. The convenient removal of Lemar sent the already untethered man afloat, spiralling further into his orbit, and if he managed to put a bigger schism between John and his wife...

Zemo itched to crawl over John, rip those clothes off him and wrap his legs around his hips, burying his nails into skin and muscle. He laid his palm on the warm glass of the car window, imagining it to be all around him, just staying there forever in the soft afterglow. Just like that one night in a Pakistan motel, where they made love over the rough sheets, uncaring of the chill or the consequences of their actions - single-mindedly sating their bloodthirst and hunger and nothing else. John had fallen asleep holding him close, one hand circling the column of his throat, another splayed across his soft belly, as if at any second Zemo could fall off the face of the earth.

He fell asleep to a nightmare that showed him: once those hands were lifted, his intestines would spill out from his stomach, the blood would bubble like a geyser from his slashed throat.

And when morning came, he wished that he could fall into a dreamless sleep forever. As if in a daze, he had reached for the gun in the bedside drawer, only to be pulled back into a cocoon of warmth.

“Stay,” John had said, voice muffled from burying his face into Zemo’s hair. His exhales were warm, lulling Zemo back to sleep like the gentle rumbling of a steam engine.

John Walker was strong enough to save him from himself, and that made him valuable - Zemo wished he had the foresight to see this from the very beginning.

There’ll be no one else who wants you. Or will ever want you.

That’s why you’re mine. Mine, mine, mine. I will always have a pound of your flesh.

Before he knew it, the sky was falling grey. They were passing under a big storm cloud. The wind whipped up the powdery dirt around them, whooshing and wailing like phantoms in a blossoming sandstorm, only to be struck down by the fat raindrops that pelted down from the sky. John slowed the car down and heaved a sigh, drumming his fingers on the dashboard as they plowed through the muddied road.

From the squelching beneath them, Zemo could not tell how many microscopic life forms or frogs or snails that they had rolled over, leaving a trail of destruction.

“Fuck!” John cursed loudly when the car spluttered to an abrupt stop, causing Zemo to jump in his seat. He sat still and silent as John ran out into the downpour, and simply watched the water droplets on the window gather in mass, congregating, then roll down the glass. If he were to glance outside at the hazy cliff edges, his vision would go fuzzy with the mad frenzy at which rain was pelting down - so many that they stayed suspended in his vision as one thunderous shower of water, changing in direction as the wind blew. With the rest of the world tuned out to a soft hum, he was left alone with his thoughts.

Zemo hadn’t realized that he drifted off until a loud groaning of metal made him jolt, followed by John’s groan. “Jesus fucking Christ. Now, of all places.”

He rolled down the windows slightly - “What’s going on?”

John soon emerged into view, his hair and clothes soaked and plastered to his skin. “Get out. Car broke down, so we’re walking.”

Zemo wrinkled his nose, but complied nonetheless, knowing that John was in a foul mood, one that meant he should be best left alone. He left his coat in the car, not wanting the extra weight or the soggy feeling of it. The rain trickled into his hair, drawing a wet, cold line down his scalp. His cheek stung, giving the phantom feeling of being slapped, even though he knew it was just from the raindrops. Trying his best to ignore the discomfort of his clothes steadily getting wetter, he went to the trunk and helped John retrieve the essentials - the vibranium shield and Zemo’s important documents stored in a waterproof bag.

“How long will this take?” He risked a question.

“An hour.”

They began walking, and with the water dripping down into his shoes, his pants turning wet and stiff, Zemo’s initial indifference was starting to sour. He resisted the urge to kick away a stray pebble, not wishing to devolve into the same brand of childishness that John retired to once all options were exhausted.

Zemo was starting to shiver. “We should have stayed in the car,” he thought aloud.

“Go back if you want,” John said with cold indifference.

“Walker,” Zemo moved even before meaning to, fisting John’s shirt in his hands. “I’d advise you to watch your tone.”

John cocked his head. “You’re the one who started it.”

“If I recall, earlier, you said that I was whoring myself out,” Zemo said each word delicately, dragging it out with excruciating slowness and waiting for each one to sink in.

“You never had a problem with it in bed,” John laughed. The sound tore through Zemo like a bullet. If it were anything else he could have stayed indifferent. But this was his naked body being pinned down like a butterfly specimen in a dissection class, exposed for everyone to see. He let John touch him, degrade him, under the unspoken condition that what went on behind closed doors stayed there. He had never expected this. If John said these things now, what would he let slip in front of Contessa? Hammer? Starr? In a fit of fury, he might announce everything that they did together. Or perhaps he already had, in a conspiratorial voice- guess what I found out about Zemo? Perhaps Zemo had been the butt of the joke the entire time, unaware as the rest of the Thunderbolts stole glances at him and pictured him on his knees.

