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Michael takes a little time-out from prison breaking to go a-rescuing; he shimmies around until he manages to locate the good doctor, hauls her into the pipes system, and runs around with her until she's able to get free. There is much making of the mooncalf eyes; those of you who are rooting for Michael and Dr. Tancredi to Just Do It Already may be backing the winning horse. Those of you rooting for Michael and Sucreâ¦may be out of luck. Sucre sublimates his romantic disappointment by drilling with Abruzzi, and breaks through the wall to the pipe on the other side.
Lincoln manages to escape from his beefy would-be killer, but doesn't know who sent Turk after him. And Lincoln, Jr. manages to piss off his mom and his stepdad; this will undoubtedly come back to bite him in the tuchis later.
Finally, T-Bag is a bad, bad man. (In a prison? No!) He spends the episode taunting poor Bob the CO, then knifes him in the gut at the very end. Want more? The full recap starts right below!
Previously...the whole entire series took place. Only compressed in three minutes. I feel like this is a challenge to me. Very well, FOX! I'll play: the entire series, compressed into a haiku:
Michael's in the joint,
but not for long! He's leaving --
sometime during sweeps.
So we get over that and we're back to Michael on the roof of the prison. He quickly finds some vent and pulls off the screen so he can shimmy inside.
Down below, the Illinois National Guard has wrecked the lawn. It's no longer the grassy sward of yore. Somewhere, the prison groundskeepers are weeping. Unless they're prisoners -- in that case, they're rioting.
The music is suitably bombastic. Pope strides across the grass, looking suitably managerial, and notices a bunch of COs just standing around and looking like they really wish they had a hackysack. He grabs Bellick and snaps, "Get those guys in line!" Bellick turns to the guy immediately to his right and says, "Get 'em into formation." Behold the power of delegation! Bellick asks if the COs are going back in and Pope says, "Not yet. We cut the water off an hour ago. I want to wait until I can actually see the clouds of testosterone billowing out of every window and door." Bellick is doubtful that the refined sensibilities of the inmates -- "Oh, the odor! Ah, me!" -- is what will drive them out of the prison and stop the riot. Pope is like, "No [it won't work], but it's protocol. And we're going to do this by the book. It's the best chance we have of everybody getting out of there with nobody getting hurt." The best chance of this riot ending is to apply a non-effective tactic and wait? Because the inmates will presumably get bored?
Well, one's in the mood for small talk right now! It's a bald inmate with a beard; he's telling the warden they've got some demands. Abruzzi -- who is even slimier than usual, what with all the sweat -- gurgles, "Tell him we need the air back on." Beardo does. Abruzzi adds, "We got a hostage -- the guard." Beardo shares this. Pope and Bellick share looks of dismay. Within seconds, they learn that the prisoners have Bob. Inside the prison, Abruzzi orders, "And that girl doctor. Tell them we got her." The other guy looks back like, Really? You've been holding out on me? He snaps, "You do it!" Abruzzi says, "I don't want to get shot." You have nothing to worry about, John: at this point, any bullet that comes near you is going to drown in your sweat. Beardo -- who is sporting a little bit of a beer belly -- makes a hilarious and futile effort to reduce the amount of surface area available for the shooting, and shouts, "We got the girl doctor!"
Pope explodes with, "How the HELL did that happen?! How did they get their hands on her?" Bellick's all, "Uh...I thought she was safe. She was in sick bay." All of a sudden, Pope's hot to go in and get out Dr. Tancredi, and Bellick's all, "Yeah, not so fast on that. It's not by the book." Shut up, you riot-fomenting slacktard. Fortunately, Bellick is spared being beaten to death by the book thanks to a flunkie's arrival.
Meanwhile, Sara's getting quite the workout inside the examining room, what with the vigorous arm-pounding and yelling for help. Meanwhile, somewhere in a Heart video, Ann Wilson pops out of the slo-mo steam clouds to tell us that every second of the night, she lives another life. No, wait. It's Turk. I can tell because there's a lot less chiffon. And it looks like what I had formerly confused for a tough leather string bracelet is, in fact, a beefy rubber band. But that's okay, because Turk's a beefy guy. He thunders through the conveniently deserted industrial room. Linc stumbles behind him and slurs, "Scofield's in here?" Oh, Linc, I'm hopeful that's only the head wound talking. Anyway, Linc walks toward the danger. For a seasoned con, he has no savvy about the wisdom of wandering into secluded places all alone. After a few minutes of stumbling around and calling for Turk, the beefy -- okay, you know what? Turk is not merely beefy. He contains entire herds. The guy is massive; how he's not showing up on NASA scanners as an independently orbiting body with its own field of gravity is a mystery. Anyway, Turk leaps out of nowhere and clubs Lincoln right around the base of his neck. Linc promptly collapses, as would anyone clubbed by a side of beef. He manages to come up, only because he's being pulled up by Turk's homemade garrote. Will Linc live? We'll find out after the credits.
