Onboard their ship, in the already cluttered cargo hold, several cockroaches are rushing about, their antennae buzzing, pulling equipment out of boxes. Frisky rather hyperactively passes through the crowd, promising Sebastian that everything is going according to plan: “We shall be ready,” he adamantly commands. When Seb seems to reconsider their plan, Frisky tells him that he must show leadership: their fellows are looking up to him.

As Seb points out, his next act will be mutiny! Spike is not going to be very happy with them! Frisky tells him to stop worrying. They are simply planning, preparing, for the worst. And in the end, Master Spike will thank them. He repeats his words back to himself, as if he’s trying to convince himself.

Frisky turns to Seb and tells him of an old Earth phrase he’s heard: “It is easier to ask forgiveness than to ask permission.” Seb thinks that Frisky has become a bit too comfortable on Earth to have learnt the mannerisms and colloquialisms – after all, what will Frisky do when Morgan turns out to be nothing to worry about? Frisky shrugs – if the woman is influencing Spike, then it will be up to them, his loyal subjects, to save him from her.

Elsewhere aboard, in the Solarium, bright light streams into the small space. Morgan’s admiring the light, which Spike explains he’s not that fond of and it’s all an illusion besides, he states, pointing out the tempered glass that keeps him from being charbroiled. If he doesn’t like the room, does he come in here because it was her space? Morgan asks. Spike feigns ignorance, but Morgan picks up Buffy’s jacket – she can even tell it’s the Slayer’s. Spike wonders how she knew, but Morgan insists she picked up everything from what was said in the chamber.

“It might help if you had somebody to talk to… somebody besides a giant insect,” she suggests, smiling coquettishly at Spike, who quickly takes Buffy’s stuff from her. She offers him a shoulder to cry on, but he turns to her, seriousness on his face. “Look, as shoulders go, yours look softer than average, so don’t think I don’t appreciate it. But my style is more stiff upper lip, stiffer drink and soldier on.” Morgan comes closer to him, touching his arm. “Spike, of course, I’m grateful that you’re helping me, but it’s more than that too. You’re special. And I think, I think we…”

She’s interrupted by a watching Seb who announces to Spike over the ship’s tannoy system that they’re approaching their destination and beginning their descent.

At the helm, Seb ensures that they’re jamming all sensors and Frisky asks what he’s going to do about Spike. Seb tells him it’s all in place, but until they need to, they will follow their Master’s orders: even if that means giving the woman access to the Hellmouth they’re heading for. As they approach the island, Spike turns to Morgan. “I’ve seen my share of Hellmouths and knew there were others hidden around the world, but those big, block-headed buggers should have been a dead giveaway.”

As dusk settles over Easter Island, the moai stand sentinel – silent, solemn, carved faces turned inland as if guarding the souls of the living. In the fading light, they cast long shadows across the volcanic terrain, an ancient echo of a civilization that once thrived in isolation and still murmurs through stone. Their towering presence whispers warnings the island can’t quite articulate.

In the cockpit, Morgan gestures toward the monolithic statues beyond the viewport. “The ancient natives who erected them were warning people away,” she tells the bugs. “Although they were likely too primitive to understand away from what.”

Spike, meanwhile, is distracted – marvelling at the fact he’s got cell phone reception this deep into the south-eastern Pacific. Morgan rolls her eyes and presses on.

“The island was uninhabited for centuries, but there are hotels and outfitters now to service tourists and anthropologists. But don’t worry about unwanted attention. This is a remote area.” The ship extends its landing struts and descends quietly behind a ring of moai, easing into the shadows.

On the extended balcony, Morgan surveys the scene. “Kind of a paradise,” she muses. “Maybe with someone special.” Spike raises an eyebrow. Romantic inclinations weren’t part of her dossier. Morgan smiles softly. “But do you want to hear something funny? I miss existing for somebody else.”

Shielding the wind with his hand, Spike lights a cigarette. “It’s not so strange,” he replies. “We’re all on the lookout for that missing jigsaw piece.”

In the Solarium, nerves begin to fray. “I fear Spike is no longer in control of himself,” Frisky declares. “If you do not order something done, then I shall. If I am proven wrong, then I will take responsibility.”

Sebastian’s response is swift, voice sharp. “No. It is my responsibility to see that our obedience to Master Spike is absolute.” Then, quieter. “I was afraid you might ask forgiveness later instead of permission now. I can’t allow that.”

Two bugs enter, helmets gleaming in the moonlight. Sebastian turns toward the dusk-soaked moai. “You are, as the Earthlings say, a loose cannon.”

Frisky begins screaming his name as the guards escort him away.

Back on the balcony, Morgan continues her slow seduction. Spike deflects with dry humor. “Who’s alone? The bugs and I have a very fulfilling life. Every Wednesday night’s Canasta!”

Morgan sees past the sarcasm. “You know what I am. It’s not something I can turn off.” Her hands slide inside Spike’s coat. “I’ve always been attracted to powerful men, and you’re hurting, Spike. I can see it. Your need is like an aphrodisiac. I’m almost dizzy with it. With me, you could heal.” Spike studies her.

“I thought you just wanted to get back to your own dimension?”

She takes his hand, leads him back into the glowing Solarium. Moonlight paints the floor silver. “That’s because I had no purpose. Now I have you. I can soothe you. Put your restless soul at ease.”

