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Last time on Prison Break, it looked like Lincoln was going to be electrocuted for sure. It was all very tense. And for the first few minutes of this episode, it's still very tense, with Lincoln getting strapped into the chair, and him hyperventilating, and the COs inexplicably not putting a hood on him --
Well, scratch that. They don't put a hood on him because how else would Lincoln be able to look into the witness stands and see his dad? Apparently, Mr. Burrows was invited to the execution courtesy of Mr. P. Lot Contrivance.
So then there's a last-second reprieve because some hinky autopsy report's showed up, and Linc is unstrapped from the chair (no word on whether he actually needed that adult diaper), and he's got two weeks before they do this whole drill again.
Everyone immediately sets to work: Veronica and Nick are on the autopsy report and they get the body exhumed; Michael decides he's going to re-route the escape through the psych ward -- charmingly nicknamed the Wack Shack -- and spends a lot of time getting into the same old tense situations; Madame Vice President, Mistress of Evil, runs around generally being evil.
Unfortunately, over the course of his little perambulations through the psych ward, Michael ends up burning his back, thus losing the map through the place. And as Dr. Sara is picking bits and pieces of burnt crunchy bits off his skin, she notices that she's actually handling a guard uniform.
So now we're looking at the big conspiracy on the outside, the possibility that Mr. Burrows is actually connected to this conspiracy somehow, a whole new escape plan, and a newly-suspicious Dr. Sara. Want more? The full recap starts right below!
Previously on Prison Break: Lincoln's prospects for escape narrowed somewhat.
When the episode begins, Linc looks back at Michael and Veronica, then turns to face Ol' Sparky. We get a shot of the ugly, institutional-looking clock. I guess one of those clocks where it's the Elvis with the swinging legs would be inappropriately kitschy. It's two minutes to midnight. Bellick is standing immediately below the clock, looking somber. Pope is standing to him, looking haggard. Two guards are busy strapping Lincoln into the chair, and as the liquid from the restraining cap pours over him, he begins to hyperventilate. Dr. Sara looks up. We see Linc straining against the chair, getting progressively more panicky. The guards fasten a thick strap under his chin, then screw a wing nut onto a bolt at the top of his cap. A minute has elapsed; there is one minute to go. Pope nods grimly to Bellick, who pulls back the curtain on the witness area. We see Michael and Veronica sitting in the front row. Veronica cringes. Michael reels; his face is stricken.
Linc is breathing hard and heavy now. Both Michael and Veronica are tearing up. Dr. Sara looks agonized; Pope kindly tells her she can leave. She does, and the camera lingers on Michael's face in the glass. We then switch to Lincoln. He's looking in the gallery of observers, and his eyes fly open. There's a nondescript man -- middle-aged white guy, gray hair, tan jacket -- and as he takes off his blue baseball gap, Linc gasps through his restrained jaws, "Ahd." Dad. He then begins breathing Michael's name. On the other side of the glass, Michael realizes this and leans forward, desperately trying to figure out what Lincoln's trying to tell him. Unfortunately, while Linc's able to mouth "Michael," he does not manage to convey his muttered, "Turn around." The man -- Papa Burrows, I presume? -- is still watching. His face is solemn, but not so dread-filled as everyone else's. Michael mouths, "What?" in the tiniest, most discreet way. Lincoln really wants Michael to turn around, but that's just not happening. Then the guards finally drop the hood over Lincoln's face and Michael crumples all over again at losing sight of his brother's face.
Pope checks his watch and some dude's about to flip the switch when the phone lights up. Instead of diving for it immediately, everyone stares at the magical talking box what lights up. Then the camera shoots over the observation area. Michael jumps to his feet, asking, "What's going on?" Veronica's clueless. (Surprise!) We then get a very dramatic shot of Michael set off against the black curtain; the camera pulls in tight on his face as he asks, "What's happening?" Half of the members of the First Church of Wentworth Miller answer, "I'm having a religious experience, that's what's happening." Seriously. I don't know if Miller's sending the camera crew balloon bouquets or what, but he's the beneficiary of some extremely good camera angles. We get another arty shot -- Michael half in shadow, his reflection bouncing off the window -- and he asks, "What the hell's going on in there?"
