The episode begins with a false sense of calm. Burgess is doing what she always does: following the job, trusting her instincts, protecting the innocent. But that’s the thing about Chicago P.D.—just when things seem steady, the floor disappears. In a routine call that quickly spirals out of control, Burgess finds herself isolated, alone, and trapped by men with no regard for her badge or her life. What follows is an excruciating sequence: the struggle, the screams, the moments when she’s forced into submission. It’s not flashy or over-dramatized. It’s raw. It’s terrifying. It’s disturbingly real.
What sets this episode apart isn’t just the violence—though it’s some of the most intense the series has ever shown. It’s the silence. The moments when Burgess is no longer fighting, but surviving. The moments when we, as viewers, are forced to sit with her in the dark. To feel her fear. To realize that for once, the Intelligence Unit might not get there in time. And the show doesn’t cut away. It doesn’t offer us escape. It makes us live it with her. That’s why it hurt so much.
Marina Squerciati’s performance in this episode is nothing short of devastating. Without a single line of dialogue for long stretches, she communicates everything—pain, panic, desperation, and that unspoken question: “Is this how it ends?” It’s a career-defining moment for the actress and a narrative risk for the show that paid off in full. Because in Burgess, we don’t just see a cop. We see a mother. A survivor. A woman who has fought so hard to stay human in a job that chips away at humanity every day.