Commercials. So the message of the VW Passat is, it's not going to get you through border check in a timely manner? Also, the Puffs commercial is only slightly less creepy than the Nasonex one. Don't congested people suffer enough without these digital homunculi taunting them?
We get back from commercials, and what do you know? Lincoln and Turk are still tussling. Linc eventually manages to bash his way free. He stands up and careers sideways, wearing a thoroughly baffled expression. I don't blame him: how many of us really wake up expecting to be in a riot, and beaten silly by the Fabulously Gay White Supremacists, then throttled by a mobile side of beef? Please nobody answer that.
Meanwhile, the inmates continue rioting. At this point, mattresses are burning. That seems short-sighted: exactly what are you supposed to sleep on when you're done? In Michael's cell, Sucre and T-Bag are flea-farting around, and T-Bag decides his new hobby is taunting the CO. He's taken Bobby's shoes and belt. Sucre looks over and tells T-Bag, "You ain't gonna use that." T-Bag impotently cracks his little whip (the belt, you perverts) and asks, "You making the rules now, ese?" Sucre points out that it is his cell. T-Bag makes more noises about how much easier life would be if Bobby were out of the picture, and Bob's all, "I'm as silent as the grave. No, wait. Bad image! I can keep my mouth shut." As Sucre prepares to hop into the exit hatch, Bob pleads, "Don't leave." Sucre looks torn, and he gives T-Bag an appraising glance. Then he turns back to Bob and apologizes before disappearing. He promises, "I'll be back later." Bob looks like he doubts he himself will be around later. Ah, Bob is breaking my heart here.
T-Bag leans over and conspiratorially tells Sucre, "Don't worry, I'll cover for you." He puts up a sheet. Bob gives the sheet a look of dread and T-Bag leans over to say blithely, "Don't worry, CO, all right? I'm not gonna hurt nobody. I'm part of the team now." Bob looks like he's not about to take T-Bag at his word. T-Bag grabs Bob by the shoulder and pushes him to the floor, commanding him to reposition the sink now that Sucre's through the wall. As Bob works, T-Bag licks his lips and gloats, "Cat's away!" There's some more unpleasant licking and...T-Bag, the whole "cat's away!" thing is a metaphor. You don't really have the power to wash yourself with your own spit.
Michael snakes his way through the pipes. Really, there is nothing I can add to that.
Meanwhile, at 20,000 feet above the point at which I actually care...Nick and Veronica are flying Fantasy Airlines to D.C. No screaming babies, nobody watching vile, hard-core, multispecies pornography on their laptop computer, an aisle down the main cabin that doubles as a bowling alley, a dearth of drunken tourists rehashing their vacation at the top of their lungs, a lack of seat-kicking children...I'd continue, but I'm now seething with resentment that all my frequent-flyer miles are not on Fantasy Airlines. And I'm bitter because Nick and Veronica are not sitting in airline seats so much as they're sitting in those plushy chair-and-a-half armchairs that Pottery Barn sells. Enough about me: the whole point to this scene is that Veronica is apparently all about trusting Nick the Legal Beagle now, and she tells him, "Before Steadman was killed, EcoField introduced a prototype electric engine at the TechnoConference. Sixty-dollar barrels of oil would be obsolete, if that thing ever hit the mainstream." And so too would InterCaps, one hopes. Nick begins pointing fingers at the oil industry and adds darkly, "Or the government of an oil-based economy." Anyhoodle, once these two dullards land, they're supposed to meet up with Nick's source in a parking garage. These two are not so much Woodward and Bernstein as they are Wooden and Boring.
Things are much more interesting inside the prison, where the inmates are still trying to break the windows in the doctorquarium. You know, I can appreciate that these guys have gone a long time without female companionship, but doesn't this seem like an awful lot of effort? Dr Tancredi engages in a little prison-riot cross-training, alternating her shiv-curling lunges with her aerobic screaming activities. Fortunately, her yelling helps Michael figure out which fork he ought to take in the heating duct. He continues slithering, then finds a pipe and hoists himself along it, hand-over-hand.