When we switch to the exterior of the prison, it's snowing. It's very quiet, and we switch to the silent anteroom where Michael and Veronica are waiting. Pope comes in and says, "I can't tell you how sorry I am that you had to go through all this." Veronica looks wrecked, and clearly we're supposed to believe that Pope's coming in to pay condolences except, hi, this is the four-minute mark in a show that lives for attempting to psych its audience out (note: "attempting") and there is uplifting music, so it's no great surprise that Lincoln's about to come shuffling in.
The guard helps Lincoln sit down, as he's shaking pretty badly. I imagine he's probably also grateful for that adult diaper. Lord knows if I were facing imminent death by electrocution, I might lose control too. Michael's also pretty shaky and he asks what happened. Pope tells him, "Judge Kessler called. The execution's been delayed…apparently, some new evidence has come to light." Michael's totally unspooling now; he presses, "I don't understand. How long do we have -- one day, two days? Um, not that I need to know so I can go through plans B to J on the Escape 2006 project." Pope can't tell him, because he doesn't know. Veronica makes a quick exit after telling Lincoln he'll be with Michael, and it's all very sweet. Lincoln's practically comatose. Can you blame him? He rouses himself long enough to ask Michael, "Did you see him? The guy in the viewing room?" Michael anxiously answers, "No." Linc tells him, "It was Dad. It was Dad." Michael gaps incredulously, and we go to the credits.
Commercials. That Microsoft commercial showing all those stylish non-American people going to work depresses the hell out of me, because I too would love to have the kind of life where I do not work in an office park designed by someone who read too much 1970s sci-fi but in an excruciatingly well-designed urban office. I mean, I'm already forced to use Winblows at work -- where is my tasteful cubby flooded with natural light? I thought that was part of the fiendish deal.
We get back, and Lincoln is telling Michael that it is too Dad. There's some bickering back and forth, with Michael taking the position that it's just not possible. You would think that his brief tenure in Fox River would have broadened his imagination in terms of what is possible. Michael points out, "There were only half a dozen people in that room: me, Veronica, and a bunch of reporters." There wasn't anyone there from the VP's camp? Doesn't that strike anyone as odd, what with this purportedly being a high-profile execution? Also, given how Kellerman et al. have bungled other conspiracy-related tasks, wouldn't it have made sense for Madame Vice President and Mistress of Evil to send someone to confirm that something went right for a change? Lincoln points out that Michael wouldn't have recognized their father, so he's not in a position to say jack. Michael reasonably asks, "He took off thirty years ago. Why would he come back now, at the very last minute?"
Michael's not the only curious cat. We quickly zoom to Washington, where Madame Vice President and Mistress of Evil (we'll just call her "Madame Evil" for short) is asking sharply, "Why is he still alive?" Ah, it looks like Madame Evil is learning the first rule of conspiracy planning: if you want anything done right, you have to do it yourself. Kellerman is standing; he says, "It appears that some information was anonymously slipped to the judge." Madame Evil snarls, "'Anonymously'? It was your fat little friend Hale!" Kellerman's wearing a look like I would have called him "husky," maybe. Or "man-sized." There's no need to make hurtful comments about weight. Kellerman says it wasn't Hale, and the seated Brinker (a.k.a. "Agent Forbes," from her first appearance) sharply asks, "How do you know that?" Kellerman replies, "If he had given Veronica Donovan anything that could have gotten a stay of execution, I think she would have brought it up when she made her argument in court." Brinker is only temporarily thwarted by this logic. She attempts to blame the secret government machinery, but Kellerman quickly snaps, "Who else on your end knows? Why all the finger-pointing at us? Are you sure the delete didn't come from your end? From the company?" Madame Evil steps in to point out that they're all in this big conspiracy together, so there's no need to make like the 1972 A's and start with the locker-room brawls. Kellerman thanks Madame Evil and heads off. When Brinker gets up, Madame Evil bites out, "The time you're in my office, I expect you to stand when you're addressing me." Brinker agrees in a way that suggests she's just put Madame Evil in the upper third of her "people to kill before the nest election" list.
