"Well, fight it! Listen to me: we've reached the surgical facility. We're going to see if they can remove the chip." He's gone, no thoughts. Like a terrified beast. He holds her face in his hands, staring deep. Their eyes lock, and he rests there for a moment before throwing himself back across the room: "I have to smash him!" It's hard having to watch this, and we're not Aeryn. He stands before the broken mirror, Aeryn pleading behind him. "Scorpius isn't really there, John. I need you to face reality as it is!" He breathes and looks at Harvey, breathing. "It's ridiculous, I know. She cannot see us, John!" Harvey chuckles. "What's happening to me?" John whispers.
"You know what's happening to you," begs Aeryn. "Scorpius put that frelling chip in your brain." John closes his eyes, opens them again. "Aeryn. What do you see in the mirror? What do you see?" The same, but it looks different to everybody. Everything you're not supposed to want, every ugly action and greedy snatch; every awful thought and every time you've thought of dying. Every time in your idleness you've thought about how much easier it would be if things were just a little less complicated: every time you thought it would be easier if she died. If life is a choice between her and Harvey, and Harvey's winning... All this and more is what Harvey looks like, the things you can't imagine yourself feeling even as you're feeling them, and pushing them down again, and talking so fast so you don't remember what you've just done. And she sees none of this; right now all she feels is fear. All she can see is John, our John, looking at the broken shards. "There is no mirror. There is no Scorpius. Look! You must confront your fears with strength." Who taught her that? Harvey returns his gaze, impassive. "You're right, Aeryn," says John, and he becomes something else. John, and Harvey. John as Harvey; skin like a corpse, eyes like wounds. Ben Browder in a coldsuit. It's sickening to look at. Perversion and sickness like blood across the moon, like black marks on the sun. "...There's no Scorpius here," he murmurs. "There's only me." John, and Harvey. John as Harvey. There is no mirror. "...Yes." Credits.
A tall alien, all in red, with shields over his face, and shades, and muscled arms, speaks to someone gross, someone humanoid. "If it wasn't serious," the alien's companion says, "They wouldn't have called us, would they? Now, when you're done: the big picture." Aeryn and D'Argo watch them speak, as Chiana appears with them. "I don't like him," says Aeryn. D'Argo explains the alien is "rumored to be one of the best healers in the Uncharted Territories," but that's not who's bothering Aeryn: it's the humanoid. "His sleazy confederate. Gonesick." The dirty bastard, Furlow's male twin, turns to them. "Grunchlk. Splendid hearing. Doc Fix, there." Aeryn blushes; D'Argo asks if the doctor alien can save Moya. "Oh, looks good! He's splendid with infections." The alien Diagnosian, Tocot, speaks. "He'll make up a mixture, it'll be absorbed through these scarred areas. And then a couple of applications, keep the patient sedated...you're laughing!" How much, Aeryn asks, and the answer is around $12,000. D'Argo screams, Tocot speaks its whispering, bleeping language and Grunchlk excuses himself for a quick confab, leaving our guys to discuss things among themselves.