7:29:24, CTU. Potato Face is complaining to Soul Patch about not being able to get at some Defense Department files. Jeez, Potato Face, keep your hair on. The president just gave the order, like, five seconds ago. Oh, wait, she's just asking when Chappelle is going to be back to authorize it. Soul Patch has to tell her he's not coming back. It's just Soul Patch's Awkward Conversation Hour this week, isn't it? He calls out to everyone on the floor and announces that "Ryan Chappelle was killed in the line of duty about a half hour ago." He doesn't give any more details, but he'll be assuming Chappelle's duties for the moment. "There'll be an opportunity to pay our respects to Ryan, but now's not the time." Before anyone can say, "No, we're good, actually," Adam the Woman Hater cuts in with the news that Special Agent Charlie Brown is calling in. Charlie Brown, now unmasked, tells Soul Patch that Ill Bill is symptomatic. He's not calling until now? What's he been doing? It's been ten minutes since they found that bloody snotrag. Ill Bill could be as much as half a block further away by now! Special Agent Charlie Brown wants to talk to Spawn now, but Soul Patch has to tell him she's on assignment. Mrs. Ill Bill gets carted out of her house on a gurney in a plastic bubble as Charlie Brown takes the news of Spawn's mission not much better than Kiefer did. Soul Patch, of course, just had this argument with Kiefer about ten minutes ago, and he's not about to have it again with Kiefer's Mini-Me. Charlie Brown seethes.
Up in the helicopter, Kiefer apologizes to Spawn about grabbing her. "But I want you to understand something: in the field, I am in command, do you understand that? You do what I tell you to do." Well, there's a first time for everything. Spawn agrees.
7:32:03. We're at an urgent care center, where the waiting room television is running one of those only-on-TV plot-advancing news bulletins. Ill Bill shambles in and tells the admitting nurse about his hour-old nosebleed. She gives him some forms to fill out and he sits down right next to another waiting patient, even though there are other empty seats. The other patient reacts about the way I would. Before Ill Bill can even put pen to paper, the news bulletin attracts his attention. The reporter names Inn Fection and talks about body bags, and Ill Bill looks at the bloody handkerchief in his hand. He puts two and two together and comes up with the inescapable answer: "Fucked." Ill Bill scampers right back to the front desk and demands immediate attention. The nurse he first talked to says, "Oh my God -- you're him!" The camera pans over to where someone has tacked up a photocopied flyer that features the words "MEDICAL ALERT" and Ill Bill's blown-up driver's license photo. Excellent touch: the photo is spectacularly unflattering. The nurse flags down a doctor. "The man we're supposed to isolate? He's here!" Ill Bill could not look more surprised if you dropped a safe on his head. Or even a bank vault. It's 7:33:02, and I'll still be laughing at the look on his face until at least 7:35:38.