Shelter/Hospital/Hotel. Ray is approached by a blowsy blonde, Lorena, who "helps out" around whatever the hell this place is. Rehab? I don't know. She gives the big old "you're not alone. I'm here for you" speech. Ray gives her a good glare and eats his burger. He tells her to leave him alone. "Okaaaaaay," she says, and takes off. Run, Blowsy! Run!
Salvage Yard. Salvage Dude is spray-painting over some writing on a hazardous waste barrel. How unsuspicious. He skitters around the salvage yard as though he's scared someone is going to jump out of one of the abandoned cars and bash him to death with a tire iron. He lurkifies himself right into the Salvage Yard Office, where he sets to shredding documents. Now, that's TOTALLY not suspicious, shredding documents in the dead of night while looking around furtively. I'm sure those are just credit-card offers, telling Dude that he's pre-approved. Dude looks up mid-shred, and guess who's standing right here? Not Vigilante Elvis. Not George Dubya Bush. Not Ricky Martin. Nope, it's Not Dead Ray! Dude is shocked but seemingly pleased to see his former employee. Apparently, however, that's some kind of self-preserving front, because just as he starts to warn Ray that the Feds are nosin' around and askin' all kinds of durn pesky questions about Ray's "death," Dude opens his desk drawer, takes out his shotgun, and opens fire. "This time, you stay dead," he spits "dramatically." Dude, Dude. That line's as old as my grandmother and half as fresh.
The force of the gunfire propels Ray -- a man who, by the way, just stopped a moving vehicle with the power of his hip flexors alone -- through Dude's glass sliding doors. Once the smoke clears, Dude creeps out to examine the damage, but Ray is gone, having left behind no trace. Except for half of his arm. As Dude stares dumbfounded -- and, really, just dumb -- at the severed limb, Ray lurches out of the darkness and reaches -- with the hand he has left -- for Dude's face. Dude screams. Ray makes a Non-Scary look of Non-Threatening Vengeance.
Salvage Yard, Part II: The Return. Morning has broken, like the first morning. Doggett's on the scene, like a sex machine. Without the "sex" part. He stares thoughtfully at Dead Dude and his Blue Nails of Concealed Evidence. He Nokias the Scullster -- who is STILL in that autopsy room, sans hottie, sadly, although I suppose he could be out getting snacks -- and asks if Kurt had any blue paint under his nails. She looks, but it's negatory. Doggett tells Scully that Dude was shredding something when he was killed. Scully looks bored. Doggett continues with his theory, which is that Ray must have been the man who did Dude in, because someone other than Dude lost a lot of blood at the scene, then managed to get away. Who else could that be, he wonders, besides Ray? He also says some stuff about what he saw "during the war" that I don't care to repeat, because it's the typical I-saw-some-crazy-shit-during-the-war and you know that song and dance. ["And...what war? The Gulf War? Because the Gulf War lasted, like, five minutes, and he's bit young to have seen combat in 'the 'Nam.' In other words, whatever, Doggett." -- Sars] Doggett muses that he can't "see how a man could possibly do this." Scully doesn't seem to care. Maybe she's wondering what the deal is with her Mysterious Pregnancy, because I know I am. She half-heartedly advises Doggett that the question is not how, but why. Doggett gruffs that he's not sure why, but he's sure he knows where to start looking. His accent morphs from Brooklyn to Southern in the course of two sentences. He scampers into Dude's office and takes a gander at the papers in the shredder, which are from a place called Chamber Technologies.