All language subtitles for Elementary - 2x12 - The Diabolical Kind.HDTV.en

Previously on Elementary...

He's only loved one person

in his life,
as far as I can tell,

and she was murdered.

My name is Moriarty.

I believe we're overdue
for a chat.

Moriarty said you
weren't to be harmed,

but then, a few hours ago,
she tried

to have me killed.
"She"?

Moriarty.

So who was the man
I spoke to on the phone?

You talked to one
of my lieutenants.

He has, over the years,
played the role repeatedly.

You said

there was only one
person in the world

who could
surprise you.

Turns out there's two.

I'm going to get a coffee
with a guy from TrueRomantix.

I told him I only
have an hour, so

if he is a dud,

I will be
back soon.

I'm certain it will be
a profound experience

for the both
of you.

Are you out of clean laundry?

Enjoy.

We have spilled much ink,
you and I,

in our discussion
of human connection...

...and we're no closer
to understanding

than we were when
the correspondence began.

I often feel as if I'm standing

on one side of a wide chasm,

shouting across,

and wondering if the response
I hear comes from you,

or if it is my own voice

echoing back to me.

It seems to me,
on my side of the canyon,

that the search
for unity with another

is the font of much of
the world's unhappiness.

I watch as Watson, eager as
ever to extract some meaning

from the prevailing
social conventions,

endures a series of
curated mating rituals.

It seems to me that
she's incrementally

less content each time
she returns from one.

I conduct myself as though

I'm above matters of the heart,

chiefly because I have seen
them corrode people I respect.

But in my candid moments,

I sometimes wonder if I take
the stance I do because love,

for lack of a better word,

is a game I fail
to understand,

and so I opt not to play.

After all, if I truly had

the purity of all
my convictions,

I wouldn't regret
so many of the things

I've done.

Nor would I persist,

against so many
of my better instincts,

in this correspondence.

I find you a challenge,

one that, in spite of all
that you've done,

continues to stimulate.

And so the conversation, futile
though it may finally be,

continues,
and we are left to wonder:

have we simply failed to find
the answers to the questions

that preoccupy us...

or can they not be answered
at all?

Fortunately for both of us,

the world always presents
the next diversion...

the next elaborate distraction
from the problems that vex.

We're good.

Kayden.

♪ Elementary 2x12 ♪
The Diabolical Kind
Original Air Date on January 2, 2014

== sync, corrected by Romesh ==
RiVaL

♪

The victim's name
was Max Fuller.

British national,
some kind of old money.

His ancestors built
the railroads

that connects London
and Manchester.

Sometime after midnight,

they disabled
the alarm, got past

past a state-
of-the art deadbolt

and a steel-plated
cage door.

They encountered
Mr. Fuller

on their way upstairs

to his daughter
Kayden's bedroom.

Mrs. Fuller woke up
about an hour later,

discovered her husband
was gone.

Went out to the stairs,

found the body.

Did the kidnappers
leave a note?

Nothing. The FBI's
on their way down now.

I'd like to see the child's
bedroom, please.

No caller I.D.

Just a question mark.

Mrs. Fuller,

are you up
for this?

Hello?

Good evening, Miss Fuller.

Who is this?

My name hardly matters.

Suffice it to say that
you and I are about to embark

on a brief but intense affair.

Would the other parties present
care to announce themselves?

This is Captain Tom Gregson

of the NYPD. I'm listening.

Congratulations on beating your
federal colleagues to the scene.

When they arrive, please tell
them that this can be

a simple transaction,
provided no one mucks it up.

The price for the safe
return of Kayden Fuller

is $50 million.

I know that voice.

$50 million.

It's Moriarty.

Could you tell me...?

Moriarty is a woman
and she is in jail.

It's the man who pretended
to be Moriarty.

The one who tried to hire us.

Consolidate the funds
and be ready

to issue payment, Ms. Fuller.

I'll be in touch
with further details.

It does sound like him.

Was he on long enough?
Did you get anything?

Captain.

The man you just spoke with

is one of Moriarty's
lieutenants.

As in your Moriarty?

I've spoken with him
before myself.

I'm quite certain.

Moriarty's agents do not act
without her leave.

She's somewhere in this.

I would like to speak with her.

You can't just walk

into the supermax wing
at Newgate.

It shouldn't be
overly difficult.