Outside the prison, the governor's just arrived. That was a speedy trip from Springfield. The limo and security detail pass through a gaggle of what are ostensibly reporters, but are really just polite, well-dressed looky-loos with microphones. As Pope notices all this hoopla driving over his formerly pristine prison lawn, he tells Bellick, "That's the governor. Whatever happens, don't say anything." As the governor gets out, Pope attempts to rip the Band-Aid off his seeping career wound quickly with, "You should know since our last conversation, the situation has escalated, but not to worry. We're making good progress with our contacts and --" "Just cut the crap, warden! And tell me where my daughter is," the governor snaps. Pope's all, "Uhhhh…" Even Bellick -- who displays a near-invincibility to other people's discomfort -- cringes.
Well, if the governor were watching this show, he'd see that Dr. Tancredi's still working on the crouch-and-scream plan.
Things aren't looking too good for Bob, either. T-Bag's looking at his wallet and he's giving Bob flak about his fancy-pants address. And then he notices the wallet photo: "Aaah, haaa, this must be your daughter." Bob -- who is tied to the bunk, by the way -- rallies and snarls, "Put it back." T-Bag holds up the photo: "Prom? [Licks lips.] You know what they say about a prom dress, don't you? [Licks picture.] She didn't come home that night, did she? No, she wore that aaaaallllll night long. morning, she had to throw that dress in the trash can behind the motel, so her mama didn't see the --" "Hey, hey, hey, hey! What the hell are you doing?' Abruzzi breaks in. T-Bag brightly says, "I'm just kickin' with Deputy Dawg. You know -- talkin' women." Abruzzi comes in and snarls, "I'll be very clear here, because you and I face an evolutionary gap. You ain't gonna hurt this man. We're locked into this thing now, understand? And he's the only leverage we have." T-Bag declines to rebut Abruzzi by pointing out that he's more of an intelligent-design man himself. Bob tells Abruzzi, "Thank you," and Abruzzi says, "You're welcome." T-Bag flounces out in a snit.
The gang of would-be doctor-rapists discovers a phone book in a desk drawer and decides, "Let's smoke the bitch out!" Because they like their victims to be smoke-cured? What is this, the Pepperidge Farms sex crime? Within seconds, the burning phone book is lobbed into the doctorquarium through the small opening someone had broken open. Sara cautiously scampers over and kicks a trash can on top of the fire to contain it. And that's just enough distance for the big, African-American prisoner Stroke -- he of the "we're gonna dance all night" line last episode -- to snake in an arm and grab Dr. Tancredi by the hair. He snarls, "It ain't gonna hurt real bad if you make it easy. If you make it hard, though...[snakes out his tongue and LICKS THE SIDE OF HER FACE. EW!]" Sara gets over being grossed out enough to plunge her shank in his arm and he reels, screaming. Then Stroke comes back and renews his attack on the door.
Dr. Tancredi whirls around and backs into a corner of the room. She stands, clearly overwhelmed and panicky. Michael's hand drops into the frame and he squeezes her shoulder. She whirls around and looks up. There he is, Blue Steeling her and saying, "Come on -- grab my hand. Come on!"
Commercials. Although I'm on the record as longing to send the Burger King to the same fate as Charles I (or, in my nastier moments, to give him the Edward II treatment), I wouldn't turn down a chance to stone the dancing oldster who represents the Six Flags park chain either. Yep, the minute he'd swing into that disjointed dance -- pow! Thud! Thwack! Blammo!
When we get back from commercial, Sara appears to still be thinking Michael's offer over. Michael looks at her all, "Unless you were just playing hard-to-get with Stroke there…" and she jumps up. He pulls her up, and she crouches on the catwalk to him. Sara sits there for a moment, panting, and Michael touches her shoulder as he asks, "You all right?' She jumps, all freaked, and he adds, "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." This has only a minimal effect on Sara's state of mind. Michael continues in the same low voice, "See these pipes? We're going to stay on them. They go through the wall and over the hallway, and they're going to get us out of here. All you have to do is follow me, okay?" Sara nods like a little kid. Michael prompts her to begin moving. They do. Down below, one of the cons is all, "Huh? Where did she go?" Stroke eyes the ceiling and begins laughing evilly.
And halfway across the country, Veronica and Nick have landed at Dulles. Nick is providing background on his so-called mysterious contact: the PI was his roommate during his freshman year at Duke. As they walk around the terminal looking purposeful, a nearby television is providing an update on the riot. That's right: the riot began when Nick and Veronica were in the prison. In the time it took them to drive from Joliet to either Midway or O'Hare, book flights (because, remember, they weren't exactly on speaking terms until the end of their talk with Lincoln), board the flight, and fly a couple hundred miles...the riot's raged on unabated and garnered national news coverage. Clap your hands if you believe in an extremely flexible space-time continuum.
