02x07 - The Hand

[bunniefuu]

Previously on Scream Queens...

Won't this get a little confusing?

You say there are already two Green Meanies, so now there's three?

Mm-hmm. Works for me.

Science doesn't lie.

Dr. Holt, you are the prime suspect.

You want to accuse me of m*rder, you go right ahead.

But there will be consequences.

Brock: Dear God, I'm stressed.

(alarms beeping)

This hospital's popping off, and I'm one of two actual doctors on staff.

Dr. Holt, Dean Munsch needs to see you in her office.

She wouldn't say what it was about.

Dr. Holt, Dr. Cascade needs you in the E.R.

Something about a joke that you told him.

He can remember the punch line, but he can't remember the setup.

Brock: Plus, I'm trying to date that hot slice of lady pie, Chanel, and everybody suddenly thinks I'm the Green Meanie.

Dr. Holt, Zayday needs you in the consultation room.

She just admitted a guy who...

Brock: See, the problem is, the more stressed out I get...

(thump)

the more stressed out the hand gets.

Dr. Holt?

(choking)

Tell him I'll be right there.

Sorry.

And the hand used to belong to a serial k*ller, so when it gets stressed, it gets scary.

And lately, it's gotten a lot worse.

See, the hand likes to do whatever it wants, and I think it's figured out that the more worn out I get, the harder it is to control.

So all it has to do is keep me tired.

Hand: Brocky!

Damn it!

Wake up. Will you wake up?

No, we're not doing this now.

Man (over TV): Sinners, repent, in Jesus' holy name!

I just want to get some sleep!

Brock: I've tried everything, even meditating.

But the hand refuses to let me relax. (groans)

These days, I'm rolling on 45 minutes of sleep a night.

I've got to get on top of this.

I invited Chanel over for a romantic dinner because I could really use a little sooky-sooky.

What the hell is a "large pinch"?

Good evening, Dr. Hot.

Is your hand duct-taped to your leg?

Why, yes, it is, yeah.

Kinky.

♪ ♪

Mm.

Wow, this is really... salty.

Really?

Seems fine to me.

So, enough about me and that time I punched Donna Karan in the face.

(laughs) Um, tell me about you.

I mean, I don't know anything about you.

Like, how old you are, where you're from, or... how old you are.

Tell me about your family.

Do you have any siblings?

Or did... did they all die of polio?

I'm so worn out. I mean, the last thing I want to do is spend dinner rehashing my entire life story.

Brock, I mean it!

If you and I want to take our relationship to the next level, I need to know who the man I'm dating really is.

I told you I didn't want to talk about it!

Oh.

I'm sorry.

(gasps) That's it!

I'm leaving!

No.

Chanel, wait.

Uh-uh. I already have someone trying to m*rder me at work.

It is the last thing I need when I'm sitting down for an elegant salty dinner and romantic bone sesh.

(crying)

Chanel!

Come back!

No, Brock.

It is over between us!

I am done!

Chanel!

Chanel, come...

Hand: Shut up!

Munsch: Dr. Brock, I'd like you to meet C.U.R.E. Institute's most recent admission, Anna Plaisance.

I don't get it. She looks perfectly normal to me.

Oh, dear God.

Mm.

Nice to meet you, Dr. Holt.

Nice to meet you.

Oh. Okay.

Munsch: As you can see, Ms. Plaisance has an extra set of arms and legs.

No kidding.

The doctors say it's a remnant of an underdeveloped conjoined twin that I subsumed in the womb.

Removing a parasitic twin is an extremely, um, lengthy and complex operation.

That's why I'm here. I've done my research, and you're one of the best surgeons in America.

And I'd like you to perform the procedure.

It could be very big for the hospital, and... even bigger for you.

(pats back)

Yeah.

Okay.

Let's take a look, huh?

Oh. Wow. Oh.

Okay. (exhales)

Brock: I'm not gonna lie to you; surgery is an option, but it's not a very good one.

The twin doesn't have a head, but there is a cloaca that never developed into genitalia.

There's an underdeveloped set of lungs fused to the falciform ligament of the liver.

Uh, the femoral artery of the left leg branches directly off the hepatic artery.

And the nervous system of the extra arms branch directly off the glossopharyngeal nerve, which is right here.

Now, if we sever that nerve, then we've paralyzed her entire left side.

