Regina: Okay, if someone doesn't start making out or kicking ass immediately, I'm turning this crap off.
Wendy Kroy: You can't turn it off! You're the recapper.
Regina: Oh, please. A couple of "blah blahs" and a few "the hells" and some slapped-together polls -- they'll never know I didn't watch it.
Wendy Kroy: I'll know.
Regina: Yeah. And that matters to me SO MUCH.
Wendy Kroy: That's it. I'm sending you a bottle of vodka via messenger. This can't go on.
Oops Center. Marshall's gibbering on about some program he's discovered that can bring Lazarey's killer's face into focus. Spy Daddy is NOT pleased about this. Mrs. Elephant enters and overbites something about when the final focused photo will be ready. Marshall estimates noon tomorrow. Spy Daddy sets his watch to go off in twenty minutes in order to remind him when he has to show up for his next two-second scene.
Conference Room of Endless Expositions. Okay, I didn't pay ANY attention during this next scene. Really. Blah blah blah, Medusa's some kind of anti-satellite thingy. Bling blam blooey, if triggered, it can take out all our satellites or some such shit. Flim flam flummox, if that happened, we'd be naked and wide open to attack. Hee. "Naked." "Wide open." Hee hee. Because I am FIVE. Marshall's all, blah blah blah something something microwaves. Vaughn's all, blah blah blah that'd be hundreds of satellites and don't I look pretty in this suit? Mrs. Elephant's all, blah blah blah what's this got to do with the Covenant and Syd, keep your stinkin' paws off my man. Dix is all, blah blah blah that Oransky dude was in charge of bling blam blooey Medusa or something. I'm all, blah blah blah, seriously? WHAT IS UP WITH THE ACCENT?
Aaaaaand thirty seconds of more bling blam blooey later, we find out that Oransky sent that one satellite screaming down into Gorky Park, just so he could use another satellite to photograph Russia's reaction protocol to a nuclear attack. Or something. Somewhere. With wings attached. I really don't know. And something about a bunker. Underneath some building. Or something. Where Medusa's being held. I guess. And Sark's gonna steal it. Maybe. God. YAWN. I'm telling you, this scene is so long and boring and full of lame details, the poor Exposition Fairy just passed out from the strain of it all. I'd revive her, but I'm laughing too hard at the image of a grown woman in a tutu flat out on the floor with her ass in the air.