Back in Illinois, LJ's watching the news coverage. His mom comes in, telling him it's time to go. LJ's all, "Hold on." It finally dawns on Lisa that the riot LJ's watching is taking place at Fox River; LJ's attention is riveted to the screen. Lisa exchanges glances with her new spouse -- let's call him Not My Real Dad, or NiMRoD, for short -- and he shakes his head. She snaps off the TV. LJ yelps, "What are you doing?" "We have to go, come on," Lisa says. LJ protests that Dad might be in trouble, and Lisa snaps, "You're father's already in trouble, and there's nothing we can do about it. Let's go." LJ's jaw plummets to his kneecaps. Lisa leans in and says, "Don't make a scene, okay? [NiMRoD] gets very uncomfortable with this sort of thing." Ah, good to know Lisa hasn't lost her penchant for difficult men, but merely upgraded it.
LJ immediately does exactly what his mom does not want him to do, and makes a scene. NiMRoD turns around and says, "Leave me out of this!" LJ's like, "I don't recall dragging you into this, thank you," and when NiMRoD protests to his wife/girlfriend/whatever Lisa is that verily, LJ is slinging the crap, she begins with the shouty voice. LJ keeps hollering, and eventually, his mom recognizes that he's upset and tries comforting him. She grasps him by the shoulder and says, "Honey, look --" "Leave me alone!" LJ cries as he pushes Lisa away. It's not an aggressive move, but more like blind shoving. However, NiMRoD loses it and launches himself at LJ, shoving him. LJ shoves back, and NiMRoD gets the last word in by grabbing the side of LJ's head and slamming him to the ground. As LJ picks himself up, Lisa shrieks at LJ to go upstairs. LJ's in tears now. As he walks up the stairs, he asks, "You love that man? You love that man?" He turns his back; it's evident from his expression that he thinks his mother's betrayed him. Oh, Lisa. You sure know how to pick them! And your parenting skills are something else.
Speaking of LJ's real dad, he's about to get tenderized by the ambulatory side of beef we know as Turk. There's some more steam -- oh, God, the 1980s video flashbacks are coming thick and fast now -- and we see Linc lurching along. I swear, he's sweating off extra pounds with every foot he staggers. Or maybe he just looks wiry to Turk. Anyway, Turk comes up behind Lincoln, and as Lincoln wheels into a defensive position, he keeps asking, "Why? Why?" Turk doesn't answer; he only swings a crowbar. The camera swings back to we can see that they're on a catwalk. Of course they are. Nobody in prison has the good sense to do their killing on the ground floor, do they? After a few minutes' struggle, Turk swings at Lincoln, Linc ducks, and Turk goes hurtling over the edge. Ah, if only he didn't have that tremendous mass-to-area ratio working against him.
Lincoln grabs the crowbar, heads on down to Turk's body. Although it's entirely possible that the slabs of muscle plating Turk's um, everything, might have protected his spine, I'm guessing that's not likely here. Turk's breathing shallowly. Inexplicably, Linc tosses the crowbar to the side. Linc, you idiot! Keep it on you! Even if Turk's in no mood to hand out an ass-kicking, there's always the off-chance that you'll run into the Burger King! Anyhoodle, Linc slaps Turk into semi-consciousness and demands to know why he tried to kill him, asking, "Who sent you? Man, you gotta help me. You gotta -- please." Turk is none too helpful. I also think he's not exactly dead. As Linc walks off, Turk is still breathing.
Meanwhile, Sucre's drilling at the designated points in the devil picture. He's got a nonstop prayer litany going too. Unfortunately, he didn't pray to the patron saint of personal space because Abruzzi's just cuddled up behind him to ask who his friend was. Is there nobody to whom Abruzzi will not cleave? Does his cellmate lie awake night after night, weeping silently as Abruzzi curls up behind him and sleepily says, "I'll be the tablespoon, you be the teaspoon"?
Abruzzi demands to know who Sucre's talking to, and Sucre explains, "It's the fish's idea. The devil marks the wall so you know where to drill the holes." Abruzzi snakes around to stare at Sucre's bulging pectorals and asks, "You're making holes with an eggbeater?" Sucre's all, "I know. Crazy, huh? It's called The Hooker Law. It says if you poke the exact right holes with something big and strong, it gets very weak." Abruzzi says thoughtfully, "That's true." This is...oh, this is so beautiful. I wish all physics laws were explained by two lonely cons. And I wish Michael could have been there for this explanation, if only to see the look on his face.