But it is possible.

Yes, it's possible.

That's all I needed to hear, because I've already contacted the Northeast Journal of Medicine, and they have agreed to send an associate editor to cover the procedure!

So congratulations, Dr. Holt, you're about to become a household name.

Hold up, no, I never said that I could do the surgery.

What are you talking about?

You are always going on and on, how you are the most skilled surgeon in North America.

Yeah, and I am, but I just...

I haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately.

Munsch: Now, this is no time to be coy.

You're doing the surgery.

But... I can't.

Dr. Holt, we are one dead body away from being revealed as the hospital where patients come, get cured, and then are brutally m*rder*d by a serial k*ller.

Now, I would much rather we were known as the site of the most high profile surgical procedures in the last decade.

We need this surgery.

("Push It To the Limit" by Paul Engemann playing)

♪ Push it to the limit ♪
♪ Walk along the razor's edge ♪
♪ But don't look down, just keep your head ♪
♪ Or you'll be finished ♪
♪ Push it to the limit... ♪
♪ The limit, the limit ♪
♪ The limit. ♪

You're like k*ll Bill or that dude who got his head smushed in on Game of Thrones.

Were you ever hit in the head really hard while you were training?

All the time.

You know Karate Kid?

They modeled the guy who ran Cobra Kai after my sensei.

Why?

I've been trying to find a medical explanation as to why you think you're dead, and I discovered Cotard's delusion.

Named after a French neurologist, Jules Cotard.

Basically, people who have it think they're dead, or in some cases that they don't even exist at all.

A traumatic brain injury could be one of the instigating causes.

Well, I don't have it.

I've had MRls.

Anything like that would have to be caused by a misfiring in the fusiform face area of the brain.

Or in the amygdalae.

And there's no signs of trauma in either of those areas.

So...

It could also be purely psychological.

I think we should give you a psych test to see if you have any tendencies that would make Cotard's a likely diagnosis.

I don't think that's a good idea.

I don't think I can make a future with a guy who's actually dead.

Am I supposed to raise little half-dead, half-alive children?

I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were prejudiced against dead people.

Everyone is. I'm just willing to admit it.

Look, I really like you, but if we're gonna be a couple, then I need to know what your true condition is, in terms of being living or not living.

There's no official test for Cotard's.

It's not even in the DSM, so I invented my own.

I researched people who have been diagnosed with Cotard's and found a pattern in their personality types.

Psychosis, neurological illness, schizophrenia, and I pulled questions from a number of sources that test for those kinds of things.

MMPI, Myers-Briggs, Cosmo.

Honestly, it's the most actual work I've ever done on anything.

I'm flattered. Let's begin.

"True or false: everything in the world is relative."

True.

(printer whirs) Mm. Interesting.

Chanel #3: Second question.

"You're out with your girlfriends and you spot a cute guy across the bar. What do you do? A, smile sweetly? B, strike up a conversation? C, wink and wait for him to come over? Your body will do the rest of the talking."

Um... B, I guess.

How many times do you think about death or m*rder in a day?

Um... I don't know, like, 37.

Is that a lot? Yeah.

Maybe less.

Final question of the section.

Which Madonna do you prefer?

Desperately Seeking Susan Madonna.

Obvi.

(sighs)

Is everything okay?

Yes.

Let's move on to phase two.

Cassidy: I can't go if you're watching.

We need to test your urine.

Patients with Cotard's tend to have a high serum concentration of CMMG and weak renal function.

But do you actually have to watch me give the sample?

We need to be sure that you're not pulling a Lance Armstrong and secretly giving us someone else's pee.

Chanel #3: All you need to do is tell me if the things I'm showing you in the slides are dead or alive.

Dead.

Alive.

Dead?

I don't know who that is.

I don't know, I don't know.

G-Guys I'm done with this. I'm not doing it anymore.

(sighs)

What do the results say?

ScarJo is your spirit celebrity, and, yes, you have Cotard's.

What? I do?

Wait, so I'm not actually dead?

(chuckles softly)

I'm alive?

Thank God, I'm still alive.

But wait, how do you explain how cold I am?

People psychosomatically manifest symptoms of a disease if they truly believe they have it.

They've been known to develop tumors, skin conditions or even paralysis.

Also, you sleep in a water bed next to a giant air conditioner.

