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The season opener picks up right where the finale left off -- with Michael standing in the middle of the chaotic Sona prison courtyard, pop-eyed with terror. Who can blame the guy? Sona is such a wretched hive of scum and villainy, the law has cleared out and let the inmates run the penitentiary. As a result, they settle their differences by throwing chicken feet at one another, then brawling to the death.
It doesn't take long before Michael's bad situation gets a little worse: not only is he in this hellhole, but he's attracted the attention of the drug kingpin who runs it. Lechero is a powerful dude whose weakness is...being jealous of Michael? Yeah, I don't get it either, but Lechero quizzes a local hooker with an "Is he prettier than I am? Be honest, I won't be mad" conversation and gets miffy when she's like, "I wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers." To cover up his conflicted man-crush, Lechero decides that Michael is too charismatic to live, then sets up Michael for a chicken-foot battle to the death. Bear in mind that in the twenty-four hours Michael's been in Sona, he has spent most of his time trying not to be noticed or trying not to bang his head against the wall as he realizes he's trapped in this hellhole with three of his least favorite people on the planet, but whatever. Quiet panic is the new charisma!
We all knew Mahone and Bellick were in Sona, but T-Bag has now shown up too, looking remarkably fresh for a man who spent the season finale being pinned to a cabin floor with a big knife. Mahone's worst problem in Sona is that he's going through a raging case of withdrawal (one can only hope we get treated to an episode where we see him hallucinating bats flying out of Lechero's head) but Bellick has basically become the low man on the totem pole. It is like karma has been saving up for this moment for two seasons or something.
Anyway...Michael is facing death by chicken-foot-throwing thug when Mahone comes to the rescue not once but twice. First, he gives Michael some handy advice on fighting dirty. Second, he darts in and kills the guy when he realizes that Scofield can't -- or won't -- bring himself to do it. It was an awesome scene, and I can't wait to see how Michael and Mahone continue to interact.
Over the course of the episode, Linc tries to get Michael thrown into a nicer Panamanian prison. However, he learns that Michael's in there for a reason, and the episode ends with Linc delivering The One World Conspiracy's threat to Michael: either Michael breaks out one of the conspiracy goons who's currently incarcerated in Sona, or both L.J. and Dr. Sara get killed. Michael has a week to do it.
And then, when the episode is over, I scream at my TV, "Game on! GAME MOTHERF***ING ON!" Because seriously, what a great set-up for the season. Except if you're Michael, that is. Want more? The full recap starts right below!
Previously on Prison Break: We met FBI agent Alexander Mahone, who turned out to have a few skeletons in the closet and one buried under his birdbath. Consequently, the One World Conspiracy leaned on him to hunt down and kill the scattered members of Team Escarpara. His final score: three kills, one unsuccessful attempt, and four not-at-alls. The unsuccessful attempt, C-Note, is now living happily ever after thanks to a sweetheart deal in the witness protection program. T-Bag is currently languishing in some wretched little prison. Sucre is currently languishing in the gutter thanks to his ill-fated attempts to find the girlfriend that Bellick kidnapped. Linc is currently running around, looking for Dr. Sara. And Michael is now in Sona, a prison that makes the Oswald State Penitentiary look like the Red Door Spa.
So of course it makes total sense that we begin the episode with a woman we have never seen before. It's a brunette with striking blue eyes, doing her toilette at a vanity somewhere. We see that she's got a few deep scratches on one side of her face...
...And then finally, we get to Michael. He's still where we left him back in April: frozen in place at the edge of a courtyard in Sona. It's pouring rain and there are tons of wet, brawny men hollering. So, you know it's either a prison or the locker room after a WWE show. Michael looks around and notices Mahone standing at the edge of the crowd. Then his attention is grabbed by the goings-on at the center of the prison courtyard. There are two mesomorphic guys with serious anger-management issues, and one has apparently goaded the other into fighting by waving around a dried-up chicken's foot. A brutal bout commences. Michael looks stunned.
As does the American who's talking to Linc as they hurtle down the stairs in what is presumably the plushy American embassy. Linc is protesting that the consul has to get Michael the American citizen out of the Panamanian jail. The guy is all, "Hey, I feel you, but I'm a night clerk. My job is to speak English at panicky expatriates and tourists to lull them into a false sense of relief, then tell them their emergency has to wait until morning." Linc takes this surprisingly well. Feeling expansive because he's just delivered bad news and managed to keep all his parts intact, the night clerk decides to make small talk and find out where the Panamanians have stashed Michael. When Linc tells him "Sona," the clerk makes the lemon face and intones gravely, "The worst of the worst are there. Men no other prison will take. They rioted so badly a year ago, the guards just pulled out and left them to themselves. A thousand thieves, rapists, murderers..." He does not add, "And your sissy college-boy brother's in there with them. Have fun stewing on that until morning!"
Well, the good news for Michael is that the worst of the worst just became a little less worse, what with 0.1% of the population being dispatched in the chicken-foot fight. Michael chooses not to look on the bright side, focusing instead on the remaining 99.9% who comprise the worst of the worst, and freaks right the heck out as we go into credits.
