We open on a quaint little pop-up hospital inside a warehouse in Mexico. The medics inside are readying supplies -- something's coming. The Head Medic gets a call, and everybody mobilizes outside. You hear Jesse's speeding car before you see it; he's beeping the horn like it's an ambulance alarm as he bounds up and skids to a stop right in front of the warehouse. Head Medic checks the front door, sees it's Mike, then immediately goes to the back door and unloads an unconscious Gus. He injects something into Gus's mouth and bags him. Jesse is left to scream at the medical team -- What about Mike??
Inside, they get to work on Gus. Jesse has to walk Mike in as Mike bleeds out his pant legs. Grim stuff. Jesse puts him on a bed, and then screams at the medics: "This man needs help!" Head Medic turns to him and points to Gus: "This man pays my salary."
Back home at America's Meth Kitchen, Walt is being watched suuuper closely by Tyrus, who is silent as ever. Walt measures out 40.23 pounds for a box of the blue, and while he does, he peppers Tyrus with questions about the Mexican expedition. Are they back yet? Have you heard? "If Pinkman is gone," Walt says, "I am done. Understand? I quit." Again, no answer from Tyrus. He simply steps up and re-weighs the box. Walt takes offense, but Tyrus finds Walt's number was off: it's 40.21. Well! Walt grumbles, re-labels and re-stacks. Walt then starts on another talking point: Hank keeps talking about driving out to the farm. Walt has stalled as long as he can. He just wants to make sure the place has been made presentable? He should be the one to take him out there, right? Can Tyrus run it up the chain of command? Oh, this is sad. Walt trying desperately to find some foothold of control within the organization. He gets nothing in return.
Cut to Walt and Hank on a stakeout of the chicken farm. Thus far, nothing suspicious, so Walt is impatient to declare the whole endeavor a bust. Hank is annoyed and says this is what the job is sometimes -- sitting and waiting. Walt then fishes for cartel news. Nothing stateside, says Hank, but he has heard rumblings of a big body-count event in Mexico. "We'll know more when the buzzards leave the bones," Hank says, having no idea how much a statement like that cuts into Walt. Hank is more concerned about Walt's bruised face. He wonders if Walt is in over his head with this gambling stuff. He talks about an old buddy of his with a gambling problem who got help. "He got on a ride that was rough to get off of." That sounds pretty apt, as far as Walt is concerned. But Walt has no intention of following Hank down that road. "I don't want to talk about it," Walt says, with finality. "To you or to anyone else. I'm done explaining myself."