This must be a lot to take in.

Maybe you should go home and take a rest on your water bed and we can talk about this later.

Thank you, Number Three. You saved my life.

(sighs)

I didn't give him all the results.

According to the testing, not only is Dr. Cassidy Cascade more likely to want to be in the front during spooning, he's also a psychopath.

And his most likely profession... is serial k*ller.

(gasps)

Wait, so this means that...

Cassidy might be...

The Green Meanie.

It seems like all of us Chanels are just doomed to a life of romantic tragedy.

But it's gonna be okay.

Because as soon as you turn Cassidy in to the police... the three of us can start enjoying the freedom of not living our lives worrying about being slaughtered by some serial k*ller.

And get back to the good old days: the three of us against the world.

Young women bonding over a shared sense of mutual affection, humor.

It was never like that. That sounds awful.

And maybe I won't turn him in.

What? Uh, he's a m*rder*r.

Maybe, for once, I don't want to have to do the right thing for the good of everyone else.

Um... when have you ever done that?

Just for once, why can't it be about me and my needs?

When is it Number Three's turn to be happy?

(snoring softly)

Hand: Psst. Psst.

Wake up.

Psst, psst, psst. Brocky!

Will you wake up?

I said wake up.

Damn it!

I've just got to sleep.

No sleep for you. I want to play.

Aah!

All right. That's it. I can't live like this.

I don't care about my surgical career anymore.

I just want you gone!

What are you doing?

Something I should've done a long time ago.

Missed me. (laughs)

(grunting)

(laughing)

Stop moving! Yeah.

Laugh it up, funny boy.

(yells)

You missed me, you dummy.

You can't k*ll me. (chuckles)

It's you and me forever.

You might want to look behind you.

(screams)

Don't worry.

I got this.

Take that.

What's going on?

White Crane Kung Fu.

That's what.

Whee!

(shrieking)

(exhales)

(panting)

I can't believe it.

You saved my life.

Of course I did, silly.

It's you and me forever.

Thanks so much for letting me ramble on like this.

You're such a good listener, and I really don't have anyone else I can talk to... (sighs)

Myrtle.

I'm in love with the Green Meanie, and I don't know what to do about it.

I bribed Number Five with delicious candy so she wouldn't say anything, but... maybe I should just turn him in.

I mean, on one hand, he is k*lling people, which is, like, not great.

But in a Malthusian sense, this planet is teeming with people, so he is sort of thinning the herd in a helpful way.

But let's just say we fall madly in love.

That'll protect me for a while, but what about when the honeymoon's over and the romance wears off?

Maybe he'll get bored with me and decide to chop off my head.

But maybe... that's great incentive for me to make sure that the romance doesn't wear off.

Maybe that's exactly the motivation our relationship needs.

Thank you so much, Myrtle.

I guess I've got a lot of thinking to do.

You have no idea how much this means to me.

I'll make sure no one defiles your corpse.

Cassidy: Very interesting.

This is something I've never seen before.

Please, Doctor, you have to help us.

There's something very wrong with my boyfriend, and we have no idea what it is.

Um, it's obvious what's wrong with your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend has horrible acne.

It's nothing to be ashamed of.

Jessica Simpson had terrible acne and inexplicably chose to make a commercial about it.

I don't think Mr. Benderhall has acne.

Okay, then he had acne.

Again, nothing to be ashamed of.

Edward James Olmos had terrible acne, too.

He's got more pock marks than the moon, but I feel like he wears it like a badge of pride, and frankly, I think he gets more work because of it.

Shelly: It's not just his skin.

He has abdominal pain, nausea, vomiting.

The doctor said it was a really bad stomach flu, but he hasn't even had a fever.

I read about this place in the paper, that people come here with incurable diseases.

Do you think that's what this is?

When did the symptoms first start?

A few weeks ago.

Well, um, we can rule out smallpox.

You'd already be dead.

Dr. Cascade? Dr....

Number Three. My name is Dr. Number Three.

Thomas is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.

I love this man more than I love myself, and I cannot be without him.

Do you understand me? He's my everything.

You have to help us!

Shelly.

I'm gonna make you a promise right now.

I'm gonna find out what's wrong with your boyfriend, and then I'm gonna cure him.

Dr. Cascade, thank you.

It's the selfless dedication of people like you that make me believe that true love can maybe really survive in this scary and unpredictable world.

