Doggett is woken with a jolt by Skinner, who hands him his cellular phone. "It's Scully," Skinner says. Next to me, Exposition just mutters. Manly stare. Manly stare. Doggett takes the phone. Scully thanks Doggett for covering for her and tells him she "appreciates his discretion." Doggett smarms that "it's easy to be discreet when you don't know what's going on." He asks if she's "okay." She shortly replies that she's fine, and tells her partner that she had Skinner "contact some friends of Mulder's," who she thinks will prove most helpful. Scully closes the call by telling Doggett he's a good agent, and reminding him to "trust [his] instincts." Doggett hangs up the phone with nary a thank you, and sort of stares at it until Skinner glides up the hallway, with the results of the toxicology test of the drugs in Andre's lab. "I am SO TIRED," whines Exposition, as Skinner reveals that the batch was of some kind of super hallucinogen, the likes of which the lab had never seen. "Think it was for Tipet?" he asks. Doggett, who looks like hell, sweaty, and jumpy, could probably use some drugs himself. He tells Skinner that he thinks the drugs were for Andre -- because Andre doesn't want to go to sleep.
Unfortunately for Andre, he has fallen asleep. Suddenly, he opens his eyes (or does he?), and rolls over and sits up, disoriented. Outside his jail cell stands Tipet, third eye and all. They stare at one another.
Outside the cellblock, Doggett and Skinner demand to be let into see Tipet, tout de suite.
In the cell, Andre watches Tipet disappear, and dozens of -- oh no -- rats appear in his place. Andre backs up, falling onto his bed, as the vermin, squeaking and squealing, race into his cell, and all over his body. He and I both scream as the rats begin to devour him.
Skinner and Doggett slide up to Andre's cell, where he seems to be sleeping peacefully. The guard lets Doggett and Skinner into the cell, as this crazy tocka-tocka music gears up, and we can hear faint, nonsensical voices murmuring in the background. The manly agent men slide, almost in slow motion, toward the bed. Where Andre is dead. From a big old gash in the forehead. His eyes are wide open, and terrified. Told you the rats were bad news.