In the hallways, inmates are milling around, and the Enterprise Rent-a-Redshirts are lining up all the Iron-Ons. Bones tries to get Kirk's attention as he runs past Bones to the Tanning Booth. Kirk turns off the sun lamp and notes, "The power came on." He just realized that? The lights everywhere and auto-doors working didn't tell him that sooner? I think the NN Tanning Booth has affected him more than previously assumed. Bones announces, "He's dead, Jim." Hell'n-a-Handbasket says that the machine wasn't set high enough to kill him. "But he was alone. Can you imagine the mind emptied by that thing -- without even a tormentor for company?" Kirk dramatizes. I guess he's already ready for a little midnight scenery. Hell'n-a-Handbasket whispers that she understands. They leave.

Enterprise. Bridge. Things seem to be back to normal. Kirk sleepwalks onto the Bridge, and Uhura tells him he had a call from Tantalus. "It was from Van Gelder, he thought you'd like to know that the treatment room had been dismantled. The equipment destroyed," Spock tells him. Kirk thanks him quietly. What's the matter? Hell'n-a-Handbasket got your tongue? Kirk sits in his chair, and Bones leans against it and observes, "It's hard to believe that a man could die of loneliness." Kirk looks all haunted (and sun-kissed, I might add) and says, "Not when you've sat in that room." Hey, Kirk? You're going to die alone, too! Well, sort of. I mean, you're going to bitch about it in a major motion picture sympathy ploy, and then you're going to die with Picard holding your hand. So, not alone, but since you don't really know Picard, it's kind of the same thing. Bones gets reflective. Kirk looks at Spock, who looks like he's about to say something, but Kirk smiles and says, "Take us out of orbit, Mr. Spock." Spock actually smiles back in his acknowledgment. Not a huge, toothy smile, but a small, cute one. Mmm, Spock. What? Oh, right. Bones leaves the Bridge. Kirk keeps up the smile for a bit, but then it fades and he looks serious. Since there's been no talk of reversing the procedure, does he still love Hell'n a Handbasket or what? "Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible to feeling as to sight? Or art thou but a dagger of the mind, a false creation, proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?" Dr. Mathra whispers from the floor, his hand stretched to the ceiling as the curtain falls.