Sucre keeps drilling while Abruzzi dances around and moans, "You should never underestimate a wall." Abruzzi, you're a freak. I dub thee...The Oddfather. The nickname certainly doesn't apply to Vincent Gigante.
Meanwhile, Michael and Sara continue scampering along the wire. He's got very good balance for someone who's down a few toes. Down below, Stroke is leading the Future Rapists Of America (FRA) down the hall, looking for soft spot in the ceiling above. In the ducts, Sara says, "You know what? I need a minute." She's lying: she only wants to inspect the elaborate Beaux Arts-era molding on the ceiling. Yes, I said molding. This is apparently the Winchester Mystery Prison, and we're going to discover at a later date that Michael plans on escaping via the dumbwaiter.
Sara apologizes for needing a moment. Michael swings back over and assures her, "It's not much further." She looks like she can't go anywhere. He says, "You know, we can stop if you want, catch your breath." Sara says she could use a minute. Yes, because that will give the FRA more time to find you.
Michael tells Sara, "Things'll be winding down about now. Pretty soon, the powers that be will come in, and it will all be over. It's just a matter of time." Sara's gradually becoming more collected, and she asks, "What's happening anyway?" I look forward to seeing if Michael tells her, "Well, this riot I inadvertently started when monkeying with the thermostat has raged out of control because once again, I miscalculated the human factor in my plans." Michael settles for rolling his eyes and saying, "All hell's breaking loose. But I think if we stay up here, we'll be okay." Sara's in a little bit of shock. Because it's evidently startling that a prison full of horny criminals would turn on their poorly-paid guards and run riot.
Meanwhile, proving that libido is the real mother of invention, the FRA has found an office chair and a broom and devised the doctor detection system: several FRA members roll the chair while one pokes the roof at intervals. All of them woo the doctor by speculating that she's merely playing hard to get.
Michael and Sara sit in silence for a moment. He looks over, sighs and asks, "You ever been to Baja? Mexico?" Sara looks at him like, Why? Is that where this vent leads? Michael continues, "There's this great place down there -- $20 a night, hammock on the back deck, beers are 50 cents. Twenty-five cents at happy hour." Sara's not saying anything. Michael asks, "Ever been to Thailand? Thailand's great --" "Michael, if you're trying to calm me down, you're doing a terrible job," Sara interrupts. He grins and says, "But I am trying." Really? I thought you were doing your Rachel Ray $40-a-Day imitation, only without the girlish giggle.
Sara asks him, "Why are you here?" Michael's all, "What? In prison?" Sara clarifies, "Crawling around the ceiling, risking your life for me…" Michael suddenly can't meet her eyes and does not say, "Well, I caused this riot and you'd be one more unintended consequence." Instead he temporizes with, "You needed help and, uh, I came to find you." Sara asks how he knew where to go, and Michael again breaks eye contact to say, "When everything went off in A wing, the COs left their station. I saw you on the monitor. One of the assignments in PI, we were up here cleaning toxic mold. It took days, so I'm kind of familiar with the layout." Sara says, "I hope you wore a mask." Michael's all, "What?" and she explains, "To prevent inhalation. The mold can be really dangerous." Michael's had enough of this charade. He turns so Sara can't see him rolling his eyes as he says, "Yeah, I wore a mask." They resume creeping along.
The FRA hears them and hoists the skinny white dude with the blown-out knee. He's evidently their advance scout. Above him, Michael asks Sara if she uses the visitation room door; she didn't before, but she thinks her access card should work. He notices the tiles being poked up by Wee White Willie. Michael stops, waits for Wee White Willie to poke his head up, then gives him a boot to the face. Wee White Willie goes down like a sack of potatoes. Michael and Sara scamper.
Outside, we see a chopper wheel over the wrecked lawn, and then zoom down to Pope groveling in front of Governor Crankypants. Seriously -- Gov. Tancredi's a big whiny bitch and he eventually takes the attitude, "Prisoners, schmisoners -- kill 'em all and let my little girl toe-tag 'em."
Inside, the FRA has not yet got the memo that they're putting their lives in danger. Michael and Sara watch them head off in the wrong direction. Then Michael shimmies down -- because in addition to being an engineer and a master prison-breaker-outter planner, he evidently had time to moonlight with the Cirque du Soleil -- and gestures for Sara to slide down. She manages to make it onto a file cabinet, but freezes at going any further.