I know for a fact I'm on
her list of approved visitors.

Well, I'll work on that.

How do you know that you're
on her list of visitors?

There must be 30 letters here.

27. The first one arrived

shortly before we
left for London.

Moriarty sends them to a post office box
I maintain in the Bronx.

I've no idea how
she learned of it.

I began to reply
after the fifth one.

She said she was on the verge
of quitting the correspondence.

And you didn't want that?
Of course not.

Whatever my history
with the woman,

she remains a criminal genius.

Her mind and her methods
are worthy of study.

Oh, so all this is
in the name of science?

Of course.

Any detective would
relish the chance

to analyze how
she thinks.

I'm a detective.

You didn't show me
these letters.

You hid them
in a beehive.

This exchange is
an entirely good thing.

I've maintained a relationship
with Moriarty,

which in turn, should make it
easier to learn

what Faux-riarty is up to.

Faux-riarty?

The man who pretended
to be Moriarty. Do you have

a better name for him?

Captain.

We're on.

The three of us can see
your girl in the morning.

Excellent.
Shall we drive out together?

Holmes,
she's not in Newgate anymore.

Brooklyn Navy Yard?

I thought it was all malls
and condos now.

Not quite. Government
still owns some of it.

You have no idea
the rabbit hole

you sent me down
last night.

Nobody's answering my questions,
not exactly.

Reading between
the lines,

the feds keep
this section restricted.

We're headed
into a black site.

Those are your words,
not mine.

The FBI and Scotland Yard
are working together

to build a case
against Moriarty.

She hasn't admitted
to being at the center

of any criminal conspiracies,
but she has admitted

that, uh, various pieces of
information have made it to her.

She's been trading on that
ever since we turned her over.

So she's secured herself
some more comfortable digs.

Yeah. "Concessions have
been made."

That's how
the SAC put .

Captain Gregson?
I'm Ramses Mattoo.

I dot the Is around here.
How do you do?

Please follow me.

The facilities can scale up
or down depending on the needs

of the moment, but right now
we've only got one guest.

This woman has planned
God knows how many murders,

and you give her
her own warehouse?

As I understand it,
the pieces of intelligence

she's offering have been
game changers.

If it's any consolation to you,
she's not living in luxury.

She gets her art supplies

and a copy of the Ledger
every morning.

I only keep her
locked in.

You seem like a competent man,
Agent Mattoo.

I'm sure you're aware

that your charge
is a vile seductress.

She's capable of manipulations

I can only describe
as mind-bending.

I've been briefed.

As for the
"seductress" part,

I'm the only one
who interacts with her,

and I've been screened
for suitability

to this particular inmate.

The brass is confident
I can resist her charms.

How in the hell do
they screen for that?

He's saying he isn't
interested in women, Captain.

It's not a bad idea,
actually.

But seduction isn't the only
game she knows how to play.

It's really remarkable.

Excuse me?

I knew she
was talented,

but as far
as I can tell,

she captured everything.

You look a bit tired.

You look a bit evil.

Joan.

Of course, Sherlock's told me

you're doing well.

Although I'm sorry
to hear your efforts

to find a soul mate
haven't been fruitful.

I'd, um, hoped to show you
my work someplace less bleak.

More conducive to conversation.

Perhaps if you come see me
in a year?

In a year you will be serving
multiple life sentences.

Captain,

I've been scouring the paper
for answers,

but I have to admit,

I haven't the foggiest idea
why you're here.

It happened too late
for the morning edition.

A seven-year-old girl
by the name of Kayden Fuller

was abducted last night.

The kidnappers murdered
her father,

and they're asking
for $50 million.

You recognize
that name?

Of course. Uriah Fuller built
the railroads

that connect
London to Manchester.

But if you're here because
you think I took the girl,

you're going
to be disappointed.

I'm afraid that a kidnapping
for ransom has

quite a few moving parts.
Too many for my tastes.

Why, then, did your lieutenant
make the ransom call?

You know the man
I'm referring to.

You had him call Watson and I,
pretend to be you.

Yes, he always was ambitious.

I, um, could give you
his name, of course.

His likeness,

the names and faces
of those he likely recruited.

If you do help us,
I'll continue our correspondence

for as long
as you're incarcerated.

You're going to do that anyway.

My hosts have a list
of favors that I'd like.

