He is old, this Hybrid. Infirm, once beautiful. He lies in a resurrection tank, wires trailing away into the darkness. "You're what all this is about," Kendra realizes. "What are you?" What is he? Just a man. "Or am I a machine? My children believe I am God." Singular. "Are you a God?" One of plural. She doesn't know, even now, what he's really saying. He's not one of the Lords of Kobol, he's the Cylon JHVH. She has no concept of monotheism, or of Hybrids, or resurrection. "I have seen things," he says, like Leoben. "Your life, Kendra Shaw. The things you have done. The things you felt you had to do. All leading to this moment. You wish to be forgiven, my child?" As we all do. As we all deserve. Kendra Shaw more than most.
"I repeat!" Fisk shouted. "We will carry out this order! We will shoot these people!" The Marines getting nervous on her left, a bottle crashing on her right, Kendra does the sensible thing, the Cain thing: takes out her gun, and shoots a woman in the head. This is the point at which we realize, she's saying, that this is not the kind of thing that's getting argued. You, Laird, you, nameless woman, are standing between humanity and extinction. You are putting yourself inside the firing solution. When I shoot you, to save time, it's only because you're in the way: I'm shooting at the black abyss on the other side of you, the darkness razors were made to slice and defy. You put yourself between the temple and the altar, and when I shoot you, it's because you are already dead. You want the will to meaning? This is the only meaning there is: at the end of the world, there are the dead and the living. The dead lie down, ignore the darkness, live on wishes and dreams and hopes, in a belief in fairness, that lives don't end this way. The living shout at the darkness, run on treadmills, faster and faster, but they don't lie down and they don't give in, and sometimes that's the only weapon you have. I'm not killing you, I'm killing the next opportunity for night to take the human race forever. I'm just striking myself against the rock and into the hard places, proving to everyone in this room that we won't be fighting this out today. And what follows, the massacre that follows: that's just them firing into the darkness too. That's all we're ever doing.
"Do you wish to be forgiven?" She chokes back tears, her eyes coming alive. Back into the life she's been blunting with her needle. Nobody wants the embarrassment of absolution, but at the end of line, you can lay it down and be forgiven. Kendra Shaw weeps. "Yes." Then, he beckons, "Come closer. There's something I have to tell you. Come." It's hard to walk; there's blood along her mouth. He grabs her hand, like Husker so long ago, and he tells her a new vision.