On the ground, Michael raises his arms, indicating that he'll help her down. Sara pitches forward as he reassures her, "I got you." Thuds are heard around the nation as viewers imagine themselves taking Sara's place, then swoon. Sara and Michael have A Moment once she's safely on the ground, but before they can just kiss already, the FRAs find them out.
Commercials. The lady with the sinus headaches is going to be courting some sort of toxic skin syndrome if she doesn't stop layering on makeup with a trowel. Can Excedrin do anything about that?
We get back from commercials and Stroke is put out because Michael appears not to be sharing. There is some random fighting business, and the upshot of it is, Michael ends up clinging to Stroke's back like a monkey, his hands attempting to choke the bigger man. Stroke tries to scrape him off the nearest wall. Sara...does not try to help in any way until Wee White Willie comes along and makes an FRA sandwich with Michael as the filling. Then Sara darts forward and kicks him in the leg that was just healing from surgery. Wee White Willie goes down, screaming like Tom Cruise on Oprah. Stroke is finally subdued, so Sara and Michael go sprinting away.
Outside, Bellick watches the guardsman move into position on the walls outside the prison, and decides now is a fine time to brownnose Gov. Crankypants. He brings up his views on prison reform, which can be loosely translated to "I'm opposed to it," and intimates that Pope is a big softy who brings the inmates flowers and candy.
Well, if Abruzzi gets any closer to Sucre, he's going to have to skip the courtin' gifts and go straight to the marriage license. Abruzzi grabs the drill and says, "Dem-o-li-tion runs in the fam-i-ly." You could not deliver that line more strangely if you tried. Tim Burton wishes he were that strange. Peter Stormare's performance...did the director go, "So, Peter, if you can make that line as odd as possible...no, no, try bugging your eyes out a little more...now try grinning...there! Beautiful!" or WHAT? Anyway, Abruzzi goes from hyper-enunciating to slurring, "The whole thing is presssshhhhure. You shhhhould pusssssh hhhard...but not too hhhhard." He's making Carol Channing sound like the Mistress of the Fricative. Anyway, the two of them mother-hen over the drilling in a scene very clearly meant to show that they're both a little nervous about not screwing this up. Sucre finally says, "I mean it! You make one slip and you hit a gas pipe." Abruzzi's all, "Gas...pipe?" Sucre helpfully supplies, "You know? As in 'pipe that carries the gas'?" Heh.
Just then, the power to the prison gets cut, so El Diablo ha desaparecido. Abruzzi takes advantage of the dark to cuddle a little closer.
Michael and Sara are running, but they appear to be hemmed in on both sides by inmates. Sara has a minor freak-out over all the routes to Visitation being blocked by the FRA, and Michael points in a whole new direction. "That won't help," she says, and Michael tells her, "Trust me." That won't come back to haunt him or anything.
The guys drill in the dark. Bafflingly, the outline of the devil appears to still be there. So does Abruzzi's weird way of speaking.
Unfortunately, this means that T-Bag's left to babysit the hostage. He's holding the photo of Bob's daughter and staring in a mirror, drawling, "When I was her age, I had such bad skin. Ah! Eeeek. Accccck-ne, they called it. Yeah, she looks just like all them girls who made fun of me." T-Bag leans in and tells Bob, "After I kill you, I'm gonna crawl out of that hole and call me up a limousine." Won't that be kind of showy for an escaped con? T-Bag continues, "And me and yo baby's going to the prom." T-Bag spent too much of his lonely adolescence identifying with Andie in Pretty in Pink, I think. This is when Abruzzi's thug makes a back-off noise. Nevertheless, T-Bag's now fantasizing about corsages and maybe -- just maybe -- being crowned king of the spring cotillion.
Outside, Gov. Crankypants is all, "Blah blah blah, why can't you be more like Bellick, blah blah blah." Pope is all, "I seem to recall telling Bellick not to run off at the mouth. Funny how he completely ignored that." I do love how in trying to bust Pope's chops, Gov. Crankypants more or less torpedoes Bellick.
See Michael and Sara run. Run, Michael and Sara, run.
See Abruzzi sink his drill into the wall, make a face, and grunt, "Oooh, yes!" Oh, God, I need a shower. And a brief stay in a convent until this mental image passes on. Sucre leans in and says, "Time to put this theory to the test." Abruzzi hands him a length of pipe, actually backs off by six inches, and lets Sucre take a swing just in case they're anywhere near a gas pipe. This way, Abruzzi's guaranteed an extra thirty seconds before his lungs are flash-fried. A few quick swings, and the wall comes tumbling down. Sucre begins laughing jubilantly -- I'll take more of that, please -- and then the camera swings so we get the tunnel's-eye view of Sucre and Abruzzi peering in and giggling.
