Dix runs out and yells at Syd to get a move on. Syd just stands there, her perfect make-up job flawed only by the morose expression on her face. She leaves, following Dixon to the extraction point, with no thought whatsoever of the dozen or so military dudes snoring away in the auditorium. Hello? Loose ends anyone?
Back at SD-6, like, twelve seconds later, Sloane's all proud and shit that Dix and Syd nabbed the hard drive. Dixon's all, yeah, uh, thanks and everything, but what in the hell is up with Marshall? Sloane's all, oh, well, I'm glad you asked. We haven't heard anything, my dear, but our efforts to get him back continue, "as do our prayers." Oh, Jesus. We're back to icky and smarmy Sloane. Bleah. He's so oily in this scene that he's practically Alan Thicke. Syd just looks as if she's thinking how difficult it would be to kidnap Sloane, cut his body up into little pieces, and feed them to Face Doneaway, who looks like she could use a good meal. OR TEN.
Subbasement Of Dreams And Desires. "So now SD-6 has everything it needs to access Echelon," Syd practically moans. Vaughn's all, oh, sweetie, I'm sorry. Any idea how long it'll be before it's operational? Syd's all, midnight tomorrow at the latest. And you don't get to "sweetie" me, you sleazy prick, no matter how hot you look in that shirt without a tie. How's Alice, by the way? I miss her so. Vaughn's all, okay, I thought I was clear about the whole Alice thing -- Syd's all, MOVING ON. Vaughn's all, okay, fine. If that's how you want it -- about Marshall. "One of our teams traced Cuvee's unit that abducted Marshall to a safe house outside London."
As Vaughn continues in a voice-over, we see a flashback to some CIA guys in full regalia walking into the safe house. "By the time they got there," Vaughn says, "it was abandoned. It was wired with four pounds of C-4." One of the guards trips a wire, and the whole place blows the hell up. Back with the young lovers, wherever they are, Vaughn carves a few more troughs into the front of his skull and says that, in light of the tragedy, the director's ordered a halt on the search. "So for the moment," he says, "Marshall's on his own."
Different Dark Dungeon Of Dental Dementia. Marshall's back. Only, instead of being strapped to a chair with goop dripping down into his mouth, he's sitting at a computer, looking none the worse for wear. Oh, except for the rivers of sweat running down his face. While I sympathize, like, ew. Get the guy a towel or something. One of the minions is pointing a gun at the back of Marshall's head, which Marshall's finding less than comforting. "You think maybe he could point that somewhere else?" he spluts. SDAP just glares at him from his Wheelchair Of Doom. "All right," Marshall continues splutting. "It's not...it's...um...feelings! Nothing more than feelings! Trying to forget my feelings of loooooooove!"
Pathetic Plot Device Diner. Will's draining bottles of ketchup as Foolio sits across from him, wondering why the makeup department decided that today was the day to try out the retro-'60s sparkly blue eyeshadow and the sluttish red lipstick on HER instead of on that extra in the disco scene that comes later in the episode. Make-up Department? Ringling Brothers called. Their circus clowns want their make-up back.