The scene opens on Zain, still in his cell. Still, he is garbed in the same orange jumpsuit and head-wrappings. He is laid in the room’s bed, though his eyes hang open. In the scene’s bottom left, text fades in reading: “Three more days pass…”

There is a sound of rushing air as the room’s door slides open, one of the more heavily-geared guards entering the room from the airlock behind it.

As the guard strides in, the airlock-door remaining open, the straps hanging from his equipment seem to shift, as if moved by a dull wind. The guard’s voice makes it sound as if there is not a voice-changer behind his helmet’s visor, but a gas-mask. Indeed, there is a ringed tube running from under said visor into his vest.

HEAVY-GEAR GUARD: One word outta you that we didn’t even hear, and all this precaution. Hell, if they cared about me that much I probably wouldn’ta been sent in here for you.

The guard hoists Zain up by the arms and puts him in a bridal carry, taking him into the airlock.

The door slides shut behind them, and soon after, from small slits within the space’s walls, many pressurized jets of a white gas hit them. Zain’s long hair is sent waving about, and a super-zoom shows microscopic shards of pink crystal being scattered from within it.

A few moments after this, the second door of the airlock slides open to reveal a cramped, foam-padded space, fit only for one person, in place of the hallway this door once led out into.

The guard places Zain caringly within the padded space, sitting him down with his arms crossed over his lap. Following this, the guard knocks twice on the airlock’s roof.

As if in response, a door other than that of the airlock’s slides over the padded space’s opening. The door is subsequently drawn away, revealed to be but a sarcophagus-sized metal crate placed over the airlock’s entrance. The crate is carried by a small forklift, and is flanked by three heavily-geared guards, totaling four as the first exits the airlock to join them.

As Zain’s containment box is driven down the hall, we get a shot of a before-seen surveillance room. There, a stressed-looking assistant monitor named Damian is following the progress of the team across the many screens in front of him. Notable is his complete lack of attention to the screen projecting a feed of Zain’s room, which the POV begins to zoom in on.

A large indentation appears slowly pushing into the side of the room’s bed, as if it had just “deflated” in a single spot.

Following this, we get a POV from just above this spot on the bed, looking around the room.

Separating from the POV as we hear the same echoing, alien voice as before, we get a pan across the room as it is thoughts rather than words.

ECHOING ALIEN: Why do you covet so much as to even want to steal away the scrawny one, addled human? 

We get a brief shot of Zain in the crate, his head shifting forward within it and puffing against the space’s pillowed walls.

ECHOING ALIEN: I am confident that, with very few words and lies, I was able to convince him to leave you! 

A brief shot of Jordan, on his bed, obviously having just finished a work-out. He holds his forehead in his hands, crouching forward as he sits. His face communicates a mixture of disgust, shame and conflict.

ECHOING ALIEN: That is not to say, of course, that he would have come for you otherwise. I read him, and despite his corruption’s destructive power his will is weak like his body. Do you wish to have him and his power for some personal army?

Another shot of Zain within his crate shows his face after he’d flopped forward. His lips twitch as drool dribbles to his chin. His eyes are wild as he stares into the space’s padded floor. His breathing is irregular, more reminiscent of a tired animal’s than a human’s.

ECHOING ALIEN: You wish to spread that metal’s pestilence, even as it has likely already infected your planet’s atmosphere? You would bring it to more people, and corrupt it even deeper? I swear on my wish, this won’t happen.

Zain’s crate opens to the same testing room as he’d previously been in, its padded hatch falling to the ground in front of him with a clang. Zain quickly follows it, splaying out limply onto the plate like a bed. His eyes meet the smooth metal floor beneath it, and after a zoom-in on Zain’s eye we see a momentary flashback. 

Zain’s body is getting shocked as he lays on the cold floor, no pillowed hatch separating him from it. Bolts of electricity bounding from the surface’s every square inch into his body, he is convulsing wildly. Over behind the glass-protected observer’s aperture into the room, a man in a labcoat is holding his finger down on a blue button upon a control panel. This button’s base is elevated, as if to make it visible to Zain.

Returning from the flashback, the crate and hatch are drawn quickly back, Zain sliding onto the floor. His body shows no sign of resistance to this, and the door the crate came through slides quickly shut.

As said door slams, the sound resounding throughout the chamber, we switch view to Angosin, standing just outside the church’s doors as they close behind him to a similar effect.

The sun beats down hard, and he is narrowly protected from its rays by the slight shadows cast by the church’s roof.

Angosin looks down the incline of the hill the church’s street is on, towards the ocean. His face scrunches up, fear and grief obvious upon it.

ANGOSIN: (whispering) Give me strength, lord. I’m afraid. I see through all those you’ve touched with my power, and have learned so much, and yet so much of it is scary. Even those two suffer, as removed as they are, and I’m only going to make it worse for them.

Change view to the log cabin’s woods, where it is dead night. There is no light in the cabin’s windows.

Moving to the cabin’s interior, scarcely lit by shafts of moonlight entering through the structure’s windows, we see Wenji packing things into a light-green backpack.

Her movements are careful and calculated as she shuffles books and bags of food into the bag. Her head darts to look over at Ookomisan, who is fast asleep in an intricately-carved bed, every few moments.

Finally zipping the bag closed and slipping it on after donning a thin, fur-laced coat, she opens the house’s door wide enough only for her.