John took a step forward, uncaring that they would collide, and Zemo’s feet shuffled back involuntarily to keep the distance between them. In terror, he tried to pull his hand away, but John had a vice grip on his wrist. He reached out for Zemo’s throat with his other hand, snarling- “You can’t do anything to me.”

It all happened in a blur after that.

His palm stung. John was stumbling away, broken out of his violent stupor, one hand on his reddening cheek. The relief poured into Zemo, filling his lungs with oxygen.

“Oh god,” John sobbed. He curled in on himself, a wretched, broken thing. The rainwater was still running down his face, so it was only when he covered his face with his hands that Zemo realized he was crying. “Oh my god, I… ”

“Stay away from me,” Zemo said. His own voice was hazy and far away. Almost mechanically, he pulled a knife from his boot and pressed it to his wrist. Droplets of blood beaded up on the surface of his skin, a thin bracelet of ruby crystals. “Don’t move closer.” What the hell am I doing?

“Stop!” John wailed, his voice nearly unrecognizable in its desperation. “Please, please, I won’t move so stop!”

Zemo was so tempted then, to tear the knife down his arm anyway, just to demonstrate to John the price of broken promises, of fractured trust. He gritted his teeth in preparation for it, but… oh, fate, godforsaken fate, had the blade slip from trembling fingers. And life had a way of creating its comedy, because staring at the dirty knife on the ground, Zemo felt too tired to pick it up again.

Saved by a fucking tremor.

“John,” he called weakly, and let himself fall. The impact never came.

---

When he came to, he was somewhere warm and dry, dressed in a clean cotton bathrobe. The fireplace crackled away merrily in the corner of the room.

“This is a small inn. I took a detour from our route,” John said. He approached Zemo cautiously, waiting for silent permission before offering a glass of water.

“I’m sorry,” John said again, his voice small. “I really am. I shouldn’t have said those things. They weren’t true. I’ve never, ever thought of you that way. And I lost control of my strength and my temper...”

“Did you tell anyone?”

John looked up, startled.

“Did you tell anyone else that you and I - that I was a-” The word, meant to mock, lodged painfully in his throat. Zemo looked away, unwilling to let John see his weakness.

“No. Never. I have never told anyone else about us. I know that after today, you probably won’t believe me again. But please just… take my word for it that I have never told a single soul. And I may have complained about you to others, but never like that. I never used that against you, never will.”

John let out a pained sigh. “God, I sound like such an asshole right now. We can stop this arrangement, I mean it. I understand if you don’t want to do it anymore.”

“Look at you, being so serious, trying so hard.” Zemo murmured, trying to relieve his gnawing discomfort. “Are you forgetting? It’s just sex.”

John didn’t respond. He reached for Zemo's wrist, stroking the bandaged skin tenderly, and when he looked up, Zemo was shocked to see that his blue eyes were wet with unshed tears.

John’s touch burned, searing his bare skin. Zemo squirmed and trembled from his ministrations, his body vibrating like a plucked violin string. “Don’t. Don’t try to be... better for me. Save that effort for the woman you love.” I don’t deserve it.

He leaned forward to lick the tears off John’s lips as they started to spill over, letting the salt hit the back of his throat like a whisky shot. “Hurt me. I can take it.”

No guilt.

No strings attached.

That’s the reason you keep coming back to me, and not anything else.

Don’t spoil what we have, John. If you tire of me and run away, who will be there to save me from myself?

You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you’ve never had the courage to commit.

“Don’t apologize to me. I hold no grudges against you for what you did. We merely exploited each other. Selflessness is not in our nature unless it’s to those who we truly love. For them, we can do anything.”

“Yeah.”

“Olivia, do you truly love her?”

“I do.”

Zemo could read John like a book by this point, and he knew that it was the truth. His chest felt light from the hope of seeing young love flourish, and he smiled a genuine smile that made John flush red in embarrassment. Yet it felt like a needle had been plunged into his heart. It was a reminder of things that he could never possess.

“Heike was just like that. We two can only hurt each other, but people like them will always make you a better version of yourself.”

“You know, I feel that Olivia fell in love with a version of me. A version that’s no longer there, or buried so deep that I can’t dig it out. I'm just an imposter. And now…”

“Now you don’t feel worthy?”

John’s eyes widened. “Yes,” he said breathlessly. “Yeah, how did you know?”

Because I once felt the same way. And I wasted my time trying to figure out the answer, while death stole her away from me.