No giggling for Michael and Sara! They're still hauling ass, and Michael's taken her to some sort of office with windows. Michael tells her that this is how she gets out. Sara turns back to him and says, "But I can’t leave you here!" Michael gets that irritating little smirk and coolly points out, "You don't have a choice. I'm one of the bad guys, remember?" His point is more or less invalidated by the FRA closing in, because on the bad-guy scale, rescuing a live woman does not carry the same heft as trying to smoke-cure her and rape her.
While this is going on, the sharpshooters are surrounding the courtyard that Michael's steering her toward, and Sharpshooter No. 8 has just tagged Michael as Sara's assailant. Sara asks Michael what he plans on doing, and he's all, "Go back to my cell. Stay out of the way. Totally miss this red dot that's just settled on my forehead." Sara points it out to him, breathing, "They see us." Michael looks down at the red spot on his chest and back up at her, saying, "You have to go." Sara replies, "I can't. They'll kill you."
Commercials. I can't take any horror movie about fog seriously, which is probably fortunate, seeing as I live in San Francisco and all. But that Six Flags guy absolutely terrifies me. Where is the horror movie The Pitchman?
Once we're back from commercials, Michael's Blue Steeling and telling Sara, "You go out the door. I'll drop to the floor." Sara says, "They're sharpshooters, Michael. They won't miss." Michael says, "That's why you can't stay here." Aaaaand here comes the FRA.
Michael shouts, "Go!" and turns Sara around so she's running out the door. I am shocked that he actually raised his voice. Who knew he could? Sara books it just as the FRA heads into the room. Michael ducks and the sharpshooter takes out the FRA. Whatever happened to "They're sharpshooters, they won't miss"? They're doing a great job of missing Michael. Sara watches the carnage from behind a phalanx of National Guardsmen types.
Several hundred miles away in D.C. -- yeah, remember this subplot? Veronica and Nick the Legal Beagle are meeting his source in a parking garage? Do you wish you hadn't? Me too. Nick's guy goes for maximum stealth by arriving at their spot in a huge, filthy van that's blaring some sort of boring heavy-tinfoil music. He gives them a single phone number; Veronica looks disappointed, and the PI says, "That wasn't an easy trace. I hope you're not too bummed." Well, if they weren't before, finding out it's a pay phone will do it now. Wooden and Boring hop to the corner of 11th and Constitution and look at the phone. Veronica notes dolefully, "Anyone could have made that call." Nick's all, "Hey! Let me go talk to this security guard who's conveniently standing in front of this empty office building. I'm going to 'find out what used to be here.' I am in no way passing on any spy-tastic clues or cues to anyone in a role as a conspiracy henchperson!" Veronica's all, "Okay!" We get an omniscient-cam shot of Veronica standing alone on the corner. This is the point where my friend Erin and I both shrieked, "She's going to get killed! Nick set her up to get killed!" We were wrong.
Nick apparently does ask an innocuous question, gets an answer we can't hear, and jogs on over to Veronica. He tells her the building used to house the regional headquarters for EcoField. Will coincidences never cease?
The pay phone behind them rings. Naturally, Veronica picks it up, and some male voice says, "Is Lincoln Burrows really worth it? ...I just want to let you know, as of now, both of you are dead." Veronica and Nick hustle off, chatting about how much more effective that whole thing would have been if the guy had been less wordy and more punchy, with something like, "You two are dead -- you just haven't stopped walking around."
The bloody Lincoln has managed to make it into A wing and is currently plowing through a bunch of rioting prisoners. He's bellowing Michael's name. When Lincoln gets to Michael's cell, he sees the bloody Bob and the capering T-Bag and emits an animal snarl. You know, it's wrong to find that incredibly hot, and yet here we are. Lincoln grabs T-Bag by the throat and prepares to use the extra handcuff dangling from his wrist as a set of brass knuckles. T-Bag's all, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! I didn't touch him! I didn't touch him! Ask him. Things have changed since we last met." Bob's all, "Well, technically, my face is raw hamburger thanks to you, but I'll just keep that point to myself." T-Bag explains that he's now part of the team just as Abruzzi and Sucre re-emerge into the cell. Linc grabs Sucre by the jaw, swings him around and shouts, "Why'd you take Abruzzi down there?" Sucre protests that Abruzzi popped up unbidden, just like a zit. Lincoln screams, "And the pedophile thinks he's in!" Sucre's so scared, he's switched to Spanish; he's agreeing that this is a problem, yes. Lincoln has no time for this. He has rioting prisoners to shove his way through.
