So the Fringe crew takes in the bus stop crime scene, where Broyles introduces them to Chet Williams, who was diagnosed with Stage One melanoma just six hours ago. From the lab, Walter chortles, "Stage one. That has a survival rate of ninety-five percent. And that's without introducing even one frog rectally to slow cell division." Astrid's all, "What?" because seriously, what? She decides against relaying that little bit of info to the rest of the team.
Peter looks at the by now darkened streaks running down Chet's cheeks and asks if that's a bad mascara day, and everyone as usual ignores him making an ass of himself. Olivia asks Walter if someone can actually cry blood. Walter says certain viruses can cause bleeding from the tear ducts, but only after most of the organs are liquefied. To that end, he tells Astrid to check Chet's crotch, and then condescendingly tells her not to be a prude when she balks. She does so, and the lack of bleeding from the urethra AAAAAAAAHHHH STOP IT STOP IT! Anyway, Walter has decided Chet's organs haven't liquefied.
Peter wants to know what else could have caused this, and Walter starts rambling about a legendary alchemical mixture called the "tears of Ra" that Egyptians used to euthanize pets so that they could be buried with their owners who predeceased them. "But it's just a myth," he says. He tells them to bring the body back to the lab, and to bring some vanilla ice cream too. And he signs off with "Kirk out!" much to his own amusement, although it doesn't do anything for Farnsworthbot. She's too busy processing Walter speaking through Astrid. "Your Astrid, you talk through her. As if you were one person," she says. Walter agrees with that assessment, as well as her conclusion that it must be pleasant. "Yes, I suppose it is," he says.
While the police and agents mop up the scene, we see the activity reflected in the windows of a nearby building, including a silhouette of an Observer. There's a little something off about it, though; it's not quite a reflection, not quite a shadow, not quite us seeing him through the glass. But then the silhouette appears to step through the glass and out into the street -- this would be entirely in keeping with Observers' preference to stay unnoticed, of course. It's a new one. Let's call him "March," until we hear otherwise, in accordance with the glyph from last week. He takes out his little compass-cellphone-doohickey. "I think we have located it," he says into.
Back to the lab, where -- oh, gross. Peter's bloodied fingers put the man's kidney on a scale, and we find out it weighs just over a quarter of a pound, which the Farnsworthbot immediately calculates (in her head) is seventeen per cent lighter than an average human kidney. Apart from a quick glance between Astrid and Peter, the Fringe team seems to be already used to her idiosyncrasies. Olivia's reading info on Williams: 38 years old, manufactures consumer goods overseas, single, no debt, no drug issues. "His friends say that he's a nice guy," she says, which Astrid translates into, "So nobody someone would want to kill." Olivia says, "Well, everybody has somebody who wants to kill them," which I'm sure is far from true. No one wants to kill me, I don't think. I also can't think of someone I'd like to kill. Apart maybe from whoever invented Kidz Bop and is a really odd thing and Peter half-smiles, half-looks concerned.
Meanwhile, Walter thinks he's found the culprit, and says it's "odd," and Peter says it always makes him nervous when he says that. Walter explains that it's an interaction of chemical compounds he's not seen before, and tells "Aspirin" that predictive science says the compounds shouldn't interact, but they do. Olivia says, "So what, you're saying that it's magic?" like I DON'T THINK THAT'S WHAT HE'S SAYING, Olivia. I think it's like one of those "bumblebees shouldn't be able to fly" kinda things. Walter says it's just unusual science, the way six different alcohols create a flavor identical to iced tea. Peter's all "Amen to that!" like any excuse for a party for Peter. Anyway, the point is that it works, but no one could have predicted it would work. "So you're saying that he was killed by a poison that no one invented," which, again, isn't really it... except it is. And Peter jumps in with "It should go without saying, but that's impossible," and Walter snaps, out of proportion with how annoying Peter is being, "I think we're aware of that."
Then Fauxlivia shows up, putting everyone in a great mood. Peter looks less than thrilled, and Walter calls her "Mata Hari" and asks if she's deceived and betrayed anyone yet today, what with it already being almost lunchtime. Even Olivia looks a little uncomfortable.
But since Farnworthbot wouldn't notice the chill that's descended on the room, she blurts out, "Deus ex machina!" which Walter translates as "the hand of god" which is a little plan English than "god out of the machine." Farnsworthbot babbles away that the creation of the toxin would have required the assumption that the compounds could intermingle, except that they don't, except when they're all mixed together, which is unpredictable. "You're saying that a person would have to see that the chemicals had already been combined in order to know how to combine them?" asks Peter, fulfilling his usual "let me break it down for the audience" role. Somehow she's managed to calculate the chances of that happening as less than one-tenth of one percent, and says there's a root of the equation that is outside their realm of causality, ergo "dues ex machina," the hand of god. Peter: "Are you trying to tell us that God taught our perp how to mix a mythical poison?" A giddy Walter "explains" (like any of this means anything) that it's the only thing that makes sense, which is hilarious. I mean, it's not like the landscape of scientific discovery is riddled with accidental inventions, but let's go with "godlike powers" as the ONLY THING THAT MAKES SENSE. I mean, it turns out to be true here, but come ON. Anyway, Walter wants the Farnsworthbot's help to identify the origin of the component compounds. "I think I love her," he tells the rest of the group.
Fauxlivia figures out that she's not going home any time soon. "Cold Chinese in the fridge?" she asks, like make yourself at home, why don't you. Peter sighs and says he'll check while Olivia keeps making awkward faces.
Elsewhere, someone is buying a bottle of gin in the middle of the afternoon and there is emphasis placed on the liquor store guy slipping it into a brown paper bag so we know we're dealing with a drunk here. She walks out of the store, alternating between looking hungrily at the paper bag and clutching it to her chest, but as she gets down the block, she pulls it out from the bag slightly, and then forces herself to dump it in the trash. She walks through some sort of street corridor to the next block, which is where Neil Chung catches up with her, telling her that she's putting up a good fight, but she's not going to win. She's too surprised to answer, and as Neil continues, telling her that she's going to take that drink and it's all downhill from there, she turns and starts walking away from him. "But you know the saddest part? The drinking doesn't kill you. Instead, it shatters the lives of everyone around you, everyone you love," he says. She's walking slowly, listening, and then she turns around as he says that first her boyfriend will be killed in a car crash with her behind the wheel, and her brother will lose his wife and daughter, alienating them in a futile attempt to save her. "No one can see the future," she says. Neil agrees with her, saying there's no future, no past. "Everything happens right now," he says, all up in her face by this point, and he holds some little device -- different from his other thing, but it's got a blue light that goes to red as it sprays some sort of mi