Wenji’s one last, sad look at the sleeping Ookomisan is cut short as the old woman begins to cough with her mouth closed. In panicked response to a feared awakening, Wenji wrenches herself through the door and sneaks it closed all in one smooth motion.

Wenji does not give the house a single backwards glance as she makes her way forwards, her eyes fixed on the ground as she avoids stepping on any sticks or leaves.

We get a far shot of Wenji silhouetted in the moonlight, looking up as a small, plump-looking bird flutters down from above the trees towards her. Outlined and contrasted against the forest’s trees, with similar hair and attire, Wenji looks stunningly similar to the jacketed man.

The bird lands on her shoulder, illuminated in the moonlight to be a Black-Capped Chickadee.

Wenji whispers to it, ambition and purpose on her face and in her voice:

WENJI: Take me there, little one.

ANGOSIN: Take you where?

The camera pans to the right, past Wenji with her startled expression, to reveal that Angosin now stands in the same forest as her, just a few feet behind her and the bird.

There is a flash to but a few moments earlier, very far away.

As Angosin loiters outside the church, just a few steps from the doors, they open as the priest, gaunt and slightly hunched, pushes through them. His voice is overlaid with a quiet, unhealthy wheeze, following his speech from the back of his throat.

PRIEST: Angie, my boy, you cannot be out here. It is not safe. Come in, we are making breakfast.

Angosin turns towards the priest, away from the far-off body of water. He approaches him, and as they stand close Angosin’s size change becomes abhorrently apparent. Whereas before he may have stood just taller than the priest’s hip, he is now just as tall as the priest with his bent posture.

ANGOSIN: Father, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I suggest you stay away from the food inside. The people, in fact, you should also distance yourself from.

The priest looks at Angosin quizically.

PRIEST: What? Why?

ANGOSIN: Because of me. Because of the intermingling of mine ang God’s will.

Angosin puts a hand on the priest’s shoulder.

ANGOSIN: It is all in God’s plan.

Angosin brings his face close to the priest. His eyes are dark and tired, consistent with how they’ve always been.

ANGOSIN: And not all plagues need be only his punishment, but some his mercy.

With this, Angosin’s form begins to gradually vaporize; it takes on the appearance of a mist with the color of his hair, skin and clothes as it floats forcibly into the priest’s nose, mouth and eyes, other wisps of it slipping into even his pores.

As this happens, the priest convulses in confusion and panic, rearing back from Angosin’s progressively disappearing form and attempting to cough and scratch at the streams entering his skin. He ceases only a few moments after the hand Angosin had laid on his shoulder disappeared into him, the mist being gone. His breath is shallow and his expression wide-eyed as he looks around, bewildered and afraid. A moment later, in the forest as Wenji is looking up at the bird, the same mist begins to issue from through her hair and clothes, mixing silently together a few feet behind her.

Returning to the present, and switching scenes back to Zain, as he is sat lazily and hunched, on the testing room’s floor:

Behind the glass of the observation window, Dr. Ramsay is fitting himself with thick-looking yellow gloves, pulling them up to his elbow under his lab-coat. After lifting a solid-looking, sandwich-sized black case from the floor onto the control panel, he clicks on his recording device and speaks into it:

DR. RAMSAY: Beginning preliminary psychological evaluation of SCP-6077-3’s host. Given that at this point in time the subject is largely unresponsive, apparently due to a concussion-like injury, we’re going to be working with whatever stimuli we think may work, however unorthodox. We’re going to be starting by visually presenting to the subject an item that was earlier confiscated. The item was found embedded deep in the back-portion of the “armor” the subject had manifested with SCP-6077-3, just above their cervical vertebrae. It takes the form of an arrow-head composed of an as-of-yet unidentified metal. It is assumed at the time by some staff that this item is the original SCP-6077, having manifested these “spirits” within the hosts through some method of contact. As such–

Dr. Ramsay dons a gas-mask, strapping it up as he continues to speak with his voice slightly muffled.

DR. RAMSAY: –I will be taking proper, though analog, preventative measures as I present the item to the subject. Beginning exposure now.

Ramsay un-lids the case, revealing the arrow. Its shaft is missing, lying in the case as just an arrow-head.

Lifting the case and tilting it slightly, Ramsay positions it to be seen through the glass.

Zain, his face thoroughly hidden behind messy locks of hair, had previously not been looking anywhere in particular as his eyes drifted lazily. He had even been facing away from the window at a right angle. The moment the arrowhead catches the room’s light through the window, however, his eyes dart to it; his look is viciously focused, straining his bloodshot spotters to look more directly at the thing while not turning his head.

Switching scenes again, we see Scott, his mother and his father sitting in their colorful-looking living room watching television. The anchor is currently addressing the operations of the “Manna Charitable Organization” as they are apparently spearheading relief efforts for the Covid-19 pandemic.

Scott is sitting forward, supporting his chin with a hand. Scott’s father looks over at him, squinting a little.

SCOTT’S DAD: Hey, when’d you break that nail?

Scott takes his hand out from under his chin, scrutinizing the index finger his father is addressing.

Scott’s mum furrows her brow as she looks at the minor wound.

SCOTT’S MOM: (concerned tone) Oh, dear, did you do that while working on your suit?

Scott looks confused for a moment, then frustrated as he puts his other hand to his head.

SCOTT: No, I– I don’t know.