Number Three, Number Five, Neckbrace, my dear sweet idiots, I need some advice.

You know how Brock's hand sometimes tries to k*ll me because he got it off a m*rder*r?

What?! Um, no. You never told us that.

Okay, well, it does and he did.

Anyway, when I was walking home the other night from his house, after telling him that I never wanted to speak to him again and that it was over between us, I was, like, "No." I am going back to my hot doctor boyfriend's house, and I'm gonna ask him why he keeps trying to k*ll me!

And you know what he said?

He said it's just because he's stressed.

When he's worn out, it's harder for him to control the hand's homicidal rage, but he also said that figuring out a way not to m*rder me is gonna be his top priority.

Chanel, you totally did the right thing.

He's a hot doctor. He deserves another chance.

(sighs) Thank you. I mean, I am so relieved.

Wait, is that your advice?

(chuckles)

Chanel, he's obviously gonna try and k*ll you.

You're in mortal danger.

You wouldn't understand, Number Five.

I mean, you've never had a boyfriend.

Yes, I have. His name was Tyler and he was m*rder*d, like, three weeks ago.

So much weird stuff happens to us, I can honestly say I totally forgot about that.

(clears throat)

Chanel.

Even though I refuse to tell you who the k*ller is... but let me just remind you all that it is a fact that I do know... I can say that you would probably be comfortable dating Brock.

Even though he has the hand of psycho k*ller, I can't promise that he's not gonna try and k*ll you, but suffice it to say, I don't think that he's the Green Meanie type.

Okay. Hold on.

If you're gonna start giving us hints, why don't you just tell us who the k*ller is, now?

Why doesn't Number Three tell us who the k*ller is?

How's your love life been lately?

None of your business.

♪ ♪

Hoffel: Excusez.

We're making our move.

I need Dr. Holt's password.

Password?

What... which one?

It doesn't matter; most Americans use the same password for everything.

What are you gonna do with it?

I'm going to annoy him.

I happen to know that Brock's hand wants to k*ll Chanel as much as I do.

And he loses control of it the more stressed out he gets.

Yeah. About that, um...

I guess I'd be lying if I said I wasn't feeling guilty about... murdering people.

We're not talking about murdering people.

We're talking about murdering Chanel, the bitch that b*rned my sister's face off.

So, if you're asking me if I think she deserves to die, my answer is yes.

I believe she does.

Just give me the password.

Well, I-I did see him sign into his e-mail once.

His password is "I went to Harvard"?

Yeah. All caps.

Excellent. (chuckles softly)

Once Chanel is dead, we'll pick off the rest of the Chanels one-by-one, starting with that bitch Number Three.

I mean, that earmuff thing is so obnoxious.

It's not even cold out!

I'm not k*lling Chanel #3.

Oh, yes, you are.

I'll turn you in if you don't, and I'll be the last face you see when you fry in the electric chair.

That is a solemn promise.

I want to cancel my subscription.

No. Do not put me on hold. Do not... Hello?

Damn it!

(woman moaning over computer)

Excuse me, Dr. Holt.

What?

You seem a little harried.

Yeah, I am harried.

My cable package is messed up.

I tried to watch TV last night, and every single channel, 24/7, is Major League Soccer.

And I can't even use my computer anymore, look.

10,000 pop-up ads for male enhancement.

Did you, uh, handcuff yourself to that desk?

Yes.

As a matter of fact, I did.

Well, I just came in to let you know Dean Munsch has been looking for you.

Munsch: Oh, and I believe here he is.

Dr. Holt, this is Slade Hornborn.

He's doing the profile on you for the Northeast Journal of Medicine.

Are you handcuffed to that desk?

Brock: I am. You know what they say about surgeons: we're slaves to our work.

I didn't know they said that.

Woman (over computer): Do you ever wish you were bigger?

Try natural male enhan...

I'm Dr. Brock Holt.

I'm so sorry.

Where I'm from, that's how we greet people that we really admire.

And where is that?

Baltimore.

I'm from there, too.

It's an old Baltimorean custom.

Yeah. Now that the introductions are out of the way, why don't you give Mr. Hornborn here an overview of the procedure you're about to perform on the polymelia.

We're not doing the procedure.

But you said you could do the surgery.

I said it's possible, and it is, but not for this patient.

