Sometimes, we ourselves unwittingly subject ourselves to our own personal infernos. In the series Severance, Mark Scout appears as a genuinely kind-hearted individual. He consistently goes above and beyond for others, both professionally and personally, yet he seems to neglect his own well-being entirely. The themes of dissociation and compartmentalization stand as the fundamental pillars of this narrative. No brain surgery is required to achieve this state; people detach from reality all the time, driven by a diverse array of reasons. Scrolling aimlessly through one's phone or indulging in video games, gambling, shopping, or mind-altering substances can all be forms of dissociation. While these activities can indeed be enjoyable and beneficial in moderation, there's a fine line that, unfortunately, Mark crossed long ago.
Mark has effectively paused his existence, frozen in time. To cope with the profound grief of losing his wife, he's trapped in a self-imposed catatonic state. He wakes up, escapes into his inner world for hours, and then drowns his sorrows in alcohol until he collapses in a drunken stupor on nights and weekends. This is not a life worth living. Even Petey, his friend, comments on Mark's perpetual sadness, telling him, "You carry the hurt with you. You feel it deep within, but you just don't know what it is." Mark seems to brush off these words superficially, unwilling to abandon this coping mechanism that has become his crutch.
As for Petey, his situation is far from rosy. Despite Mark's genuine concern and repeated inquiries about his well-being, Petey is a far cry from being okay. While Mark is at work, Petey's reintegration sickness leads him on a journey down the road to a gas station mini-mart, where he's picked up by the police. Mark arrives home from work just in time to witness his friend collapse in the parking lot, blood streaming down his bewildered face.
It remains to be seen whether Petey is alive or not, but it feels like he has given everything he had to give. He left detailed maps for both Mark's inner and outer selves, planted seeds of doubt in Mark's mind, and left behind a mysterious flip phone that might connect Mark to a larger network of severance activists. The ball is now in Mark's court. Will he take the bait?
The answer to that question is likely a resounding "yes" for both versions of Mark. What else is there for outer Mark to do but wallow in bad TV, drown his sorrows in cheap red wine, and fend off Mrs. Selvig's unwanted advances? We know that inner Mark has plans of his own, as evidenced by the fact that he kept the map, a significant gesture indeed.
Moreover, inner Mark is now grappling with his own loss. The game has changed drastically with the unexpected departure of his closest friend and the disobedience of his newest trainee, Helly.
Oh, Helly, I'm perplexed. Did Lumon properly vet this maverick or did they just let her slip through the cracks? She seems to have a penchant for rebellion and defiance, unafraid to challenge authority and disregard conventions. It begs the question, why would someone with such a rebellious streak voluntarily sign up for a life as a severed worker?
Helly's outie, however, swiftly rejects her innie's resignation request, leaving us to wonder if these requests even see the light of day. Given Petey's revelation that all requests are denied, it's conceivable that Lumon is systematically rejecting every appeal, leaving the innies with no recourse. This thought is not lost on Helly. When Mark informs her that her request has been denied, she retorts, "That can't be right. My outie wouldn't do that to me."
Helly, resilient as ever, attempts to conceal messages on and within her person. This prompts Mark to reveal chilling details about Lumon's methods, like Mr. Grainer's "bad soap" that strips written messages from skin and Mr. Milchick's grisly technique of extracting messages from within the body. Seeing the desperation in her new charge's eyes, Mark follows Irv's advice and leads her to the mysterious Perpetuity Wing.
To secure clearance for their MDR field trip, Mark approaches Ms. Cobel, and a tense exchange ensues. Both Milchick and Cobel interrogate Mark about the paperwork for what should be a straightforward request. Cobel's latent anger boils over as she vents her frustration over finding nothing but Gemma's candle and Ricken's useless book during her earlier search of his house. In a fit of rage, she throws a mug at him. As Mark stares at her in disbelief, she justifies her actions, claiming she did it for his own benefit, to help him learn and grow. This is a textbook example of abuse.
A brief aside about Ms. Cobel: Patricia Arquette's portrayal of the icy Ms. Cobel and the whimsical Mrs. Selvig is nothing short of brilliant. As she flips between Lumon and the "real world," she effortlessly illustrates how many of us wear distinct personas at work and at home. It's increasingly apparent that Cobel is more akin to Selvig in her private life; she longs to be the likable neighbor who bakes delicious cookies, enduring multiple burned batches until she gets it just right. But she also needs to maintain a stern exterior at work to be taken seriously, especially at the inscrutable Lumon, with its silent board and seemingly endless layers of middle management.
On their journey to the Perpetuity Wing, the refiners unexpectedly cross paths with the Optics and Design crew. Irv beams with joy, Dylan fumes in anger, Mark scowls in annoyance, and Helly appears perplexed. They exchange brief greetings and proceed on their separate ways.
As they walk, the refiners indulge in gossip about a rumored violent coup allegedly orchestrated by O&D years ago. The conversation turns lively as Helly and Mark engage in lively workplace banter, culminating in Helly sarcastically jesting that she's ready to slice off Mark's face and wear it as a mask. Britt Lower steals the show with her witty remarks, making me yearn to be her coworker any day.
The Perpetuity Wing turns out to be a bizarre blend of Madame Tussauds, a historical home tour, and an unsettling modern art exhibition. The place is littered with numbers: Nine core values, eight Egan CEOs, four tempers, and even a partridge in a pear tree. It's all blatant Lumon propaganda, and the entire spectacle is so eerie and creepy that I doubt any non-severed employees are allowed access to this section of the building. Let's just say it's not meant for human eyes.
To cope with the trip and forge bonds, Dylan, Mark, and Helly indulge in a game of "Egan Bingo." The bingo sheet, adorned with squares like "Egan depicted with halo" and "Lumon will save the world," illustrates the company's inflated self-perception as a savior of humanity. It's a common trait among tech giants, isn't it? But seriously, the life-size replica of Kier Egan's home is overkill. The "mouth wall" – aka Lumon's Legacy of Smiles – is a creep show in its own right.
It's all too much for Helly, and she seizes an opportunity to flee. She scrambles through the labyrinthine hallways like a rat trapped in a maze. Desperately, she smashes the small window in the stairwell door, hoping to lean out just enough for her outie to read the frantic scribbles on the back of her blue Egan Bingo worksheet. But it's a futile effort. Lumon won't let her go.
As punishment, Lumon decides to break her spirit. Helly is dragged to the dreaded break room, and finally, we witness the horrors that unfold within. It's nothing but bleak. Helly recites the same exact statement we heard Mark recite on Petey's tape recorder in the previous episode. It seems to be a mixture of guilt-ridden prayer, the classic and agonizingly repetitive "write it 100 times" punishment on the chalkboard, and pure torture. Milchick's steely presence and curt commands ("No. Do.") fill the air with a sense of impending doom and the understanding that any disobedience will be met with severe consequences.
