Jail. Cops are teasing each other about gambling on baseball while Tarzan fiddles in his cell. One asks the other who he is. "I don't know," one says, right in front of Tarzan. "Some nutjob." To protect and to serve, peeps. They go back to chatting about baseball inches from Tarzan's grip. Tarzan leaps, and we hear a growl from somewhere, but really Tarzan would only be leaping into the bars of his cage.
Before we can determine what the hell just happened, we cut to a different area of the station, where a familiar Greystoke-like alarm sounds. Michael turns around, concerned. I thought he'd left already! All the cops kick it into gear. Michael walks right over to Tarzan's cell, where the two cops are chained to one of the bars, and for some reason they've been stripped to their undershirts and bare chests. Like Silence of the Lambs, again, without so much face-eating. Also: it's not as hot. The Cap calls for a lockdown, saying that nobody gets to leave. Every cop grabs a rifle. Hey, boys. Want to know what you're looking for? Someone want to ask the two cops what's going on? No? Have fun.
The cops sneak up a flight of stairs, guns drawn. They lean against a door that clearly says, "No Entry." One guy slowly peeks through the window, like all good cops would do. Suddenly a pair of feet appear in the tiny window, and the door slams open, crushing at least four cops. Tarzan jumps on the door, shattering spines, and then runs off, ponytail holder be damned! He ollies off a closed door and up a staircase.