The morning, Judge Kessler is explaining to the unamused U.S. attorney that all he can say is he was working in chambers, an envelope of unknown provenance was slipped under his door, and the contents were compelling. The first piece of paper is Terence Steadman's autopsy report, in which his appendix is noted as present. The second is an operative report from Steadman's childhood appendectomy. The non-Veronica lawyer has a litter of kittens in the office; Veronica takes advantage of this to push for Lincoln's conviction to be overturned. The U.S. attorney recovers enough to point out that the documents aren't certified and could be a hoax; conveniently enough for him, the hospital doesn't keep records going all the way back to Terence's childhood, so it's not going to be as simple as skipping down to Cook County General, ogling the hot Croatian doctors, then pulling the reports. The judge tells everyone to chill and says, "I don't know what these papers mean. And for that reason, I'm going to err on the side of caution. I'm delaying the execution by two weeks. That should give us more than enough time to exhume the body…it's the only way we're going to know if that body in the ground is Terence Steadman." Veronica looks hopeful.
Back at Fox River, Veronica's catching Michael up on the latest developments via a phone call, and sums up, "So we're right back where we started." So this is what it looks like when the powers that be hit a reset button on an entire universe!
Michael and Sucre have a very dramatically-lit conversation back in their cell that can be summed up thusly:
Michael: Sucre, it's show time!
Sucre: Yay! Team Escarpara's going to the playoffs! Hug me.
We then go to a bizarre shot of Lincoln in which he is a) sitting in front of a black backdrop, and b) apparently lit by spotlight. It's as if he's about to give an interview for a documentary on A&E or something. Pope is busy telling him he doesn't know anything about what the hell is going on, albeit in many more words: "To be honest, I've never been in a situation like this before. If nothing else, you can be glad that you've got people who will go to extreme lengths to get you out of here." Lincoln does not begin openly giggling at the uncanny accuracy of Pope's statement. He does grunt a wry, "No kidding."
The light then gets weirder -- imagine that we've gone from live-action filming to Frank Miller drawing every scene -- and Lincoln asks Pope if he or anyone else in the prison happened to speak to the dude in the baseball hat. Pope fumbles for a folder and checks his list of those who were present: "Your brother, his attorney and three reporters." Again -- gobsmacked that the Little Conspiracy That Couldn't didn't have someone there to make sure the machinations worked as planned. However, the point is not to marvel about how quickly conspiracies can get kneecapped if they stint on resources. It's to raise the possibility that Lincoln just happened to hallucinate that he saw his dad mere minutes before his execution was halted. And to raise the alternate possibility that Michael inherited his stealth genes from his old man.
Back in Michael's cell, he standing with his back to a mirror, Sucre's holding up another mirror, and Michael's explaining that he's busy looking for another way out of the prison. Sucre asks if he knows all the plans, and Michael smirks that "memorizing [the prison layout] would be like memorizing a phone book." Sucre asks why they don't just lather, rinse, and repeat, and Michael replies, "Contingencies." Sucre repeats, "Contingencies? Are you saying you found another way?" Michael says, "Maybe?" Still playing exposition fairy, Sucre prods, "What do you mean, 'maybe'?" Michael explains, "There's always been another way, but it's suicide."
