Previously on Torchwood, the gang moved into their first ever above ground hideout, but it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. Every time Esther mentioned a feeling other than Solve The Miracle, Rex punched a hole in a wall. Gwen and Jack stole a secret server from PhiCorp and almost got murdered for their trouble, but Rex showed up at the last second and punched a hole in a hitman.
People: Still aren’t dying — kind of.
WANTED: CATEGORIES ONE, TWO OR ALIVE
Dr. Juarez: Hello? Where is everyone? Isn’t this Washington D.C. City Hall?
A lady: What luck! I happen to be walking by with some classified information in my hand. Let’s see, what does it say? Ah yes, we don’t need you anymore because the U.S. and Europe have decided to let PhiCorp categorize life since no one’s dying and we’re all too broke to do anything about it.
Dr. Juarez: Well. Joke’s on you because my boyfriend is an alien catcher.
EXPOSITION NETWORK NEWS
International Newscasters: So here’s the deal: There are three categories of life. If you’re a category three, you’re golden. If you’re a category one or two, you’ve got to go to a Zombie Camp, where you’re sure to receive compassion and care, as has always been the case when sick people are piled on top of each other.
Rhys: Welcome to Wales, Agent Cooper.
Gwen: Welcome to my pants, Cuddly Bear.
Mama Cooper: If you two could stop being adorable for five seconds, perhaps we could work on breaking Gwen’s father out of Zombie Camp. As you can see, I’ve gone Beautiful Mind all over this wall, with maps and yarn and magazine clippings of Clive Owen.
WELSH ZOMBIE CAMP
The Good People of Wales: [Are the only mob on earth that would have the grace to say "please.”] Please stop body snatching our sick children from their beds in the middle of the night! Please don’t put my baby in a ward with people who have SARS! Please tell me where to queue up and which forms to fill out and how many days I should expect to sleep in this parking lot so I can visit my sick husband!
Guy in charge: Nope, none of those things.
The Good People of Wales: Pretty please.
Guy in charge: Double nope.
Gwen Cooper: Right. Hey, you there! Captain Asshat! Yes, you, with the beret! You’ve kidnapped my father, upset my mother, and offended my sense of justice. You’re going to open that door and let me inside so I can take my dad home.
Captain Asshat: I have an idea. Why don’t you queue up like everyone else.
Gwen Cooper: I also have an idea. Why don’t you go f–k yourself.
Rhys: Er, Gwen, he’s probably got hand grenades.
Gwen Cooper: Yeah? I’ve got a collapsible rocket launcher in my purse. Captain Asshat, look at me. Go on, take a good look. Memorize my face. I want you to get acquainted with it because very, very soon I am going to end you, and this face, with these sexy lips and delicious freckles, will be very the last thing you ever see.
Captain Asshat: You’re just a woman.
Rhys: A woman with Molotov cocktails stashed in her bra.