Her heart is too weak to go through surgery.

Her blood work just came back.

She is C-stage heart failure.

Probably worn out from all that extra work, pumping blood to those four extra limbs for the last 30 years.

Um... (clears throat) we are gonna move forward with the procedure.

No. Yes.

You said that the patient was in C-stage heart failure.

That will k*ll her in five years no matter what.

So we are going to perform a heart transplant along with removing the parasitic twin and saving her life in the process.

It will go down as the most spectacular surgery in modern medical history.

Where are you gonna get a heart?

People sit on transplant lists for years.

You just leave that to me.

Mr. Hornborn, why don't I show you the rest of the facility.

Number Three.

Put this on.

Your boyfriend is being poisoned by the Russians.

What?

That seems insane.

I don't know any Russians.

Cassidy: Uh-huh.

That's probably what this guy said.

Victor Yushchenko, former president of Ukraine.

He used to look like this.

Until he pushed for Ukraine's membership into NATO, and the KGB slipped dioxin into his food.

Dioxin?

Tetrachlorodibenzodioxin, to be exact.

Um, it's a byproduct of various industrial processes, and an ingredient in Agent Orange used during the Vietnam w*r.

What does this mean?

It means we need to quarantine your boyfriend and get you out of this room immediately.

If the dose was as large as I think it may have been, you yourself risk poisoning.

I-I'm not going anywhere.

I'm not gonna leave my boyfriend's side.

You promised me that you would find a cure for him, and I expect you to make good on your promise.

Until you do, I'm not leaving this room.

I guess this is what true love looks like.

I just don't get it.

I mean, if she stays in that room with him, she puts her own health at risk.

I don't know who it helps for her to die, too.

Maybe because you've never felt the warm embrace of real love.

There's something I need to tell you.

I made a decision.

So have I.

Let's say them out loud at the same time.

One... two... three. I'm the Green Meanie and I'm in love with you.

I know you're the Green Meanie, and I'm in love with you.

And I've decided I'm not I'm not going to k*ll you.

I'm gonna love and support you unconditionally.

I'm just gonna k*ll Chanel.

Wait, what?

I'm in love with you.

No.

I heard that, which is great.

But I just wonder if you could maybe not k*ll Chanel.

See, I get that, but...

I have to tell you, that's kind of controlling.

I just want to help you be a better person.

Namely, getting you to stop murdering people.

I know I'm the last person to help someone be a better person, since I'm admittedly not a very good or nice person myself, but... I'm not a k*ller.

So I know I can at least help you try to not be that.

How?

We're gonna start by distracting you from thinking about murdering people by figuring out how Mr. Benderhall is getting poisoned.

(chuckles): Yes, Mom, I'm working in a hospital.

Crazy, right?

Yeah, I'm a nurse.

Yeah, me, too.

I came to see someone about my intestines thing, and they just hired me right on the spot.

I actually don't know what my salary is.

I haven't been paid yet, which is weird.

Oh, oh, and they made me a Chanel.

Yeah, I didn't know what that meant either, but I think it just means being a bitch all the time.

(chuckles) Yeah.

Yeah.

(gasping)

(gasping)

Hoffel: She's brain-dead.

Even a Republican legislature in Florida would be cool with us pulling the plug.

Are you sure these organ donor forms are legit?

The ink is smudging.

How fortuitous for us that we needed a donor for our surgery on Ms. Plaisance and the Green Meanie just decided to suddenly start only mostly k*lling people.

Mm-hmm.

Yes, it's really remarkable.

Number Ten's heart was completely undamaged by the att*ck, and she is a perfect match.

Yeah, it makes you wonder what we did to deserve such luck, right?

Although, wasn't it Hemingway who said, "You make your own luck"?

(quiet thumping)

Dr. Holt, what are you doing?

I'm late for my rounds.

Whenever the med students on House checked out a patient's life to figure out what was wrong with them, it always seemed more dramatic and exciting.

I went by their house this morning to do some investigating.

I took all these photos to see if we could find any clues.

They're tidy people.

Were there any sex toys in their nightstand?

I don't trust anyone who doesn't have at least one sex toy in their nightstand.

Mm. How do they pay for all this?

Hmm. Good question.

Mm... well, he's definitely the moneymaker.

Lawyer.

She's a receptionist at Nice Guy Chemicals.

