If you join the Hair Club for Men, women with big breasts will press against you. The television says so.
The Rig of Peril crackles, sparks flashing around it as it sits sadly on a Chicago street. "Brody!" screams Lopez as everyone flocks to the fallen and unresponsive medic. He's not breathing and has no pulse, so while the available machines are connected to him, Weaver preps for mouth-to-mouth and orders Gallant to perform CPR chest compressions. She orders Lopez to check on Vicki. "He's in my unit!" Lopez protests, but Weaver will have none of it, and so Lopez obliges her. Yeah, that's how to run an accident site, Lopez -- capitulate to whatever white-coated woman shows up claiming to be a real ER doctor. Weaver scolds Gallant for stupidly diving at Brody's sizzling body without thought to his own safety. Sure, the cardinal rule is not to create more casualties, but some people might call Gallant "heroic" for saving the human Lite Brite from a grisly demise. "It's okay as long as your feet don't touch the ground," protests Gallant, but Weaver fires back that, guess what, it's raining, and water is a conductor. I assume she means that if he has water on his hands or anything else that touches Lite Brite Brody, he's at risk. "I'm fine," he insists. "You were lucky," she scolds.
Meanwhile, Lite Brite Brody still doesn't have a pulse, so Weaver bags him and charges the paddles of life to 200. A penetrating rain courses down upon them. Lopez reports that the rubber tires have amply insulated the ambulance from stray electricity, but a hot wire around the area prevents safe entry into the back. Unfortunately, Vicki's fetus has chosen this moment to give the secret knock. Lopez freaks that she's being barred from helping fire up Brody's heart, but Weaver charges the machine to 300 and shocks the hell out of it, scoring a heart rhythm.
Vicki sobs in the back of the ambulance. When she dreamed about the birth of her child, the unbalanced ambulance always had a space heater in it. "Hang in there, honey," Weaver yells. "We're gonna get you out of there." She tells the woman to check for vaginal bleeding that would indicate a birth complication. Trembling, Vicki reaches down, gropes briefly and gasps, pulling a bloodied hand back up. Her own, that is; she doesn't store spare appendages there. Weaver, alarmed at Vicki's condition, prepares to leap inside the ambulance. Lopez stops her. "The first rule of an accident site [is] don't create more casualties!" she shouts. Conveniently, a cop arrives to distract Lopez with bad news about the power grid, leaving a scheming Weaver alone to plot her imminent disobedience -- proving that a firm talking-to is no substitute for a spanking, once you're old enough to enjoy it. Weaver tenses, stares at the sparks, and times her jump for one second after the latest batch dies down. She executes a graceless but effective running leap and lands safely inside the rig. Lopez complains, but Weaver just waves her protests aside and orders her to get the power lines cut. Instead of ripping Weaver a new asshole for interfering with a secure accident scene -- minus the secure part, though, unfortunately -- Lopez trots off obediently.