The Fleet of Fog, an alien flotilla that takes the namesake of old naval vessels, all but interns the countries of humanity within their native landmasses. Takao is, or rather, was one of the jailers. She’s boisterous, headstrong, and after her defeat at the hands of Gunzo, rather sensitive. Getting thoroughly trounced only to be spared without so much as a slap on the wrist sparks off a near stalker level of infatuation with the young captain. For a military AI to go turncoat in pursuit of a girlish crush is beyond heartwarming.

Takao comes to care deeply for a species that she wouldn’t have fretted over culling with a barrage of missiles months ago. All because of some non-violent interaction and a kind gesture. Her scenes work to prove that while the Fleet of Fog isn’t human, its members do have the capacity for humanity.

A biological weapon derived from the murderous Gauna, Tsumugi rends through her own kind with the skill of an ace pilot without being as much as a year old. She’s a venerable terror on the battlefield, but at home, she’s a total ball of mush prone to ditzy behavior. Of course, when a part of your body is also a multi-ton mecha made of flesh, stints of excitement can cause minor earthquakes! Unintended safety concerns aside, she treats her human creators and comrades with sisterly affection, working hard to be seen as something greater than a tool.

The thought of pieces of her slithering through the Sidonia’s ventilation system to check up on her friends may have been horrifying if the form she adapted for interaction wasn’t a cute pink blob that makes squeaking noises whenever she moves. Who said that the terms “adorable” and “monstrosity” couldn’t be used to describe the same creature?

The strict and utilitarian chairman of APE. What little of his true nature we glean early on seeps through with his disregard for collateral damage and less than savory approach to fighting the Klaxosaurs. Papa bears some loathsome traits, but his actions could easily be mistaken for misguided fatalism. For all we know, the massive human cost of standing against assault after assault could have eroded his sense of value for individual lives. Or, he may have put on a brave face while secretly cursing himself behind closed doors. His real problem turns out to be much less complicated once he tears off his metaphorical mask. You see, Papa is as human as the thumbtack you sat on in elementary school, and almost as evil.

As leader of the soul-consuming VIRM, Papa regards us much like beasts of burden. We’re inferior, but useful with a bit of tweaking. He represents some of the decade’s better villains and serves as a strong endorsement for tinfoil hats.

We know, a sapient, blood-guzzling sailor uniform that morphs into a skimpy power suit sounds ridiculous in concept. Studio Trigger would have us embrace Senketsu’s absurdity as another aspect of a great character. He could have easily existed in one dimension, but he’s given more flesh than Kill la Kill’s fanservice. Our bundle of parasitic strings enjoys being ironed, has sappy moments, and is quick to get lonely.

More than just a quirky personality and gateway to a parental advisory warning, Senketsu props up Kill la Kill’s themes of growth and acceptance through his relationship with Ryuko. As the pair struggle and strive together, he develops from an article of revenge to a beloved member of a close-knit family.

This lord of intergalactic warriors hails from a world subjected to a brutal climate. For his species, survival necessitated rapid adaptation and a lifestyle to match the tumultuous conditions of home. Boros weathered every challenge thrown his way, only to discover the same pain suffered by Saitama. He’s simply too powerful to find an opponent worthy of his full strength. He’s a straightforward antagonistic foil, a representation of what Saitama could be reduced to if his need for satisfaction ever eclipses his morals. While Saitama attempts to mitigate the soul-crushing boredom that comes with such a state through heroism, Boros sets out on an eternal crusade, laying civilizations to waste in search of someone to cross fists with.

Boros presents Saitama’s greatest challenge at the time. He’s capable of rapid regeneration, multistage transformations, and even possess enough raw power to obliterate a planet. With his flashy combat style and hammy attitude, episode twelve’s showdown above Earth makes for one of the greatest battles in anime history and, strangely enough, one of the most bitter. Even a being like Boros amounts to nothing more than light workout for Saitama. Neither truly gets the battle they so desperately yearned for, but they do gain a small moment of mutual understanding, a spot of sympathy between two prodigies stricken by ennui. Having nothing to challenge you leads to a miserable existence.

Cute, fluffy, and known in some corners of the fandom as “Bunny-cat”, Kyuubey isn’t at all the benevolent fairy he appears to be. You see, he’s a member of a hyper-advanced alien civilization that’s been around long enough to be concerned about the heat death of the universe. With all their technology, they can’t effectively stall the march of entropy via normal means. Magic, however, may just be able to keep the light burning. It’s too bad that the most efficient means of harvesting it involves ripping children’s souls from their body and twisting them into a wretched manifestation of their inner turmoil.

Worst of all, Kyuubey can’t understand the moral implications of his job. Emotion is a mental disorder to his kind. He doesn’t act out of malice or take joy in the damage he causes those he makes a contract with. Kyuubey lacks the capacity for evil and, in the long run, he's securing the future of intelligent life. The pile of broken hearts and bodies he sits on is just the cost of business.

Meow is one of us. His idea of a good night is an eight-hour gaming session powered by half his weight in junk food. On a surface level, his mere existence feels like an exaggeration of nerd culture’s least desirable stereotypes. Prickly, self-important, and apathetic, he makes an easily acceptable target for Space Dandy’s jaunts into slapstick humor.

Despite how we might chuckle at Meow’s expense, his personal problems can strike a chord within the best of us. His school crush is batting for the other team, he has no talent for the family business, and he’s gained little to no practical expertise in his life away from home. At the very least, he still has parents and siblings that love him dearly. After uncovering Meow’s plight, you may feel just a bit bad for enjoying the sight of him getting thrown out of an airlock.

A Humanoid Interface tasked with observing Haruhi by the Data Overmind, a group whose complexity and background would take several articles to explain. For the sake of understanding Yuki alone, knowing that she’s a human-like being that feels emotions but has trouble expressing them is enough.

Due to her appearance, her nonexistent social skills make her look more like a genius wallflower than an alien. Just when you’re about to forget, you’re reminded of what she is when she displays keyboard skills that would snap the greatest StarCraft player’s fingers or shreds a guitar solo with mechanical perfection. Her feats are entertaining to behold, but Yuki is at her best when the SOS Brigade tweezes subtle bits of warmth out of her.

Upon introduction, the God of Destruction punctuates his title by blasting apart a planet on a whim with little effort. It’s said that Beerus’ duty is to clear out the chaff among living things so that the rest can progress at a natural rate. That being said, we see much of his great power exercised to indulge in his craving for rare and delicious food, reserving the whole planet-busting schtick for anyone foolish enough to anger him.

Beerus is egotistical and lazy but happens to be polite for a god when caught in a good mood. After the conflict wrought by his initial showing, he reaches friendly terms with the Z Fighters, and even sprinkles legitimate praise on characters like Master Roshi for their prowess and wisdom.

One of the titular aliens, Shinichi prevents Migi from munching on his brain with some quick thinking and an oddly durable earbud cord, turning a hostile takeover into a symbiotic relationship. Migi is half of one of the most memorable duos produced by recent anime.

He’s a rational thinker with a deeply inquisitive approach to life. At first, he holds Shinichi hostage in his own body, making it perfectly clear that his protection merely comes from self-interest. Near the halfway mark, something changes about their partnership, Migi takes uncharacteristic risks to preserve the lives and happiness of those Shinichi cares for, eventually worming his way into becoming a friend.

Seeing his exploration into the nature of humanity doesn’t feel cliché, and as Migi learns more about the species most of his kind sees as food, Shinichi gains insight into his own place in the world. By the time Migi says goodbye, he’s grown on us enough to leave a wistful sensation that can last for a long time.