Back at the church, Derek has managed to sneak in and out of the former Connor Compound without being noticed by the FBI or the Terminator, for some supplies that'll mean they don't have to start completely from scratch. "Wouldn't be the first time," says Sarah, like THANKS FOR RISKING YOUR LIFE AND ALL. Derek tells her she's made too many sandwiches, because Charley took off: "Guess he really does have a wife."
Sarah strolls into the nave to see Cameron staring at the massive crucifix. "Do you believe in the Resurrection?" she asks Sarah. "Would you if you'd seen what I've seen?" asks Sarah. Cameron says faith isn't part of her programming. "I'm not sure it's part of mine, either," says Sarah.
She turns to go, and Cameron tells her not to let John do that again. "If I ever go bad again, don't let him bring me back." Sarah doesn't say anything, even though Cameron's preaching to the choir.
Sarah knocks on the bathroom door with some clothes and food for John. He calls out that he'll be out soon. She says she needs him to know that everything they did today just happened the way it did. "And there's nothing we can do to change it," she says. "Whatever happened, we're alive, OK? We're alive." She says she knows he needs more from her right now, but that's all she's got. She asks if he's listening.
All dramatically we see tufts of hair in the sink. John's cut his hair! He's totally serious now! He's got to focus on protecting humanity, and if that means his My Chemical Romance tribute band goes on hiatus ... well, everyone has to make sacrifices. Happy birthday, John.
Justin Tuck and one other dorky-looking department head are in the men's room, with Tuck complaining about never knowing what Shirley Manson's on about, with her Zen koans and Bible quotes. All delivered in her adorable light Scottish brogue. The other department head points out that their options have tripled since she took over the company. He leaves Tuck alone to use the urinal. "God, that bitch pisses me off," he complains. Only the urinal morphs into some liquid metal right before his eyes, taking the form of Shirley Manson.
He's understandably nonplussed. "Sorry I piss you off, Mr. Tuck," she says, but between you and me, I don't think she means it. She points at him, and her finger morphs into a poker that she rams through his skull. "The feeling's mutual," she says, as his corpse slumps to the floor.