Nice Guy Chemicals?

It's odd, but with a name like that, I feel like they must be doing good work and not poisoning the environment.

They're best known for their work with the Syrian army, to create an organic, non-GMO TCDD.

What is that? Like, a food additive?

It's dioxin.

The stuff he's being poisoned with.

Shelly would have access to as much of it as she wanted, but she'd only need a little bit to poison her boyfriend and keep him sick all the time.

Why would she do that?

Munchausen syndrome by proxy.

It's when you make someone sick so you can get sympathy for taking care of them.

It's most common in overly anxious or unappreciated mothers.

They'll either lie about their children being sick or sometimes go as far as to actually make them ill.

Why would I do that?

I love Thomas; he's my whole life.

For attention, for sympathy.

Cassidy: Or maybe you thought he was gonna leave you, so you wanted to weaken him enough to keep him around.

No, I love him. I would never do anything to hurt him.

I'm sorry, but we're gonna have to inform the authorities.

Thomas: She isn't poisoning me.

I've been poisoning myself.

She is driving me insane.

I wasn't looking to get serious with anybody, really.

But Shelly was just so pushy and clingy, and all of a sudden, she's just moving in with me.

And organizing everything.

Every fork or thumbtack or cotton ball!

You know, she won't let me keep sex toys in the bedside table.

You can't trust someone who does that.

Why didn't you tell me any of this?

Because you're just so fragile and weird, and I just thought if I told you, that you'd freak out.

So, I bought some dioxin on the deep web, and I just thought that if I got really sick and ugly that you would just get turned off and that you would leave, but it just made you be around even more.

And, doctors, please, you have to help me.

I can't spend one more day with her.

Wow.

What?

I decided not to turn you in because I believed in true love.

But now that I know that Mr. Benderhall was living a lie, I don't know what to believe.

Maybe I'll just have to turn you in.

Well, maybe I'll just have to k*ll you.

I need to talk to you.

Is that your blood? No.

Is it the blood of someone who could be referred to as a m*rder victim?

No. Last question: Is it the blood of someone who is vital to you performing this very important surgery that I am counting on you to perform?

No, it's the blood of a patient.

I was doing a simple knee replacement, and my hand got all cuckoo and stabbed the patient in the femoral artery.

Luckily, I got control long enough to stop the bleeding, but I can't perform this complex operation that you want me to perform on Anna Plaisance.

I can't. I don't understand.

You've had this hand for years.

Why now, all of a sudden, is it acting up?

Because I'm exhausted from the pressure of having to do the most complex operation in the history of modern medicine!

Now, if you'll just cancel the surgery, I can get back to spending time trying to control my hand.

I'm not canceling anything.

See, the way I see it, you really only have three options.

One, perform the surgery.

Screw it up, and you'll never be allowed in the O.R. again.

Or you can decide not to do the surgery; at which point, I will fire you and share with the world why.

And you will never be allowed in the O.R. again.

Or you can grow a pair and be the brilliant surgeon I am paying you to be, and show the world that this hospital lives up to its motto, "Curing the incurable," and become a legend in your own time.

I know why you're doing this.

You're trying to get back at me.

You're jealous because I picked Chanel over you.

That is absolutely correct.

(chuckles)

Because if you were screwing me, in a way that a woman like myself requires in her voracious juicy dotage, then you wouldn't find yourself in this predicament.

But you're not, so I am screwing you.

Yeah?

Mm-hmm.

Well, screw this.

I'm the greatest surgeon that ever lived.

I can do this surgery with one hand tied behind my back.

In fact... that's exactly what I'm going to do.

Deal.

Deal.

♪ ♪

Why is your chief surgeon restricting his right hand?

Munsch: To prove to you how incredible he and this hospital are, he is doing this entire surgery with literally one hand tied behind his back.

Heck of a story.

All right, let's begin.

Scalpel.

(whirring)

♪ ♪

(sighs)

(monitor continues beeping steadily)

All right, I'm opening the chest and exposing the mediastinum.

I'm opening the pericardium.

Dissecting the great vessels.

All right, hook up the cardiopulmonary bypass.

Okay?

Mm-hmm.

(grunts) Okay, let's go.

That donor heart's gonna be useless if we don't get blood flow to it soon.

What's the delay in there?

He is pausing for dramatic effect.