“Give her that best version of you.” Zemo pressed a kiss to the shell of his ear. “Your home is not a battlefield, leave the violence here with me. And when I’m gone, take it to your grave.”

---

“Zemo, I’ve been thinking...” John lit a cigarette. “...Is it really just sex?”

Zemo turned the question over and over in his mind. “It’s codependency,” he said carefully.

“That’s a big term that I don't understand.”

“A man can’t part from his preferred choice of drug, for the withdrawal will destroy him. That’s what we are.”

“Addiction, you mean.” John took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke slowly. Zemo watched the way his throat bobbed, mouth feeling dry all of a sudden.

“Something like that.”

“You know, an asthmatic guy can’t part from his inhaler either.”

“In this metaphor, are we the asthma or the inhaler?”

“Hey, I tried my hand at being philosophical. It’s more of your thing. It's because you’re a smartass who likes showing off, and you’re also a bitch,” John retorted without any real heat.

“I think the word you’re looking for is an affliction.”

“Like I said, smartass.” John put the cigarette out, leaned forward, and gave his forehead a playful little flick.

---

John left in the middle of the night. Zemo heard his footsteps down the stairs and saw from his window a car pulling out of the driveway. Tomorrow John will greet his wife on the porch, and inform her that unfortunately, his colleague couldn’t make it.

When the roar of the engine had finally faded away, Zemo allowed himself to cry - deep, rattling sobs muffled into whimpers.

He cannot bring himself to hate a woman whom John loves.

He cannot bear to separate them.

From midnight into the morning, he laid there paralyzed, cold and alone, clawing at the cut in his wrist until it bled, wishing there were strong arms around him.

My ending thoughts: Is it really just sex? (Hint: It's not)

This is the official end of the three-part road trip series. Thank you all for staying till the end. I will be uploading all 3 parts to AO3 for easier access as well :)

Inspiration and images were taken from:

Zion National Park, United States (Utah)

Black Canyon of the Gunnison, United States (Colorado)

Trollstigen, Norway

Transfăgărășan road, Romania

Karakoram Highway, China-Pakistan

Images were taken from Google, not owned by me.

Me just looking at all the posts that are going ‘WHERE ARE THE FANFICS???? I want to read the fics ’

And just sobbing because I’m writing a long ass fic that I can’t upload anywhere because the ship is just too illicit

OH GOD HAVE I HAD ‘LET PEOPLE ASK QUESTIONS’ DISABLED THE WHOLE TIME? OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

I’m so sorry y’all

I think you can send asks now

😅🤣

Thinking about finishing the 3rd part of my Roadtrip Series soon. I still need a central song to set the vibe for it, and I’m thinking dark royalty core? I also have a few other songs in mind.

The past 2 road trips have all had good endings, so I want this one to end on a sad or bittersweet note.

Maybe John and Zemo had an argument during or before the road trip? What would they do in a fit of rage? What about the aftermath? All are questions that I need to figure out.

The final road trip is also set in America.

By the way, happy Pride Month. 🍀 Go wild. Treat yourself to something nice every day of the year. May you always be filled with creative thoughts. May those around you make you smile every day. May you recover from challenges with renewed wisdom. Well wishes for everyone! :3

Bro this needs more attention, SO CUTE

First chapter of my Shang Chi/Wenwu fic is on AO3.

Uhhhhhhh if you ship, check it out.

If you don’t, don’t come for me.

Oh boy it’s a slow burn and it’s gonna be a long one.

Currently working on a BaronWalker fic. I may never finish it but doesn’t hurt to try ;)

Aiming to get it completely finished before I upload it to AO3. If I don’t finish it oh well then it’s not going public. Oh my god it’s a challenge to write (Zemo does not make it easy!) since I’m endeavoring to explore every facet of him and every little ounce of his contradictions.

Episode 6 has made John’s characterization a little wobbly for me so I’m still wondering what creative direction to take in terms of him.

Also I’ve made the controversial creative decisions to keep John a married man, just because the moral conflict might be very juicy.

(I’m concerned over the fact that my blog has been taken over by BaronWalker)

👏👏commitment right here, folks. I will be reading the docs just to firm up my characterization of JW for the fic I’m working on

John Walker: a study in story framing, character archetype, established canon details, and audience manipulation

There’s been a ton of discourse surrounding the character of John Walker, everyone has a lot of opinions. But having read many articles, posts, tweets, and watched reaction channels and video essays, I have found a common theme among them: a fundamental misunderstanding of the character due to the story framing.