As Lincoln flips out on the second floor, Michael's wandering around the first one, eyes wide, just looking around. Yes, look at what you started, Michael. He gets an eyeful of the guards waiting for the Go signal before commencing the juicy state-sanctioned beatings, he notices the mounds of waste heaped everywhere...and then a hand claps on his shoulder. Michael wheels around, and it's Lincoln. The two hug. Both of them are crying in relief. Lincoln pulls himself together first and asks, "Where have you been." Michael's rocking back and forth, unwilling to let go of Lincoln. He replies, "All over. Are you all right?" Lincoln says he is. Oh, these two. It's sweet how they don't want to worry each other with little things like, "Oh, I nearly got killed by an ambulatory side of beef" and "Well, there was a whole lot of eluding would-be rapists."
Dr. Tancredi's being steered over to the ambulances, and a smirking Bellick remarks, "She's walking. That's a good sign." So refined, that one. Then Pope comes over and proceeds to ream Bellick out for his chat with Gov. Crankypants. It'll be a miracle if Bellick's walking once it's over.
Sara's explaining to the paramedics that she's only a little bruised when Gov. Crankypants comes over, crying in a worried voice, "Sara? Sara?" Her fragile composure breaks and she half-sobs, "Dad?" Then she's crying and running to him for a hug, and he's asking if she's okay. And then Gov. Crankypants has to ruin it by immediately launching into a diatribe with, "I told you! I told you when you took this job, I knew something like this was going to happen." So he ran on the "Told you so!" ticket -- is that the message here? Sara can't believe this: "God, Dad, can't you even say, 'I'm happy you're alive.'" "Well, yes -- because now you're here to listen to me say 'I told you so' some more," Gov. Crankypants replies. Oh, he does not. What actually happens is that we've established that for all Gov. Crankypants cares about Sara, he's not exactly who you turn to for saying the right thing at the right time. Good thing his career doesn't depend on that!
Inside, Michael's just made it to his cell and a jubilant Sucre tells him, "Those little Hooker holes were right on!" Funny how easily the phrase little Hooker holes just trips off his tongue. Michael's all, "Yeah, yeah, anyone not named Sucre or Michael, get out of this cell. That means you, T-Bag." T-Bag decides that the party's over, and he's going to bring home a dead CO for a party favor. Michael shouts, "You're not going to kill him!" T-Bag shouts back that he darn well will. Michael repeats himself, and T-Bag grabs him. This is Linc's cue to come in and smack T-Bag around. T-Bag hisses, "You can't let him live! After all he's seen! After all he's seen! After all he's seen!" "I've only seen some over-the-top Cape Fear-style shenanigans from you!" Bob helpfully says. In the episode playing in my head. Linc tells Bob, "Keep your mouth shut and turn left." Michael screams at T-Bag, "Get out!" T-Bag's got an expression like, See if I ask you to share a limo when I take Bob's daughter to the prom. Bob scarpers off to the left. Abruzzi herds T-Bag to the right, then makes the mistake of not escorting him back to his cell.
And that's how T-Bag manages to get lost in a crowd of rioting prisoners, then double back so he can stab Bob, then toss him over the railing. Ah, that poor guy. What a horrible way to die, and what a rotten lead-up to that moment too. The Marilyn-less Westmoreland just happens to be striding across the floor and he looks down at the dying CO, then up at the coldly unrepentant T-Bag. The killer sneers. Westmoreland looks genuinely saddened.
Michael collapses against the doorframe of his cell, and as T-Bag saunters by, he hisses, "One for the team." Michael stands slumped in defeat.
We then switch to a quiet external shot of the prison -- first an aerial, then the guard tower, and finally down to an ambulance where Dr. Tancredi's talking with some uniform, confirming, "This is a complete list of the injured and the dead. That's the whole list? Thank you very much." She's futzing around so as to make it more plausible that she would just happen to strike up a conversation with the PI administrator Ron. Dr. Tancredi asks why he'd assign inmates to do a toxic mold removal project, and Ron replies, "What toxic mold removal project?" "In the crawl space in A wing," Sara replies. Ron points out, "We'd never assign inmates to do that." Dr. Tancredi has a little a-ha moment, but recovers enough to thank Ron for his time. Oh, Michael, she is on to you.
But we won't get to see how that shakes out for another couple of weeks. For now, all that happens is Michael standing up behind bars thinking, "Stupid! Stupid! Nobody was supposed to get killed! Stupid human factors!" and looking very broody. If he keeps it up, his face will freeze that way.