And with that supremely unhelpful quip, we transition over to Team Escarpara, working PI in the yard during some snow flurries. Sucre comments on how cold he is, and C-Note says, "You know what they say about weather in the Midwest. If you don't like it, wait an hour." Heh. I've heard that about Virginia too. And out here, I've heard people quip, "You don't like the weather in the Bay Area? Drive an hour." As the team works, Michael explains, "We're still going out through the infirmary, we're still going to do it through the guard room. It's what's in-between that's going to have to change." C-Note would like to know why because "all we got to do is get through that pipe and we're home free." Michael snots, "There's a reason they replaced it with a twelve-inch pipe, Darwin. People can't get through it. The only way we're getting into that infirmary is from beneath. We're going to have to find another way." Westmoreland catches on first, after a fortuitous glance at a building reading "FOX RIVER ASYLUM." "The psych ward!" he says. Michael tells him it's the only building that shares a sub-surface line with the infirmary. T-Bag asks, "You're telling me, to get to the infirmary, we gotta go through the Whack Shack?" I suppose, for him, that first word has different connotations. Westmoreland wants to make sure he's got all this: "And there's a sub-surface line that runs from the guards' room to the psych ward?" Michael sighs, "Sort of." C-Note's all, "Elaborate, please." Michael explains, "We can go in through that hole in the guards' room. About forty yards up Rt. 66, there's a grate, and that'll get us halfway there." C-Note asks about the rest of the way, and Michael says they'll have to do it above ground. C-Note says incredulously, "Oh, so just a bunch of cons taking a stroll in the middle of the night for all the guards to see." Michael's all, "Yep." Sucre says, "You're right -- it is suicide."
Westmoreland shadows Michael and asks, "This grate you're talking about. It's hidden, right, partner? The COs can't see it." Michael replies, "Not exactly." And on it goes, the prison-yard equivalent of the Socratic examination, all because nobody's ever told Michael about the marvelous inverted-pyramid method of conveying news: most important details up top, then supporting details below it. Anyway, the upshot is, they're going to be popping up out of a manhole cover, there are three guard towers within easy eyeline, and C-Note officially thinks this plan sucks.
Commercials. Am I the only one who thinks Fox telling people about the V-chip during a show that comes with a warning label is one of those "the horse is already out of the barn" moves?
When we come back, Sucre and Michael are gellin' like felons in their cell. Michael tells Sucre he's got to head back inside the walls, so he can head over to the psych ward, familiarize himself with the pipes beneath, and make sure they can get through. Sucre frets about Michael getting caught as he pops up out of the manhole. Michael's also worried. Then a calorically-blessed inmate wheels a laundry cart on by and Sucre says thoughtfully, "I might have an idea." Michael sprains his neck as he pops up to look at Sucre in shock. Sucre's looking pretty smug: Ha! And you thought I was only good for comic relief.
Meanwhile, back on the outside…Madame Evil is carrying on about how the only thing that'll heal her family's pain is a recording of the sizzling sound Lincoln will make as he's executed. As she speaks, we see Veronica and U.S. Attorney Beardo watching the coffin carrying the disputed corpse being lifted out of its grave. Nick the legal beagle notes that Steadman asked for a green funeral -- no embalming and an environmentally correct coffin. Veronica notes that that's very convenient if you don't want to be able to easily identify a body. Someone has gotten a little cynical since the government started trying to kill her.
Hey! It turns out that Captain Calories is actually Sucre's cousin. And Sucre's just asked him for a big, unspecified favor. How convenient, as this will make us more likely to wonder exactly what Sucre could be up to! Oh, you crafty writers. Is there no bottom to your magic bag of tricks? Anyway, Sucre huffs, "You can't say no!" and Captain Calories says, "If my mom -- or worse, your mom -- knows I did anything in here to get you in trouble, forget it." Sucre points out, "I'm in prison, man. How much trouble can I get into?" Captain Calories says, "A lot!" Sucre hisses, "You owe me." Captain Calories replies, "The hell I do -- it's your turn, not mine." The two then debate who owes whom based on past incidents -- there's a broken window, some set of sisters, a lost El Camino, a church collection basket -- and Sucre tops him off with, "The donkey." Captain Calories stops and gives Sucre an incredulous, betrayed look. He looks around to make sure nobody else heard the word "donkey," then says, "We took an oath, bro." Sucre replies, "Don't make me break it."
