It's an afterthought to turn on the lights. Matt's already rummaged through a few boxes to find what they might need. The back of the clinic was mostly storage next to an examination room with a table.

It seems that he's abandoning Doc Ock as he lights for the stairs to the upper apartment. There's the faint sound of him knocking on a door. And the sleepy answer back.

A moment later, Matt is coming down the stairs followed by a older thinner man who's putting on his glasses and rolling up his sleeves. "Gunshot wound, I think," Matt was saying to him. "Good heavens," the older man murmured at the yards of metal arms sprawling out of the man in front of him.