Throughout its early episodes, Neon Genesis Evangelion has taken care to impress upon us the scale of this conflict, and the necessity of an organization like NERV. As I’ve previously discussed, apocalyptic scifi like this can have a tendency to feel pretty myopic in its scale – there are these heroes and these villains, but the concept of a greater world hanging in the balance can feel dramatically distant. Through conceits like the army’s initial failure in episode one, and the collaborative efforts of all Japan in six, Evangelion has consistently reminded us that humanity has truly been pushed to the edge, and that NERV really is our last line of defense. And here in episode seven, we receive the most stark indicator yet that NERV is truly humanity’s final barricade – as they scramble to defend that title, in light of a direct challenge by professional rivals.

Evangelion’s seventh episode is the second to not feature an angel attack, though that certainly doesn’t mean it’s a slow episode. While episode four replaced Eva’s traditional antagonist with the collective weight of Shinji’s anxiety and depression, seven replaces it with bureaucracy, as well as the awkward, towering child of Japan Heavy Chemicals Industry. While the Eva project designs weaponry that requires a human pilot, and which seems oddly organic in nature, JHCI have built a robot that demonstrates all of the fruits of mankind’s progress, from its remote-operated mind to its nuclear reactor. Episode seven belongs to Jet Alone.

Of course, no Evangelion episode is only about one thing, particularly anything so gauche as an overt narrative conflict. We open the episode by embracing another of its priorities, as we meet Gendo alone at his desk. Though we don’t know who he’s talking to, the imagery of this sequence alone conveys both imposing authority and dark secrets. Gendo’s glasses conceal his emotional intent, placing us right alongside Shinji in wondering what he truly feels. Meanwhile, Gendo himself sits in the shadow of a vast Tree of Sephiroth, its vague biblical implications intermingling with the cold, impersonal announcement of the “First Interim Report Concerning Objects referred to as Angels and the Human Instrumentality Project.” It’s been clear from the start that Gendo is not the nicest guy, but at this point it feels like all of NERV might not be trustworthy.

While Gendo introduces this episode’s NERV-centric thread, our next scene embraces this episode’s other main priority – Shinji’s continued integration into his new life. As Evangelion’s canned “domestic living” musical track plays its perky flute melody, we run through a reprise of the Shinji and Misato Domestic Montage, implying through repetition the comfort of this routine. It’s a charming sequence, and naturally illustrates one of Eva’s more subtle truths; that we as humans have the capacity to normalize almost anything, and make a home wherever we find ourselves. In spite of being forced through what you could unconditionally describe as the worst possible circumstances, conscripted by a father he hates to fight monsters under the command of strangers, Shinji has still managed to find peace and even comfort in this place.

This transition is clear in the rapport of Shinji and Misato, as he gripes about her various terrible life choices. His complaints themselves demonstrate that Shinji has become more comfortable here; no longer afraid of being abandoned, he’s now confident enough to express himself by ragging on his caretaker. And for her part, Misato has seemingly embraced the fact that she will never be a mother figure to Shinji, and has instead settled on being an extremely sloppy older sister. As we run through farcical beats on the disconnect between Shinji’s knowledge of Misato and the fanciful dreams of his friends, it seems reasonable to say that Shinji may actually be happy here now. Though Evangelion is renowned for its emotional brutality and psychologically crumbling cast, Shinji has demonstrated great strength so far, and managed to carve out a happy life in the shadow of the angels.

The disconnect between these two threads – the secrets of NERV and the comfort of Shinji’s new home – converge as the team arrives at headquarters. Once again, Evangelion uses an ideal held shot to mask some animation-light exposition, as we watch the leads in silhouette descending an elevator. Evangelion seems incredibly fond of elevators on the whole, as their combination of justifying visual stillness, ability to build tension, and imposing mechanical guts all play into its dramatic needs. Here, the character profiles naturally demonstrate emotional details like Shinji’s stiff discomfort and Misato’s distraction, while the dialogue offers welcome context on the nature of NERV.

As we learn, Gendo has once again left the base, flowing off to another conference in hopes of securing more funding. It’s a clever reveal that plays into both our active threads; “I have to secure funding to prevent the end of the world” is as mundane and dramatically grounding of a conflict as you could imagine, while Gendo’s professional absence both echoes Shinji’s childhood and could well explain his current confidence.