Hey! New credits. We see a lot of shots of Sona, a few of the new people in the cast, but you know what we don't see? Shots of Dr. Sara. Oh, those of us who read Don't Do Time in the Prison of Love for book club are gonna be pissed if she's gone for good.
After a tasteful pause in the iTunes player, we resume action at the U.S. consulate in Panama City. A guy who's got great Executive Hair -- hairline only a few millimeters off from the high school mark, thick and silvering nicely -- is busy nicely asking someone on the phone if they could please move Michael to a more "moderate" facility, if it's not too much trouble, thanks everso. My, he's diplomatic. How fortunate, eh? When he gets off the phone, he tells Linc, "The good news is, as of yesterday, you're a free man. You got nothing to worry about." "Just my brother," Linc answers immediately. (Awww! It is so sweet when that big-brother instinct kicks in.) The diplomat's all, "Ye-ah..." and replies tactfully, "That's a heck of a story with you two. That even made the news down here." What, the internet delivers CNN down to Panama? 'Tis a wonderment! The diplomat then asks about L.J., and Linc is all, "Yeah, back off the kid, already." I mention this only because the whole L.J. thing makes me suspicious of this guy and whether he's part of the One World Conspiracy. Anyway, assuming Michael makes it out of Sona (he's due to be transferred in a day), it looks good that he can plead out to self-defense. Linc delicately fishes for news of the duffel bag full of money but alas, it is gone. I am also suspicious about this.
We zip back to Sona. The man who was killed the night before is still laying where he was dropped. Presumably he's serving as a warning to others? The rest of the prison courtyard features people scrubbing grills and carefully folding up tarps that collected water, so it's not like the place has descended into a total cesspool.
Michael, who had fallen asleep seated with his back against a pillar, comes to with a start. He looks around and sees Bellick -- naked but for a saggy pair of tighty-whiteys, sporting a set of mean-looking scratches on his torso and some scabby blood on his face -- limping across the courtyard in a daze. Michael quickly moves so Bellick won't see him. It wouldn't happen anyway; Bellick has run into a group of men and is begging them for water. Because they are the baddest of the bad and all, they make Bellick get down on all fours and drink from a muddy puddle like a dog. Right as Bellick's about to lap up a big swig of liquid dysentery, the lead thug splashes the water in his face. Somewhere, the ghost of Tweener is looking up from the bad rap lyrics he's composing in the afterlife, and saying, "Karma, yo."
Another gringo who's hardly wearing anything comes over and pulls up Bellick, telling him, "Get used to it, man. I haven't eaten for days." He looks it, too. The two barefoot men lurch off. I try not to think about all the different types of parasites that can enter the human body via open sores or cuts in the feet.
Meanwhile, Mahone has managed to avoid worrying about such trifling matters as food, drink or personal security, because he is going through a raging case of drug withdrawal. I would love to see the diplomat swing by all, "The good news is, the sweating, shaking, and feeling of wanting to crawl out of your skin are distracting you from noticing what a hellhole this is. The bad news is, you're doomed to spend your withdrawal time flashing back to the assorted deeds that landed you here in the first place: killing Oscar Shales and burying him in your yard; heading up the manhunt and killing members of Team Escarpara for the One World Conspiracy; killing Agent Von Blondie. Also, because you're not miserable enough, you'll also flash back to the wife and son you left behind. Bet you wish you had that Trainspotting-style withdrawal with creepy babies climbing on the ceiling, huh?" And then, because Mahone is not miserable enough, along comes Michael to glower at him.
Mahone heads over and Michael asks, "What do you want. Alex?" Mahone replies, "I want a doll! I want a doll!" Oh, not really. What Mahone wants to do is vent a little: "You're so clever! Like planting the drugs on the boat, that's the big irony, a law man in jail." Michael says coldly, "You are exactly where you belong." Mahone replies, "No, that's where you're wrong, and that's where you're going to help me. I will have a court date one of these days, and you will be there, on the stand, and you will tell the truth." Oh, I hope it happens -- "Yes, your honor, I framed him for the drugs, but that's only because I was angry about him killing my dad, and kidnapping my brother, and shooting some other people I wasn't very fond of, and trying to kill me." And then Mahone's lawyer would just bang his head slowly against the edge of the table.
Anyway, Michael asks Mahone what the One World Conspiracy wants with him, but Mahone's like, "If I actually knew anything useful, would I be rotting in this hellhole?" He protests that he and Michael are really both victims here, so why not just work together because "this is the first day of the rest of our lives." Michael's not buying it; he gets on his high horse and rides off with, "Every time I look at you, all I can see is the man who killed my father. You're on your own."