In fact, the character of John Walker that exists in fandom discussions is more of a projection of what people think he is and what people want him to stand in for rather than the actual canonically established character that exists in the story of The Falcon and The Winter Soldier. This is why I have decided to write this post along with an episode-by-episode breakdown, because I think John Walker the character has been completely eclipsed by John Walker the symbol, lost underneath the iconography that he’s been associated with and not really given a fair look as an individual person.

I should make it clear upfront; it is not my intention with this to tell people how they should feel about a character. Whether you agree with my points or not doesn’t really matter. My hope is that this at the very least provides you with a different perspective on the character and his motivations. Maybe have you consider him in a new way.

So, let’s start from the beginning.

——————————–

EPISODE 1

Story framing is important, it effects our perspective as an audience, and it is deliberately controlled by the writers and filmmakers to manipulate certain emotions and impressions out of us. The Falcon and The Winter Soldier expertly does this from the very beginning by framing John Walker immediately as someone whom we should not want.

Because the music is mournful and ominous despite the celebratory occasion shown on TV.

Because Sarah is upset.

Because Sam has his fists clenched and is unhappy and suspicious, and then closes his eyes in upset.

Because when dialogues like this is delivered, the show is purposefully playing into real life iconography and feelings that already raises our hackles.

Because Sam retired the shield and the hero position, so when someone else seemingly carelessly and casually steps in waving like a propaganda piece with a gun on his hip, and a grey flag symbol that looks so close to the thin blue line flag used by cops, there is something unsettling to us even if we didn’t consciously pick up on it, we just know that it goes against what we want and what our main protagonist wants. 

Because this strange person in a Cap costume winking looks like a jerk. We didn’t ask for this. 

As it’s always said, first impressions are important. How someone first perceives you decides how someone might judge anything that you do. If someone thinks you’re an arrogant jerk, then anything you do will be colored by that impression and they will never think well of your intentions. But if their first impression of you is kind and caring, then any mistakes you made is automatically given leeway because your intentions would be well considered. And in one fell swoop, the show firmly planted into the minds of every single person watching that John Walker is an arrogant jerk espousing propaganda no one wants and everything he does is automatically suspect and questionable. 

In fact, they even go the extra step to make that very clear by how the cast credits is used. Notice the difference between the image of Walker in Episode 1 and Episode 2-6?

The red mark over his eyes, blocking him from us, not only feels foreboding, it feels as if it’s warning us. 

So, when I say that John Walker was from the beginning set up to fail, it’s because he was, the story intended for it to be. We have to hate, question, suspect, and think the worst of Walker in order for Sam’s eventual reclaiming of the shield to mean anything or have that emotional catharsis. Because nobody wants to see Sam take the shield from a nice dude, it would be bittersweet or even mean, but if the story tells us that this guy is someone we can dislike or hate right off the bat because there is something vaguely “bad” about him, then we would root for Sam to take that shield.

There is a reason we don’t get Walker’s perspective at all in his introduction. He’s just this stranger we’ve been programmed as an audience to hate. We are not treated to Walker waiting to go outside and feeling nervous, or Walker doubting himself or perhaps even not wanting to take up the shield at first when it was given to him. The purposeful lack of his perspective is done so we only feel the weight of emotions from the Wilsons being upset, because we must relate to the protagonists.

Walker is not the hero of this story, he’s not the protagonist of this story, if he was, then the story would have framed his unveiling as Captain America in a completely different way, and we would have been treated to a sympathetic look at what he was feeling about taking on the shield, we would have had an inside look at his mindset before he walked out there and looked into that camera and winked. But because we the audience lack that important context that was deliberately kept away from us, our views on Walker formed and solidified without it, and then we all stewed on those feelings for a whole week. 

By the time Episode 2 rolled around to open with Walker’s perspective, the damage was already done, it was too late, because people had already made up their mind about what kind of a person he was, and even those who might have given him a chance was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

The show had very clearly made sure that John Walker was always going to have an uphill battle in the eyes of the fans, however fairly or unfairly. And that deliberate and purposeful removal of his perspective and context would be the key to how the character will be misread. Because the reality is, Walker hasn’t even done anything wrong yet and people have already made assumptions just because of one wink, just because of his mere presence. There was no objective consideration that Walker winked because he understood having to put on a cheerful public facade, no consideration that he could have been told to play along nicely for the cameras and directed to look there and wink, no consideration that he didn’t ask for this job but was ordered to do so and is as much a “victim” of the government as Sam. Because the show had already used every trick in the book to make us feel bad and ominous about his presence, the audience would automatically assume the worst.

CLICK THIS LINK TO CONTINUE TO EPISODE TWO AND THE REST OF THIS 219 PAGES AND OVER 28K WORDS ANALYSIS