Joe Morton sleeps under a spider web. He's got a big-ass scab on his cheek, and, judging from the orange jumpsuit and bars surrounding his bed, he's in jail. He opens his eyes and stares at the spider for a moment. Some kind of radio news program blares over the prison PA system. Joe Morton sits up and gingerly touches the scab. The door to his cell slides open with a bang, and a guard glides inside. "It's time," the guard announces. Joe Morton just stares at him. Orange is a good color for him. I'm just saying, if you have to be in prison, it's nice if you can at least look good while you're there.
Two guards escort Joe Morton, who's added a bulletproof vest to his ensemble, down a dank prison hallway. As they reach the end of said hallway, Scully and Doggett emerge from the darkness, advising the prison staff to "postpone the transfer," because, as Doggett puts it, "it's like Woodstock out there." Oh, Limp Bizkit is outside screaming, water costs twelve bucks, and women are getting sexually assaulted willy-nilly, in a spectacle of which my generation ought to be ashamed? Good to know. Avoid that. "Transfer me where?" Joe Morton says, perplexed. One of the guards just rolls his eyes and tells Scully and Doggett that they've been planning the transfer for days, and they're going ahead with it, Fred Durst be damned. "John, what is going on?" Joe Morton asks.
Indeed, outside, a melee has ensued, although it seems to consist mostly of journalists, rather than fraternity boys. "Why'd you do it?" one of them yells over the din. Joe Morton squints as he enters the sunlight. Doggett and Scully lead the way, attempting to beat a path through the crowd. Joe Morton looks past the gaggle of cameramen at an older man leaning against the paddy wagon. "Al!" he calls. Al whips a gun out of his waistband and opens fire. As Doggett yells for everybody to "get down," Al pulls a Jack Ruby and manages to hit Joe Morton, first in the vest, and then right in the neck. Nice security you got at that there jail. Doggett wrestles the gun away from Al, as Scully attends to Joe Morton, who looks...well, a tad peaked. "Sooooooooommmmmeoooooonnnnnnne calllllll a meeeeeeeeeedic," she calls in slow motion, her hair bobbing past her ears slow enough so that we can all admire her new dye job. Why isn't my hair shiny and bouncy like that? Am I not getting enough protein? Should I be using hot oil? So many questions. Joe Morton stares at Scully's watch, as his heartbeat on the soundtrack gets louder and louder. According to her giant timepiece, it is currently the 8th of the month, and twenty minutes after 8 AM. Joe Morton turns his head away, and closes his eyes. Or dies. Or passes out. Hard to say. A beat after his eyes close, the second hand on Scully's watch starts ticking backwards. Nifty.