If they'd review it,
grant me a few,

well, then I'd be happy
to lend my insights.

This needn't be
unpleasant, you know.

You'd be back with Mom and Dad
soon enough.

But I'd very much like
to get to know you.

And cribbage is a brilliant way
to do that.

Excuse me a moment, Kayden.

It's just, the boys
are getting a bit jumpy.

It'd help morale
if I could tell 'em something.

Tell them we all stand to profit
handsomely from this.

Everyone's wondering,
any word from her yet?

She's in federal custody,
Clay. It'll take time.

But we'll hear from
Moriarty soon enough.

You okay?

It's the first time you saw
Moriarty since...

everything.

That had to be hard.

I did not expect her
to cooperate.

Of course, I was hoping

she might reveal
something inadvertently.

I didn't mean "hard" as in
a difficult problem to solve.

I meant emotionally hard.

Oh, but it's all science
to you, right?

I'm just curious: what was the
empirical value in writing

to her about my dating life?

Excuse me.
Well...

I'm looking for
Captain Gregson.

Oh, my good Lord.

Why have you brought her here?

Considering the dire
circumstances,

the government's agreed
to a favor.

I've decided
to help you after all.

For the duration of
this investigation,

the NYPD has the full use of
my knowledge and faculties.

I'm certain we'll
work well together.

I'm told you rely
heavily on consultants.

Given your history, I can
understand why you wouldn't want

to take her up on her offer.

When Ms. Moriarty was first
taken into custody,

RFID chips were implanted
in both her hands.

She can't move five feet
without us knowing.

She's gone.

Just thought you should get
used to hearing that.

Chips aren't going to stop her.

As you can see,

she has been equipped with
special security bracelets;

like handcuffs
that are not connected.

Handcuffs that don't connect.
Shoot me now.

They're incapacitants.

Stun guns pointing right at her.

Each with a payload of 50,000
volts that can be triggered

by any member of the detail
with the touch of a button.

Then you've taken her out
before, haven't you?

Captain, inviting this
woman into our investigation

would be, in a
word, idiotic.

The kidnappers are being led
by her former lieutenant.

He is, in all likelihood,
operating under her orders.

During her incarceration,
Ms. Moriarty has had zero access

to technology that would
allow her

to communicate
with the outside world.

She's been allowed to write
letters, but only to you.

So unless you are passing instructions
to her old assets...

She could've helped us
from her cell, couldn't she?

Given us the names,
information we needed?

Why bring her here?

As per her request; obviously,

part of the deal she just struck
with your superiors.

The building
that you're keeping her in,

it might not be a prison,

but it did seem
adequately secure.

She'd have a much easier time
trying to escape

whilst out and about, no?

The bottom line is that she has
cashed in some big chips

to be an active participant.

Her preference
is to work with you.

If you don't take her...
FBI will.

His name is Devon Gaspar.

He's former British military intelligence.
And yet,

were you to ask for his records,

they would deny
that he ever existed.

Devon has several
aliases that I'm aware of.

I've already shared them
with Mr. Mattoo.

I've also prepared some sketches
of the men I believe

he may be working with.

Well, obviously,
we can't

distribute these to the media.

If they're legit,

that would spook
the kidnappers.

But we can put
them out in-house.

We'll issue a FINEST message.

And every cop in the city
will get an e-mail.

I'll make sure the Bureau does
the same.

Excellent. Then I do believe
we're finished here.

Lovely to see you, as always,

but we have a terrified
little girl to find.

Our best to the gang
at the warehouse.

Actually,
I was rather

hoping to take a look
at the crime scene.

We did promise her

access to the Fuller residence.

That is our next stop.

Actually, we have
more important things to do.

For example, checking that even
one iota of the information

- she's given us is true.
- You know what?

I will go with them to the
house, you take care of that.

Um, if anything comes up,
I will call you.

Quite lovely, isn't she?

I can only imagine
how frightened she must be.

You can stop
pretending to care now.

The others
can't hear you.

Would you be
surprised to learn

you've been on my mind,
Joan Watson?

Not really.

I don't typically
misread people, but...

you're more clever
than I initially estimated.

More interesting.

If you weren't,
I would never have been caught.

I think you're giving
me too much credit.

It's what you crave, is it not?

Acknowledgment
from a superior mind?

Evidence that you matter?

Why else pursue a partnership
with a man like Sherlock?

