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[Mallick enters the next room, and begins to close the door.]Charles: Not yet![Mallick stops.]Brit: Don't close the door. It'll set off the timer.Mallick: Do you know that for sure?Brit: Educated guess.Luba: What we need to do is figure out who everyone is?Brit: Okay, well, we know that the dead woman worked for the fire department.---Charles: Not anymore! She got canned a month ago.Mallick: How the f*** do you...? How the f*** do you know that? You're responsible for this? She had her f***ing head cut off! I'm closing the door!, I'm gonna close the f***ing door!Brit: Just be quiet!, [Mallick stops.] Please? [turns to Luba.] What's your story?Luba: I work for the Department of City Planning.Brit: Married? Kids?Luba: No, and no. Your turn.Charles: Uh..., You're not gonna tell them about Daddy?Luba: My dad is... Richard Gibbs.Mallick: The owner of the Cougars?---Charles: He's been trying to build a new stadium for years. Little did he know all he had to do is wait for his daughter to get a job in City Planning.Mallick: [to Brit.] And you. Huh? What about you? What sort of shady shit have you been up to? Huh?Brit: I'm a senior V.P. for a real estate development company.Mallick: So you're boring too. Hmm?[Charles laughs.]Luba: The Marshvard Group. Yeah, you can't get a permit in this town without going through the Department of City Planning. Right?Brit: No, you can't.Luba: What about you?Mallick: Uh..., No wife, No kids that I know of, No job.Charles: Trust-fund baby. Anyone surprised?---Mallick: I'm so f***ing sick of your self-righteousness, man!Brit: Your turn.Charles: I'm an investigative journalist for The Herald.Mallick: The Herald? That's your massive accomplishment? You work for a gossip rag?Charles: Bite your f***ing tongue.[They look at the jars.]Brit: What the hell are in those jars?Charles: Let's do this f***ing thing before the bombs go off.[Charles closes the door, as the bombs on the first room explode.]Mallick: F***!

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