But before Jalapeno reaches the ladies', Milo collides into her and asks her where Nina went. Jalapeno explains that Nina was "called out," and walks around him toward the bathroom. Milo stops her again and complains that he's got nothing to do until Nina lets him know what to do about the fake keycard. Oh yeah, man, I used to hate it when I temped and I'd make $22 per hour doing absolutely nothing but surfing the web. It just made me feel so empty inside. I tried to fill the void with a debauched orgy of bill paying and grocery shopping but the voices in my head kept growing louder and louder. Not even the new mini-stereo system I bought could drown them out! Anyway, Jalapeno tries to throw him a bone by promising him that he can help her with some file formatting to pass the time. "They didn't bring me in here at five in the morning to format files!" whines Milo. Jalapeno ignores him and slips into the ladies'. A full-body shot reveals that Jalapeno is now wearing a new pair of jeans and has now changed "costumes" a total of three times since midnight. And once again I notice how amazing her body is as she pauses at the mirror to play with her hair and wait for a faceless ko-worker to wash her hands and get out of there. She slips into a stall, whips out her Palm Pilot, and receives a new message from Gaines. He asks her if Milo knows about the fake keycard. Jalapeno replies that he does. Gaines tells her to take care of it, and to make up an excuse for why Nina isn't in the office…because she's dead. Jalapeno is stunned by this bit of news, and I would like to think that it is making her feel like a piece of crap. She logs off and turns off her Palm Pilot. Oh, and speaking of crap? Gaines can see inside the ladies' room over the CTU security system. Kreepy!
Elsewhere within the TerrorKompound, in some new lockdown we've never seen before with a brick-face interior painted the color of a robin's egg. It's probably some shade of Martha Stewart house paint from her collection of custom blends inspired by the colors in and around Skylands, her Seal Harbor, Maine estate. Spawn sits, head in hand, her hair appearing longer than it was less than an hour ago. The TerrorMinions enter with Bride, and for some useless reason, they don't let the two Kieferettes near each other until they lock them in another room, which looks more like a barnyard whose hay-filled interior is used for Playboy spreads. It even has the same golden, filtered light. Mother and daughter have a tearful reunion over the same bale of hay where Miss November sat earlier that day, wearing a flannel shirt tied at the ribcage, a pair of thigh-high boots, and a lot of body foundation. "It's okay, it's okay," repeats Bride like a mantra. No, it's not. Spawn gasps for air as her moistened face emerges from her mother's bosom. The time is 7:11:19 AM. It's about time I had a commercial break!