More exposition reveals continue this marriage of the personal and the professional; Ritsuko’s explanation that the Second Impact was caused an explosion at the south pole is met by an inexplicably angry glance by Misato, while her lofty explanation of “the role of NERV” is accompanied by savagely quick jump cuts between her and her friend. The show thus creates a sense of dissonance between its visual and textual information, undercutting Ritsuko’s idealistic description of their organization with Misato’s misgivings and preoccupation. Through this, we learn a key distinction between these two friends; Ritsuko is able to embrace NERV’s propaganda and lie without a hint of regret, while Misato is more impulsive and morally driven, and can’t keep a straight face through Ritsuko’s speech.

Misato is going to have to suck it up though, as it’s time to make nice with her professional rivals. A reprise of that morning montage leads into the reveal of Misato in actual formal wear, looking as professional as she does miserable in her fancy uniform. And so she and Ritsuko head off to Jet Alone’s professional debut, where they listen to the project lead brag about his stupid robot. As Ritsuko challenges this man on the safety of a robot running on nuclear power, we pan through shots that reveal the entire room is against them – Ritsuko and Misato sit alone, as if they’ve been invited merely to be laughed at. Ritsuko fires back with a series of pointed critiques as Misato slumps ever lower in her chair, likely wishing she was still drinking a morning beer.

“A weapon that cannot be controlled is like a woman in hysterics,” jeers the Jet Alone lead, to roaring laughs from the crowd. Ritsuko is too determined to be stopped by such a clumsily sexist attack, but gendering NERV’s project lays bare not just the sociologically acute subtext of this sequence (NERV is largely led by a group of highly accomplished women, facing an overwhelmingly male group of industries), but also the bubbling psychosexual politics of Evangelion as a whole, both in terms of Anno’s interest in Freudian concepts of identity and Eva’s place within the giant robot genre. Though giant robot shows have always emphasized the emotional journeys of their characters, Evangelion seems to directly scorn the mechanical or tactical focus of its predecessors, with its characters’ emotional states often acting as the sole determining factor in battle. Jet Alone’s lead has nothing but contempt for Evangelion’s focus on the “human heart,” but Evangelion’s trajectory seems to imply that ultimately, nothing but the human element truly matters.

Knowing their series will eventually vindicate them thematically isn’t much comfort to Misato and Ritsuko, though. The two share a charming moment after their disastrous dinner, where Ritsuko chastises Misato for childishly taking out her anger on a nearby locker, only to immediately and childishly burn up their event program herself. But as the two watch Jet Alone finally launch, something has changed – in fact, Ritsuko looks happy. And when something goes wrong and Misato wonders at what’s happening, that disconnect from the escalator returns, and Ritsuko cannot meet her eyes.

As you probably guessed, Ritsuko sabotaged the launch. After beginning its awkward, oddly lackadaisical march, Jet Alone’s controllers quickly realize they’ve lost control, and that Jet Alone is heading towards a meltdown. Faced with the prospect of a professional challenge, Ritsuko’s response is to actively undercut a potentially effective counter to the angels, and risk any number of lives in order to ensure NERV’s continued operation. Episode seven thus represents a clear point of divergence between “humanity’s goals” and “NERV’s goals,” demonstrating that even if characters like Misato believe in their mission, Ritsuko and Gendo at least have their own plans in mind.

Misato doesn’t know about any of Ritsuko’s machinations though, and so she does what she does best: be a goddamn no-bullshit action hero. Making for a stark contrast with Ritsuko’s actions, Misato willingly puts herself in harm’s way, risking a life that Ritsuko would likely qualify as priceless in order to protect total strangers. Misato’s motivation isn’t a cold tactical calculation; smiling at Shinji, she says only “I’ve got to give it my best shot, or else I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.” And so, having made this quiet confession regarding her own history, episode seven constructs its final battle as a validation of Shinji and Misato’s growing trust. While Ritsuko simply grumbles about her goddamn idiot hero best friend, Shinji stands on the front lines, fighting tirelessly while Misato struggles, and cheering with genuine joy when she succeeds.

And so we return back to that domestic montage, with Shinji and Misato both comfortably in their element. Shinji is still annoyed by Misato’s slovenly behavior, but even that annoyance is a reflection of their mutual trust. As Kensuke explains it, “she lets you see a side of her that she won’t show to anyone else.” Standing at attention in formal wear, Misato could not be less comfortable; the real Misato wishes she were lounging at home, and only Shinji knows that Misato. Everyone is aware of Misato’s clear strength – but knowing her weakness, well, “that means she’s your family.” NERV might be a duplicitous and morally compromised organization, but the bond between Shinji and Misato is utterly genuine. And whatever the future may bring, Shinji’s joy at recognizing his home is just as real.

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