John Crichton lies on a bed, his face bloodied and water dripping. It's dark, and Moya looks worse for wear, with sparks flying around. We hear Aeryn's voice. "You did it, John. All the fighting has stopped. There's no more dying. And all of a sudden, three is not such a scary number. But no matter how wonderful this is, I will not accept it as a trade off for losing you."