And now we get some backstory as to why Linc thinks his dad was there. Linc's dreaming, or doing regressive memory therapy, or whatever, and we go back in time to when Lincoln is very young. His dad's hustling him along so they can catch batting practice at Wrigley Field (which, by the way, is one of America's best ballparks) and when the two of them are seated on the left field line, Papa Burrows tells Lincoln to keep his eye on No. 11 and watch him closely. Why, so he can notice that there's no Cubs insignia anywhere on the uniform?
Captain Calories comes sidling in -- inasmuch as he can sidle -- and Sucre's just delighted that whatever he asked for is about to be delivered. Captain Calories hands over a package wrapped in a trash bag and sealed in duct tape and says, "If they catch you with this, they'll kill you. I need this back by morning. If not, they'll know something is up. And cousin? Now you owe me." Sucre's wearing a look like, My friend, there is always another donkey. I can only guess that Michael's already been hipped to what's in the package, because he slides it under the covers without so much as a curious look. Or, come to think of it, a thank you.
Then Team Escarpara's working in St. Louis. Something falls out of C-Note's pockets and Westmoreland picks it up. He says, "Hey, you dropped something…does that say Iraq?" C-Note snatches it out of his hands and snarls, "Thanks." He doesn't seem very grateful.
T-Bag's the one standing watch in the sunny, snow-free courtyard. A CO comes over and T-Bag heads over to knock. Everyone begins puttering. C-Note's leaning to the wall and he's like, "What the hell?" All the cement they've been secreting in the walls is beginning to pour out of a hole. C-Note's looking a little panicky, and the strumming, throbbing background music isn't helping. As the CO opens the door, he leans up against the wall, his foot blocking the hole. Bellick comes in and says contemptuously, "God, you guys are slower than a spelling bee full of stutterers. Y'all think you can slow-walk this job, play grab-ass in here and drag it out for months? Get to work!" Westmoreland says, "You got it, boss." Bellick sees C-Note leaning and begins bullying him to get to work. C-Note protests that his leg fell asleep and Bellick says eagerly, "You disobeying me, convict?" Westmoreland shoves C-Note away, saying, "The man said get to work!" He just happens to block the hole from Bellick's sight as he does; the cement keeps streaming out, undetected. It helps that Bellick's all distracted by C-Note snapping, "What the hell is your problem, old hat?" Westmoreland says, "My problem is young con punks who don't know how things work around here. Construction's a sweet gig. You want to clean toilets, be my guest. Otherwise, grab a hammer." C-Note makes a big show of reluctantly obeying. Bellick says somewhat bemusedly, "Still got some piss and vinegar in those old veins, eh, Charles? I like it." He walks out and Westmoreland cracks, "Close one, huh?" Sucre grins and so does Michael. As Westmoreland relaxes a little, a big chunk of wall comes out and the concrete spills all over the place. Cut to Westmoreland looking pretty darn dismayed.
That is not their biggest concern at the moment. What is: the two COs who are reminiscing about sports in some way; the anti-Pope's saying, "Ole Miss, right? Wasn't it Ole Miss?" and Stoltz is saying, "Nah, it was a Midwestern school. Hold on a second. Hey, Bagwell!"
T-Bag's gone to knock on the door. The rest of Team Escarpara is currently shoveling concrete back down into the hole as fast as they can. Stoltz comes in and asks, "You know what school Art Schliester played at?" T-Bag comes walking over and quavers, "Not really sure about that, boss." Inside, Team Escarpara is shoveling like they've never shoveled before. Outside, T-Bag says, "I'm not really not much of a football guy, anyway." Not above the Pop Warner level, he's not. T-Bag continues, "Too much violence." Stoltz does not begin openly snickering. Instead, he prods, "You know the guy I'm talking about, the quarterback, got nailed for gambling." T-Bag doesn't know. Stoltz smirks, "I bet if I asked you what his ass looked like, you'd remember." Oh, now there's no need to get personal. Stoltz decides, "Maybe somebody in the brain trust knows." As he opens the door, Team Escarpara's collective eyes bug out and they all freeze in place. The anti-Pope tells him to drop it and Stoltz is like, "Nah, man, it's been bothering me all day." T-Bag desperately bursts out, "Ohio State!" The guard turns around. Inside, Michael looks like, "Yes. Indeed, Art Schliester did play for the Buckeyes." Stoltz cheers, "That's right! You're not completely worthless after all." Yes -- being a Buckeyes fan more than makes up for a lifetime of raping and killing children. T-Bag's grin lasts for a microsecond before it's replaced by an expression suggesting that come the riot, T-Bag's going shopping for Stoltz.