Actually,
the partnership was his idea.

That bothers you, doesn't it?

I confess
to not understanding it.

But... I'm drawn to things
I don't understand.

Same as Sherlock.

Once I've figured
you out, I'll move on.

Same as Sherlock.

Is that why
you've been writing him?

Because you want
to... understand him?

Part of it, I suppose.

And the rest?

What do you think?

You think
you're in love with him.

Only you can't be sure,

because as much as you claim
to know about the world,him.

love is something

you don't quite get.

You'd be surprised
what I'd do for love.

Nothing crazy people do
surprises me.

I write to Sherlock

because he's the only person
on the planet

I can really talk to.

He writes to me because I'm
the only one he can talk to.

The only one he can
ever truly relate to.

If you still don't
understand that,

you will someday.

I promise.

What's with the...?

Telephone?
I have felt compelled

to hang up
on a good few many people today.

I dug it out of the closet so I
could do it with more emphasis.

Oh. And who was that you
were you just talking to?

Old friend from Interpol.
Didn't sound like a friend.

He, like many of the other
people I've spoken to today,

was unable to confirm
that any of these men

are who Moriarty
claims them to be.

Devon Gaspar is a ghost.

This is just busywork

for us and the other agencies
investigating the kidnapping

so that she has time
to plan her escape.

Okay, so, let's move
off of these for a while.

The captain said
that every officer in New York

would get these via e-mail.

They'll keep their eyes
peeled, you and I can go back

over the evidence
from the abduction.

Did you say everything
you wanted to say today?

To Moriarty?

That is why you accompanied her
to the Fuller residence,

is it not? So you would have
a private dialogue with her?

Well, you have been hogging her
for the last few months.

I told you.
I have merely been...

Studying her. Right.

You have feelings for her,

and that is perfectly normal.
I have nothing of the sort.

Irene was the love of your life.

That is why,
in spite of everything,

you can't quite give her up.
I get that.

But I also know that you're only
gonna get hurt in the long run

because there is no Irene.
There is only Moriarty.

And Moriarty is never
gonna change.

3-1-David,

3-1-David, you have
a 10-10 Disorderly Male,

corner of 155th and Riverside.

Suspect wearing a gray hoodie.

Please check and advise.
Dispatch, this is 3-1-David.

We're on our way.

Sir, how we doing today?

You're up.

Buddy, how you doing?

This one's locked.

Got another phone here.

There's a handsome devil.

I'd say it's a pretty good
likeness, wouldn't you?

I would.

CSU said there
were two shooters,

him and one
other guy.

They led Molina and Kelty
into an ambush.

You said Officer Molina's
cell phone was missing.

The second shooter took it.

Why?

All they had to do was lie low
until they got their money.

Instead, two of them pop out
and shoot a couple of cops.

If that makes any sense to you,
please tell me.

'Cause it sure as hell
doesn't make any sense to me.

I don't know.
I'm thinking

maybe it's time that we
put those sketches out

to the media.

Can I see your cell phone?

The FINEST message.
It goes to only policemen.

That's what they wanted.

That's why they ambushed
the officers.

It was the only way they could
see Moriarty's sketches.

Why would they want to see them?

And how would they even know
they're out there?

You sent a FINEST message,
Captain.

Moriarty sent an even finer one.

Robert Baden-Powell.

Who's Robert Baden-Powell?
Founder of the Scout Movement

and Lieutenant General in the
British Army in the early 1900s.

He concocted a means
of concealing messages

in entomological drawings
of leaves and butterflies.

He called it "weaponization
of the pastoral."

You weaponized your sketches,
didn't you?

Hid information in them
for Devon Gaspar

and the rest of your merry band.

No, of course not.

I've already started
to notice some quirks

in some of the finer details.
The arrangement

of Gaspar's stubble,
for example,

is quite peculiar.
Or at least it is upon

closer examination.
The length

of the lines,
the spaces in between--

they form a pattern.
Within the pattern, a message.

You are behind the abduction
of Kayden Fuller.

Sherlock...

You're responsible for what
happened to these policemen last night.

No, I'm trying...

Stop lying to me!

I will decode these.
You know I will.

So why don't you save us both
a lot of time and trouble

and just tell me
your endgame, hmm? Who knows?

You might even be able to trade
your cohorts' whereabouts

for some more
privileges.