Maybe it would be easier if he, you know, used both hands.

Maybe it'd be easier if you shut your damn pie hole!

Come on, Brock, you got this.

I can't. I can't do this.

Get my mask. The hand is out of control.

Have Cassidy finish.

No! This is your moment.

I can't. Too much pressure.

You can do this if you let me help you.

You have to finally open up to me.

You have to tell me things about your life.

Tell me something that's always helped you calm down, like, from when you were a kid.

It's okay, you can be vulnerable with me.

I'm not gonna judge you, I promise.

We have about three minutes until that heart tissue dies.

Brock, come on.

Well, there was this song my au pair sang to me when I was a kid.

She sang it to me when she put me to bed, and it always calmed me down and helped me sleep.

Okay, what's the song?

The Chanels and I will sing it to you.

"99 Red Balloons."

That song came out in 1983, which would mean you would probably be about 20.

Why did you have an au pair?!

Hey, guys, the heart?

♪ You and I in a little toy shop ♪
♪ Buy a bag of balloons with the money we've got ♪

Chanels: ♪ Set them free ♪
♪ At the break of dawn ♪

(fading, echoing): ♪ Till one by one ♪
♪ They were gone... ♪
♪ 99 dreams I have had ♪
♪ Every one a red balloon ♪
♪ It's all over and I'm standing pretty ♪
♪ In this dust that was a city ♪
♪ If I could find a souvenir ♪
♪ Just to prove the world was here ♪
♪ And here is a red balloon ♪
♪ I think of you and let it go. ♪

(monitor flatlining)

(monitor beeping steadily)

Brock: Yes!

(Chanel shrieks)

(shrieking)

♪ 99 red balloons, 99 red balloons go by. ♪

Great!

It turns out the skin growths on your face are what saved your life.

Stem cells in the skin formed new tissue called harmatomas, expressing high levels of dioxin-metabolizing enzymes, isolating the dioxin away from your vital organs.

Now, I'm gonna put you on an anti-obesity drug called orlistat.

It should help to pull the dioxin out of your tissues, and allow you to excrete it harmlessly.

Thanks, Dr. Cascade.

I'm just curious.

What's going to happen with you and your girlfriend?

Uh, we got in a huge fight. We broke up.

But considering that I was poisoning myself to get rid of her, it's probably for the best.

Right? Yeah.

But, um, I got to be honest.

It was nice that she liked me so much.

Can we talk?

Look, I feel bad about how we left things.

You mean by saying you were probably going to k*ll me?

Yeah. See, I-I got a little upset.

But I want to make it up to you with a gift.

I promise not to m*rder you or Chanel.

So if either of you end up dying, just know it wasn't me.

Wait.

I mean, thanks, but I'm confused.

If you don't k*ll me or Chanel, who would?

I can't tell you that.

But I can tell you that I'm not the only k*ller.

Wait, what?

Why can't you tell me?

I have my reasons.

(sighs)

I promise to do everything I can... to make sure that this all ends up okay.

Slade: Arthur, it's Slade. Listen.

Something very weird is going on at the C.U.R.E. Institute.

I've seen more ethics violations in the last two days than I've seen in my entire career.

They've got first-year medical students acting as attending physicians and assisting on major surgeries.

And I'm pretty sure I just saw Hester Ulrich.

Yeah, from the Netflix documentary.

I think she works at the hospital.

The head nurse is obviously a drug addict, and Cathy Munsch keeps insisting she's a doctor.

You have to come down here.

Yeah.

I think we're in the middle of a major medical ethics scandal.

I have photos and everything. I'll send them to you as soon...

Good work on that surgery.

Thanks.

Ms. Plaisance is doing great.

I brought you a present.

Thank you. I didn't get you anything.

Aw, no. Okay.

It's one of the hands you removed from Ms. Plaisance.

From the size and structure of it and the other extremities, it appears that her twin was male.

I'd say that hand looks pretty close in size to yours.

I've been studying your hand transplant surgery and practicing all week.

If you would let me, I'd love to try and replace your k*ller hand with this totally innocent one.

You'd do that for me?

You've been sort of a mentor and big brother to me.

And besides, I'm trying to get on Chanel #3's good side, so preventing you from k*lling her friend seems like a pretty winning plan.

Okay.

Let's do this.

♪ ♪