Dr. Sara's giving Lincoln a check-up, and he asks if it's possible that he's under so much stress, he's now hallucinating his deadbeat dad. Dr. Sara's not ruling out that possibility.
Michael and Sucre are carrying in a giant drying fan (we are sadly familiar with those following our own pipe-bursting accident and aftermath here at Casa de Sobell), which gives Westmoreland and C-Note some time to bond. Westmoreland fishes with, "I've seen a lot of rackets in my time, but if you're doing what I think you're doing with those postcards, yours definitely takes the cake." C-Note drawls, "How 'bout saving the small talk, old head, 'cause you and I ain't got nothing in common." Westmoreland's undeterred: he asks if C-Note writes them here, then sends them to a pal in Iraq for posting. C-Note snaps, "Why don't you just shut your world-hole, 'cause you don't know nothing about my racket?" Westmoreland presses on that he's seen other guys try duping their family, but he's really impressed by the excuse C-Note's using. Then he asks, "DeeDee -- is that your wife or your kid?" C-Note leans in and whispers, "You listen. I don't even want you to say her name in this prison. You feel me?" Westmoreland says, "A daughter. Definitely a daughter." C-Note flounders before saying, "How would a guy like you know?" Westmoreland tells him, "'Cause I got one myself. You know, after you break outside these walls, that's the first place they're going to look for you." C-Note turns around and asks him with some asperity, "Why is it that you think I'm that dumb that I would go directly there?" Westmoreland grins, "'Cause that's exactly the first place that I'm going to go." He begins laughing, saying, "Maybe we got something in common after all," and C-Note smiles ruefully, acknowledging he's been bested. Oh, Westmoreland. If you were in Mexico, you would be known as "el zorro de plata" and young singers would compose narcocorridos in your honor.
Linc has gone back to thinking about his dad. We flash back to Papa Burrows and Linc at batting practice, and ol' Papa's telling Linc, "See number 11 over there? Keep your eye on him. Watch him closely. Mid-level reliever at best. But he's always working at it -- that's why he's your old man's favorite player. His work ethic." We see young Linc taking in the player's name -- Prall -- and then Linc wakes up in the here and now. Hey -- it turns out that's also the name of the so-called reporter from "Headline News" that was supposed to witness Lincoln's execution. Linc realizes that he's looking at one of two options: either the mid-level relief pitcher made a new life for himself as a reporter, or his dad got into the execution using a false name.
Michael's checking out his tattoo again and noting that the pipes beneath the psych ward are quite complete. Sucre's dozing, and rouses himself to ask, "How complex can it be?" Oh, you had to ask. Michael monologues, "When they built this place in 1858, the pipes were lead. A century later, they discovered lead was a health risk. They replaced them with copper. They never removed the lead pipes -- it costs too much. There's thousands of yards of the stuff still down there. A few years ago, they switched to industrial plastic -- it was cheaper just to lay it over the old stuff." The upshot -- and this is illustrated by layer upon layer of schematic embedded within Michael's back tattoo -- is that Michael will have to negotiate a veritable rats' nest of pipes, and if he gets lost, the whole plan is blown because he won't be back by count. At this point, Sucre is just over panicking over every little detail. He only asks, "You won't make a wrong turn, right?"
Within moments, Michael's managed to find his manhole (not like that), handle his package (again, not like that), and emerge into the courtyard…dressed like a guard (again, I'm speaking literally). The music tells us we should be awed by the drama of the moment.
Commercials. McDonald's, you do not want to cross me with this "wake up and smell your life" business. Ask the Burger King how well it worked out for him when I began paying attention. Oh, wait -- YOU CAN'T. You've been warned, Ronald.