I can only imagine what you
would get for the safe return

of Kayden Fuller.

Devon Gaspar's on the line.

He called
the front desk and asked

to speak with us. Come on.

This is Captain Gregson.

Good to hear your voice,
Captain.

I imagine, after yesterday's
unpleasantness,

you're quite cross with me.

it became
necessary when I realized

you'd turned to our old friend
for assistance.

I'm sorry?

I don't know
what you're talking about.

We've been watching you.

Your station.
We know she's there.

It's why we set upon your men.

To determine the degree
to which we'd been exposed.

So...
now you know

what we know.

Then I guess you won't mind
if I start calling you Devon?

A good a name as any.

But your knowing it won't stop
me and my colleagues

from disappearing tomorrow.

I don't care where you go,
Devon.

I just want
the little girl back.

Oh, she's the other reason
why we called.

She has been asking to speak
with her mummy.

Begging,
really.

Well, Mrs. Fuller
isn't here with us, but

bear with us. I'm sure we can...

Mommy,

I miss you.

I'm afraid. I want to come home.

Plea...
Hope you got all that.

And I hope there won't be any
surprises awaiting us tomorrow.

Until then.

I don't care what she's promised
your government.

Her time as a
consultant is over.

You heard him.

Okay, so,
if your answer key is right,

then all Moriarty tried
to pass along in these sketches

is a bunch
of numbers.

GPS coordinates?

Yeah. For...

a location

in the heart of... Svalbard,

which is a remote island off
the northern coast of Norway.

Well, you thought all along this
was about Moriarty escaping.

Maybe that's
where Gaspar and his team

are supposed to take her.
A fine hypothesis.

If indeed escape
is still in her agenda.

You don't think it is anymore?

The woman is a riddle
wrapped in a mystery

inside an enigma
I've had sex with.

I would be lying if I said
I was the strongest assessor

of her motives at this point.

Are you expecting someone?

Paperboy.

It's almost 9:00 at night.

I've asked him to gather me hard
copies of The New York Ledger.

Anything and everything
from the last two weeks.

Why?
Because

it is the only newspaper
Moriarty had access to

during her so-called
"incarceration."

I strongly suspect the
communication between Moriarty

and Gaspar has been two-way.

Prior to her generating the
sketches, she had no way to send

a coded message
from custody.

But she could have received one

via advert in the paper's
classified section.

Pillock. He left them
by the kitchen door.

Did you see Moriarty
today when...

Gaspar put Kayden Fuller
on the phone?

She seemed angry.

I had just determined
that she sent Gaspar a message

via the sketches.

Well, I've seen
that look before.

I've been on the receiving end.

Looked like she wanted
to kill the guy.

Well, you're up late.

Rather hard to relax

now that you're keeping
these bracelets on me here.

Heaven forfend I trigger them in
my sleep and electrocute myself.

If you hadn't pulled
that trick with the sketches,

we wouldn't have
to take extra precautions.

Ah. So you think
Sherlock was right.

I sent the originals to the NSA.
It only took them a few hours

to find those numbers you'd hid.

I've been thinking about
what you said the other day.

About... feelings
I might still have

for her.

You were right,
as you so often are

in such matters.

Despite everything, I do
continue to feel a certain...

pull.

In my weaker moments,

I've entertained the notion
that she might be able to...

change. I suppose
because I've undergone

a transformation of my own.

I was, until as recently
as two years ago,

a drug-addled misanthrope.
Today, I'm sober.

I've cultivated not one
but several

meaningful
relationships.

The woman has never been
anything less than obsessed

with our many similarities.

I suppose I thought...

she could undergo a
metamorphosis of her own.

Would it surprise you to learn
that during the course

of my internment here,

I have devised exactly
17 means of escaping?

Six of which can account for
the extra precautions like my...

bracelets.

I can only come up with ten.

You see something?

To the naked eye, it is
an advert for a used car.

But there are indicators
of an Ave Maria

cipher.
It's a cryptographical technique

devised by a priest named
Johannes Trithemius

in the fif...

What is it?

I was wrong.

Moriarty is not the architect
of the plot

to kidnap Kayden Fuller.

She's one of its victims.

Did you know that glass
is a very poor conductor

of electricity? It's often used

to insulate power lines.

Most of the jars
my paints come in...

are glass.