“You wouldn’t need to obsess about her anymore.”

“What do you get out of it?” Spike asks.

Morgan steps behind him. “Isn’t it obvious? What a woman like me gets from a man like you?” She frames his face in her hands.

“For centuries I have brought out the greatness in men. You could be my greatest achievement! Look inside yourself, Spike. You know we could be good together.” He gently takes her hands and lowers them.

“I’m not some empty vessel you can pour all your expectations into. I don’t exist just to give you purpose. To be your achievement. I’ve got my own problems. My own life. I don’t need…” He falls silent. A shadow crosses his face.

“I suppose that’s what Buffy must have thought,” Morgan murmurs. “All the pressures of being a Slayer… family, friends, a job. And in the middle of all that, you.”

“You just wanted to love her. Maybe that’s a lot for a girl to take.”

Morgan cups his chin gently. “Buffy made a mistake turning you away. Don’t make the same mistake with me.”

She speaks of legends. Mortal men. Limits. “There would be no limits with you. We could do anything. Be anything we want. Don’t you want to find out? Don’t you want to try?”

She kisses him. Spike opens one eye – and sees the magazine. Buffy’s magazine. The one that inspired the Solarium.

He pulls back.

“I’m sorry. I’ll have to take a pass.”

“Excuse me?” Morgan bristles.

Spike sighs. “Every perfect second of every perfect day would just be a reminder that it wasn’t real. With Buffy it was up and down and frustrating and confusing. But real.”

“I know it’s sick in the head, but part of me cherishes every moment I’ve spent miserable over her.” A grin tugs at his lip. “It’s not you, it’s me. Any other bloke would give his right arm. I’m just not the sort to…”

He’s silenced by a hard slap across his face that makes his head rattle. Morgan’s fury explodes.

“Kings. Pharaohs. Emperors. Presidents. One Pope. In three millennia no man has ever taken a pass!”

“You’re a short-sighted bastard!”

Spike raises his hands. “Didn’t mean to offend. Frankly, it was your mojo that made me go all self-analysis.”

“So glad I could help,” she spits, venom thick. “I’m going back to my own dimension – what I should’ve done in the first place.”

She turns from him, arms folded, staring at the moai. “That brings us back to square one,” Spike says. “You can’t open the Hellmouth without magic. Of which we have none. And it’s a bad idea anyway. In a world with magical defences on the fritz? No faster way to make all of reality go boom.”

Morgan promises she’ll manage. Spike exhales, unheard.

“There’s nothing to manage. Everyone’s looking for scraps of hocus-pocus. Even the bloody fish demons. You looked for a Seed shard yourself. You were ahead of us. You searched and…”

He stops. Eyes narrowing.

“Where is it?”

Morgan backs away.

“You had me bring you here anyway.”

She protests. Spike grabs her wrist.

“You have a shard. You had it all along. I let myself get taken in by cheap succubus tricks.”

She screams. Transforms. Wings unfurl. Skin glows violet. Horns crown her brow. Eyes crackle like lightning.

She strikes Spike, sends him flying.

“No more smoke in these eyes, love,” Spike snarls. “And if you think I’m letting you open a Hellmouth and plunge the world into horror – you’re out of your bloody mind!”

Fangs drop. Speed surges. He launches himself in Morgan’s direction.

At the monitor, Sebastian watches coldly. “Initiate lift-off and start the contingency plan,” he orders. “And release Frisky from the brig.”

In the Solarium, chaos reigns. Spike kicks. Morgan shrieks. Talons slice his chest. Blood stains the floor.

Outside, Seb checks with his guards.

“Is the weapon ready?”

They nod. The Solarium doors hiss open. He turns to Frisky. “Fire”.

A low hum shudders through the ship. From the barrel, instead of the expected blast, a net fires out – thick, metallic, and crackling with energy. It wraps Morgan with startling precision, pinning her arms to her sides.

She howls in rage, struggling violently against the mesh. As she thrashes, an electrical current shoots through the netting – mild but potent, jolting her into stunned silence.

Seb stares, brow furrowed. “That was the highest setting.”

Morgan’s scream returns like thunder. With an inhuman growl, she tears through the net, fibres snapping, sparks fizzling. She hurls herself at the Solarium’s window and crashes through it – shards of tempered glass scattering like stars.

Air rushes in. Spike flinches, shielding his eyes from the sudden burst of light as Morgan shoots out into open sky, her silhouette framed against the darkening horizon.

Seb, frozen at the helm, gapes. “I did not know she would do that. Did you know she would do that?”

Frisky, eyes wide and antennae twitching, simply shakes his head. “I did not.”

Spike steps forward, gaze locked on the jagged hole in the glass. “Take us down.

Outside, the ship glides lower, chasing her descent. The moai rise into view – towering, quiet, eternal. Their stone faces, carved with intention centuries ago, stare inland, not outward, as though protecting something buried deep below.

Morgan lands hard on volcanic soil. The dust settles. She straightens, her eyes scanning the row of ancestral watchers. She kneels.

Then, from deep within her throat, she begins to choke. With a guttural sound, she regurgitates a small, glittering object – a shard of the Seed of Wonder, pulsing pink in her palm, slick with bile and shimmering with power.

She grins.

“Let’s crack open a Hellmouth.”