A bloody hand presses the “down” button. For a split-second, I fantasize that it’s Susan using Arm of Darkness as a pointer. Colin whines that he can’t breathe, and Susan’s like, “Whatever, at least you have arms.” They load Colin into the elevator first, then Romano. The pilot – on the radio with Weaver – orders them to take everyone down to the ambulance bay because the health department has refused to let them re-enter the hospital. “Tell them Romano authorized it,” Luka shouts as the elevator doors begin to close. “Who’s Romano?” screams the pilot, dashing into the lift a split-second before the doors try to pull a Romano on his arm.
An eerie silence descends upon the helipad, where Susan and Monty are alone. She looks a bit lost. “Are they coming back?” he whispers pathetically. Susan reassures him that she’s staying, even as she looks a bit put-out that the pilot dashed off. Monty gives the choked, stilted “I have a son, so cry for me” speech. “His mother wanted him to become a doctor,” Monty trembles. “I’m beginning to wish he had.” Monty’s machine interrupts this with a loud, sonorous bleep, because it’s an attention whore. Susan panics and frantically tries to find Monty’s pulse.
Pratt and Chen wander back to their quarantined room. Pratt wonders aloud how often crises like this plague County General. “Only during sweeps and premiere week,” she says. And also, “Only since you came along.” Pratt chuckles. “Oh, right – ying [sic] and yang,” he says. “Excuse me?” Chen blinks. And right here I was expecting her to scream, “It’s yin! YIN, you ying-yang!” But no. The fact-checkers are too busy yinging their yangs to correct this wee flub. Pratt interprets Chen’s remark to mean that she’s unclear what he means, so he explains the ancient Chinese concept of cosmic balance as meaning that for every good occurrence, something lousy comes with it. “You are Chinese, right?” he deadpans. “Yeah, I’m just trying to figure out what the good part is,” Chen fires back. “Just say the word and I’ll show it to you,” Pratt winks, wadding up his scrubs – I think -- and throwing them into a garbage bin. “Pick that up,” she mothers. “It’s bad enough that you’re not wearing the mask.” Pratt stops and sighs, pointing around at the dark, empty halls. “The hospital is abandoned!” he shouts. Just then, the hospital shouts back. In the form of a thud.