All I'd have
to do is

break one, jam the shards

between my wrists and the
electrodes on the restraints.

I'd probably cut
myself quite badly,

but my bracelets
would be neutralized.

Gaspar set
this entire affair in motion

with a coded message
to Moriarty.

The first part
of the message reads,

"You know what I want.
Tell me where it is."

The coordinates.

So, whatever Kaspar's after,
it's hidden in Svalbard.

Exactly. $50 million ransom
is just a fig leaf.

Although, I'm sure he'll be
happy enough to have that.

His actual quarry is whatever

Moriarty has directed him
towards.

You said Moriarty was a victim.
What did you mean by that?

The final part of his message.

"Be prompt. Your daughter's life
hangs in the balance."

Kayden Fuller
is Moriarty's daughter?

28 hand.

Well done.

Go ahead.

Take Fourth Street.

Cutthroat rules suit you, I see.

Get under the bed.

Don't open the door for anyone.

Go.

Oh, no, no.

No.

Clay?

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry. She...

She told me
to shoot him.

She?

She knows things.

I've got family, too.

I don't want her coming for 'em.

How'd you find us?

I know the properties we hold.

I know you need to house
and feed a seven-year-old.

That takes space.

I know that when
Montgomery was killed

while you ambushed
those police,

they found clay subsoil
on his boots.

Just like the kind we found

seeping
into the foundations here.

The girl's safe.

Get on with it, would you?

Or do you plan
to let me bleed out?

Oh, I'm afraid I've got
something a little less passive

in mind for you.

Believe it or not,

most of this blood
is Moriarty's.

She shorted out her bracelets,

dug these implants
they gave her out of her,

and somehow used
Mattoo's handprint

to get herself
out of here.

And what about Mattoo?

He's in bad shape-- stable-- but
they think he's gonna make it.

So, she didn't kill him?

She didn't kill anybody
on her way out of here.

Mattoo's the only one
she even confronted.

There's quite a bit
of blood here.

She'll need medical attention.

We checked the hospitals.
There's nothing.

She's got a 40-minute
head start on us.

Any ideas?

She's gone to
fetch her daughter.

This is Sherlock Holmes.

I'd like to see you.

Tell me where you are,
and I'll come.

The Bronx. A condemned building
near Van Cortlandt Park.

Top floor.

Tell the police
they can wait outside.

You're the only one
who can come in.

Your daughter?

Sent away, resituated.

You've done the
maths, I assume.

She was born
well before I met you.

An indiscretion
at the start of my career.

Even as I carried
her to term,

I knew that motherhood
would not mix well with my...

proclivities.

Some sources of mine told me

that the Fullers
were having trouble

conceiving a child of their own.

It wasn't hard
to arrange a match.

How did Gaspar learn of her?

No idea.

I assume the girl's real father
needs a lesson in discretion.

What's on the island
of Svalbard?

The coordinates I gave Devon are
the location of a vault.

Copies of all the seeds
on the planet are stored inside,

in the event that the earth's
flora needs to be restored

after a catastrophe.

But that's not what Gaspar
expected to find there.

I maintain...

a dossier of interesting facts.

I assembled most of them myself.

Some were passed down to me
by a mentor

who shared the same enthusiasms
I do.

Even if I directed Devon
to the right place,

he hadn't the wit to
use my book properly.

So, you sent him hunting
above the Arctic Circle,

just so you would have time
to move against him.

It was a risk,
but I've always been willing

to bet on my abilities.

And in this
instance,

I had the added benefit
of assistance

from the keenest mind
I've ever met.

All's well that ends well,
right?

You need an ambulance.

You could have run.

And live as a
fugitive? Why?

The world's corruption runs
deeper than even you know.

No need to skulk about.

I'll be a free woman
soon enough.

Your letters have meant
a great deal to me.

I find them
influencing my decisions

in the most surprising ways.

You could have killed
Agent Mattoo.

And from your perspective,

it would have been
the expedient thing.

And yet, to you, it
would have been repugnant.

Tell me, is that how you
learned to be one of them?

By learning to care

how your actions seemed
in the eyes of another?

I'm not sure I am one of them.

She needs a hospital.

I just got
off the phone

with Captain Gregson.

She lost a lot of blood,
but she's gonna make it.

You all right?

I am. Thank you.

== sync, corrected by Romesh ==
RiVaL