Chris, snotty: "Feel better?" Phoebe, still angry: "Yes!" Chris, softer: "Will you help me?" Phoebe, flustered, with loyalties torn: "No." Chris looks helpless and alone, so Phoebe melts to admit, "Oh, I don't know," while sighing and covering her face with her hands. "If I'm not conceived in the next couple of weeks," Chris patiently reiterates as he carefully approaches her desk, "I'll disappear forever." He plucks a reader letter from her inbox and wags it accusingly in front of her face. "You're willing to help complete strangers," he notes. "How about family?" Oh, bad argument, Chris. You're talking to the former Queen Of All Evil here, the woman who once announced she was fucking off to Hong Kong with Chronic in the middle of a demonic attack that threatened her own grandmother's immortal soul. Even her ridiculous advice column only serves to stoke her already over-inflamed ego. Phoebe helps Phoebe, Chris, and don't you ever forget it.
Innyway, Phoebe eyes the envelope in Chris's hand for a second before pulling it from his fingers. She's about to launch into some sort of retort to his last remark when she's flung into a black-and-white premonition: A dark-haired, modestly dressed beauty cowers in the corner of a cave filled with rickety-looking scaffolding. "No, please!" she begs in heavily accented English. A dark demonic type who's nearly as attractive as she is cackles gleefully before launching a dart of deadly orange mojo at her head. The dark-haired beauty drops to the floor in a dodge as the demon boy snickers. The beauty lifts her head to eye him with a mixture of panic and dread as Phoebe snaps out of it.