D'Argo comes upon Rygel tossing crap out of his cell. Not that it ever meant anything but now it means nothing. "When I return home and reclaim my birthright, offal such as this will no longer be allowed to offend my sight." Things he's stolen, things he's hoarded. In this time of nothing, we can't even hold tight to Rygel's hoarding. Wishes and the things on the other side of wishes. And were these food cubes, D'Argo asks, in his possession...when we were out of food for nearly two weekens?" Guess that’s weeks. Guess without Chiana's self-important lie of sexual freedom they had to do without. The evil inside. "You have not reclaimed your birthright yet, little man," D'Argo claims. As though this won't work out beautifully. As though something earned by horror couldn't possibly go wrong.

Namtar's lab: "This is still not right!" Kornata, his assistant, begs him to chill. "Your anger... Release me. Please." As though this is science and not another kind of war. "There is someone to see you," she offers. Someone else, again, in sacrifice, in the pursuit of safety. Aeryn enters, willing lamb to Namtar's science. "I was here earlier. I wish to participate in your...research." And as she sits in his awful chair, on the horizon -- the aurora -- of a new chance, he asks what made for the change in her outlook. "I know that there are other Sebacean colonies beyond the known territories. I want you to find me one where I..." And Namtar knows, for it's his sin too: "Fit in? We will look for it together." He pokes her fucking eyeball with his fucking needle. How can she not know? "It's burning," she says. Only for a moment. Something flares, something different, a purple kind of science there in the singularity that says we're getting to the meat of this. The only one who cried for Pilot pays the price. "When will I know the result?" And, oh: "It won't be long at all." And so it won't. Second soldier down.