Talbert and Luz play poker in a lobby area, trying to ignore the sounds of bloody murder emanating from a room behind them. That settles it -- they must be in Vegas. Luz groans as Talbert wins the hand. "I don't know who's taking a bigger beating, me or him," Luz grouses good-naturedly, gesturing to the Smackdown arena. We hear groans and grunts and vicious punches, and the crackle of fresh whoop-ass cans being popped open and dumped into someone's unfortunate lap. Talbert stiffens, visibly unhappy. He's one notch above the other NCOs, so I assume he's holding back because of rank. "You all right?" Luz asks. "You want to join in?" Talbert grumps that he should be in there stopping the brutality. The antithesis of "Stop the Brutality" enters just then -- Speirs, in full authoritative mode and itching to sting the skin of another man. He's hungry. "Where is he?" Speirs asks. He repeats it twice more with mounting fury, uninterested in Talbert's attempts to deflect him with questions about Grant's welfare. "WHERE IS HE?" screams Speirs, rage seeping from every pore and forming a big puddle of wrath at his feet. Talbert nods toward the door.
Speirs shoves through the throng of soldiers and faces off against Grant's shooter; the wrecked man is strapped to a chair. His mouth is clogged with pasty blood and his eyes are barely open. He gasps for breath, but can't find any. Bull informs us that the culprit is an Item Company replacement. "Where's your weapon?" Speirs seethes through pursed lips. The broken kid defiantly stares up and Speirs and sasses, "What weapon?" Like lightning, Speirs's gun-toting arm shoots out and rockets across the man's face. A huge chunk of blood, tissue, and teeth flies out of the kid's mouth; some of the soldiers recoil a tad. Suddenly, everyone seems grossed out, especially Perconte. Beatings just aren't as funny when they're administered by a man with a reputation of evil. No, no, who am I kidding -- beatings are always funny. Those guys are just wusses. The image of fury, Speirs points his pistol right at the replacement's head and steels himself for the impact of the shot. Speirs's gun cocks. I totally chose those words on purpose. The palpable tension thickens as men like Malarkey close their eyes and back away from the sitting corpse. But Speirs never fires his weapon, staring down the chump instead before growling, "Have the MPs take care of this piece of shit." As Speirs angrily flounces out, someone asks whether Grant is dead. "Nope," Speirs answers. "Kraut surgeon says he's gonna make it." Luz smiles, relieved. Liebgott escorts the quivering mass of pulp outside.