A judge sentences Monroe to death, to be carried out at midnight. Well, that was quick. Carver and Ed watch approvingly.
Jason and his cadet pals have torches now. They search the bowels of some industrial building, getting ever closer to where Neville and Ms. Justine are hiding. Neville grabs one of the cadets from behind and cuts his throat. He props the dead man up against the wall, as if he's peeing, and then sets a booby trap with a blanket over a hole in the floor, which a second cadet falls into. I almost expect a Benny Hill score here.
Jason finds the first dead guy, then the second one. And then Tom finds his son and holds a gun to his head. Jason, eyes completely dead, raises his hands but doesn't drop his gun. He and Tom fight. Jason's gotten better at hand-to-hand since we saw him last. Or at least the team makes it sound like he has. He gains the upper hand and is choking his father to death when Ms. Justine clubs him in the head with a fire extinguisher. Jason's bunnies. Tom's alive.
Sebastian Monroe's bank vault of sad flashbacks. His pretty wife (her name is Shelly) is in labor. He mops her forehead as she screams through a contraction, and then, smiling through her excruciating pain, Shelly says she's never having sex with him again. Because TV childbirth is hilarious! They're clearly young and in love and have found something beautiful in this terrible, dangerous world, and that's why it's all going to go to shit in like ninety seconds. Monroe steps out of the tent and Miles asks if it's a boy or a girl. Bass doesn't know, but he's grinning ear to ear.
And then Shelly's screams -- totally different from the productive labor screams, these are, like, my-baby-is-a-fire-monster screams -- pull his attention back. The midwife sticks her head out of the tent and says they need water and towels. Monroe runs off to obey, as does Miles, who grabs as his helper the nearest person, who happens to be Tom Neville.
By the time Miles and Tom get back to the tent, Monroe is stumbling toward them, his hands bloody up to the elbows. He crumples and cries on Miles's shoulder, ruined.
Bank vault. Miles stalks in, unmolested by the soldiers. Monroe gruffs about how adorable it is that Texas is maintaining the pretense of civilization by giving him a lethal injection when a bullet to the head would be so much more efficient. (I find that hard to believe about Texas, specifically.) His last request, Monroe says, was to see Miles. "Why, exactly, would you want to see local nobody Stu Redmond," Miles asks, still trying to maintain his cover. Monroe has nothing to lose, and replies that surely the patriots know exactly who Miles is. Miles sighs heavily.