So we come back and Michael's just standing there until a big, horkin' spotlight comes on and then he waves all, "Hi! It's just me!" The light sweeps on and so Michael takes off again. He buzzes for entry into the psych ward and the ultra-creepy gatekeeper says snidely, "I don't believe my eyes. One of the blues actually coming into psych ward." Michael makes up an excuse about having to visit the little guards' room and the guard buzzes him in the second set of gates. He then adds a little comment about how it's a total mystery to him why the guards all avoid the Whack Shack, explaining, "Between the killers and the crazies, I'll take the crazies. A crazy steps out of line, all I've got to do is shoot him with 40 cc's of shut-your-trap and it's beddy-bye." Michael does not ask, "So you're not familiar with the DC Universe? The words Arkham Asylum don't ring a bell?" Instead, he merely asks for directions to the bathroom.
Now Sucre's up and worried, as bed check is coming around and Michael's not back yet.
Michael, meanwhile, is busy not going to the bathroom. He's checking out the nest of pipes and whatnot beneath the building, and he eventually finds a trapdoor. Then a buzzer alerts him and he stops poking around. It's the creepy guard up front, and Michael has to pull the "Ah, heh, can't tell my left from my right, this place is so creepy" nonsense. It would be tense, except I've had many tense scenes already tonight and I think my adrenal glands are empty.
And a good thing because otherwise I'd be all, "Ewwwww…" at the very decomposed body on the slab. The coroner's saying, "With decomposition this extensive, the most accurate method of identification is dental records." And why wouldn't it be DNA? Unfortunately, neither Veronica nor Nick the legal beagle watches CSI, so neither of them thinks to press for this double-checking. Because honestly, how hard would it be to make molds of Steadman's teeth, then rearrange someone else's teeth to look like those? Anyway, Nick and Veronica shuffle out the door…and right into the path of Madame Evil. She summons all the righteous indignation she can before saying, "I hope you're proud of this. You've gotten your pound of flesh. Are you done now, or would you like to hurt my family more?" Instead of whipping out a bottle of holy water and chirping, "Option B!" Nick merely ushers Veronica out without a word.
Michael's cruising back toward his manhole and slides in before anyone in the guard tower can notice. Back in the cell, Sucre's having a freak-out, which is surely the best way to not attract any attention at all.
So as Michael's wending his way back to his cell, he has to go through this warren of pipes where it's all very hot and steamy and industrial-looking, and unfortunately for Michael, that's when another guard comes down. It's Mack. He's decided to have a wee droppie in the boiler room before heading back to rounds. Mack steps back so nobody can see him hitting the flask, so Michael steps back too…and thus ends up searing his back on a pipe. Fortunately, Mack mistakes the sizzle of roasting flesh for the lysing of his liver cells, so he's not bothered to investigate.
When the guard gets to Michael and Sucre's cell, there's a blanket-huddled bundle on Michael's bunk, and Sucre sprawled out all over his bunk. The guard moves on…and then we hear the gentle squeaking of metal as Michael comes crawling back in. Dude is looking rough. The burn's pretty nasty-looking, and when Michael tells Sucre to help him take off the uniform, Sucre points out, "It's, like, burned to your skin." Michael hisses that it has to come off because "if the guards catch me wearing this, I'm a dead man." Sucre is like, "Um, ew, it's all melted and stuff," but he eventually braces himself, counts to three, and rips. We go to commercials on Michael's scream.
Commercials. Few things are as amusing as the hysterical news coverage surrounding rain.
We come back to a horizontal shot of Dr. Sara, and from this we can infer that Michael's waking up in the infirmary. Let us tally his wounds at this point: massive head contusion, lost two toes, got a big gouge in his arm, and now he's seared his back. What is ? Why don't they just move him and Sucre to the infirmary full-time and save everyone the trouble of having to take Michael there each time something new happens to him? Dr. Sara comes over and totally tips her hand on how she feels by saying, "Michael, it's Sara. How do you feel?" "Too groggy to notice that you're no longer all about the 'Call me Dr. Tancredi' edict," Michael replies. He wants to know why he's out of it, and Dr. Sara tells him that's a side effect from the "procedure" they had to perform.
Meanwhile, poor Sucre's sitting in Pope's office. Pope is daydreaming while Bellick prances around, snarling, "You got sick of Scofield's smart mouth, so you decided to deep-fry him." Sucre insists he didn't do anything to Michael. And on the face of it, why wouldn't you believe him? It's not like there's a gently-simmering fondue pot that's been in the cell from day one. And it's not like the guards hadn't immediately come by the cell, so really, how would Sucre have contrived a way to find something that heats up, then heat it to burning temperature in the few minutes between count and Michael's screaming? But this sort of observation-based logic and reason is lost on Bellick, who insists that because Sucre was in the cell with Michael, it had to be him. He adds, "You think we should call Matlock in on this one?" Sucre looks over at Pope, then back at Bellick, before asking, "Who's Matlock?" Haaaaaa! Priceless. Pope comes in to play good cop, and Sucre launches into a sincere-sounding -- if not entirely honest -- monologue: "I told you, I didn't burn him! I found him! He was acting weird when we lined up for final count. He was sweating, you know? But he's not a big talker anyway, so I didn’t think much of it. Middle of the night, I get up to you know, shake hands with the president, and there he is, face down on the floor." Bellick is politely dubious: "My ass." Sucre insists he didn't touch him.
Dr. Sara offers Michael painkillers, and he asks how bad it could be. "I'd take the pills," she assures him. As he's drinking the water with his pills, Dr. Sara asks, "Your cellmate do this to you?" Michael nearly chokes on the water from laughing. He asks, "Sucre?" Dr. Sara presses, "Who did?" and Michael coyly replies, "This is the part where I don't answer you." See, Dr. Sara, this is why you should never date him: imagine how annoying it would be to hear that every time you asked a question. When Michael's escorted out, Dr. Sara calls a nurse to come up to check something out. Nurse Gossipson comes up and Dr. Sara shows her some of the melted fabric she picked out of Michael's back, then notes that it's not from an inmate uniform, but from a guard's uniform.
Cut to Captain Calories freaking out over the state of the uniform. Sucre's very apologetic, but that's no consolation for the ass-chewing CO Stickyfingers delivers unto Captain Calories for his burning of the uniform. Captain Calories takes it like a man, and when CO Stickyfingers leaves, he demands to know why Sucre wanted the uniform. Sucre tells him, "Trust me, Primo, the lest you know, the better."
Veronica comes to visit Lincoln, and lies to him about "Steadman's" "autopsy results." Lincoln then brings the conversation around to his dad, and Veronica punts, "I didn't know him. Your mom said some pretty horrible stuff about him when we were growing up." Linc breaks the news that his dad was in the observers' gallery, and Veronica says, "How would you know? You haven't seen his face in 30 years." Lincoln tells her it's all in the name. Veronica's not buying it. As the tender love theme plays in the background, Lincoln tells her, "I know what I saw, V."
Meanwhile, the Little Conspiracy That Couldn't is reviewing the security camera footage from the corridor outside Judge Kessler's office. Brinker says, "Check out this guy. He is very skilled. He moves casually enough to avoid suspicion, [and] see how he shifts his hat when he rounds corners, to cover his face? That's exactly where those cameras are." Fortunately for her, the guy's not so good that he notices how the shiny office door is casting a reflection. Brinker notices and studies the frame carefully. She looks at the face and says, "Son of a bitch…I know that guy."
Michael's back in his cell, and Sucre asks how he's feeling. Silent is how he's feeling, apparently. Michael unwraps his bandage, because nothing aids recovery like letting raw, wounded skin get a lot of exposure. He checks the mirror and has a little freak-out. Sucre plays Exposition Cellie once again and prods Michael to explain what the cliff-hanger is for week, and Michael tells him, "The blueprints, the ones we need to get from the psych ward to the infirmary, our map out of here -- they're gone."