Outside Sona, a leather-lunged lass is hollering, in Spanish, "My husband! Bring him out! I know he was killed last night! Someone called!" Linc hoves into view, then jogs off again before the guards can confuse the light glinting off his chest with a weapon of some sort and open fire. We see him head into the visitor's office. A smirking nun is busy signing in. Once she's let through -- the guard making it abundantly clear that he'll be heading to confession later owing to his blasphemous thoughts -- Linc lurches forward. The guard is not as happy to see him, and spouts some legalese that basically amounts to "Your estate cannot sue if something happens to you during visiting hours." The guard adds, "Any attempt to assist an inmate with escape will be met with a lethal response." Linc deadpans, "Wouldn't dream of it." Ha! Who knew the big lug had such a sly sense of humor?
Michael is allowed out to see his visitor. Basically, he's let into the human equivalent of a dog run topped with barbed wire. A raised wooden rail keeps Linc from getting too close to the fence on the other side. The two brothers say very stoic hellos: "So." "So." Linc says, "I feel like I'm on the wrong side." Michael assures him he's on the right side, and Linc quickly replies, "You're not." Michael grins wryly and asks, "You gonna break me out?" "And tattoo this gleaming expanse of prime-grade manflesh?" Linc chortles. Oh, he does not. He says something nearly as good: "Too tiring...all that running." Michael then teases Linc about needing to lose his cowboy boots. Hee! Linc asks if Michael's scared, and the way Michael drops his head and refuses to answer tells him everything he needs to know. Linc tells Michael that he's working on getting Michael moved to a safer facility while he waits to be tried for Agent Kim's death. The transfer's supposed to be tomorrow; the trial will be a month or so away.
Michael changes the subject with, "I keep waiting for you to mention a certain someone." Would that be the someone who did the actual shooting you're in jail for? Why, yes, it would. Linc awkwardly admits that he has no idea where Dr. Sara is. Michael says desperately, "You gotta find her...she's important to me, Linc." To his credit, Linc does not immediately riposte, "Really? My first clue was when you WENT TO PRISON for what SHE had done, boy genius." Linc promises Michael it will all work out, and adds, "I'll see you tomorrow." Michael looks like he wants to reply, "If I'm alive tomorrow." Linc walks off, looking miserable. At the fence, Michael lets himself cry one perfect tear. Or perhaps he's sweating, since he's wearing four layers on what looks like a very warm day.
(Can I digress here for a moment? I was sort of hoping that Sona would be some ridiculously high-tech government prison compound where crazy, Age Of Apocalypse-type science was going down, and some mad doctor would come in, strip Michael to the waist, and say, "Let's see how you do without your tattoos!" Then he'd cackle evilly, we'd get a crack of phosphorescent light, et voila Michael would be tattoo-free and we could stop this business with the nonstop wearing of long-sleeved shirts because it's too much trouble to put on the tattoo makeup week in and week out. Because seriously. The tattoos were fun for the first season, but it is so unfair that we've hardly seen them since, so why not just get rid of them and let Michael Scofield dress in more climate-appropriate clothing? If T-Bag can get the superhuman powers following a hand amputation, a little tattoo removal shouldn't be that big of a deal.)
Michael walks through the now-bustling Sona courtyard looking all pissy. This is, of course, the cue for a teenaged inmate in a basketball jersey to come rushing up to him: "America! I love America!" Without breaking stride, Michael tells the kid, "Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying." The kid protests that he only wants to talk basketball. He tosses Michael a soccer ball, but takes it back and runs off as a mean-looking dude comes over and growls, "Let's go, Blanco. Orientation." (By the way, I believe this is the guy who snapped the neck of the other inmate in the night's brawl. No wonder the kid skedaddled.) Michael says he's not interested, and the other guy flashes a knife and growls, "It's not for you to decide."
We then go to a TV; it's frozen on a woman who looks like she's about to go into warrior pose II. However, I am like the "Don't" poster child for yoga -- hamstrings that don't stretch, a complete lack of balance, a tendency to fall asleep during savasana -- so don't take my word for it. The point it, someone wants to get serene and bendy without dealing with Rodney Yee and his shrink-wrapped body parts. We see the extended hand of someone following along at home, and the nun getting dressed in the background. That she was undressed and wearing something a bride of Christ wouldn't even contemplate on the honeymoon night more or less tells us we're looking at a hooker with a plucky entrepreneurial streak.
We get a good look at the guy and -- hey! It's Bunny Colvin from The Wire. Oh, Bunny, the private sector has been rough on you. The new inmates are ushered in; Michael and Mahone somehow end up standing to one another. Bunny puts on a shirt and says in an accent that implies he's from Exotica, the capital city of Jamesbondisvillainstan, that he hopes the first night filled with murder, mayhem, and mud hasn't put anyone's nerves on edge. Michael just blue-steels through the entire expository speech. Bunny AKA Lechero says, "Since the riots last year, they left us here to rot. They figured we would just destroy ourselves. But instead, we thrived...thanks to the Canal, Panama is now a breeding ground for international crime. Twenty-seven different nationalities we have here -- but not one gang. Not one racially-motivated incident, huh. It's just me. Egalitarianism, I believe is the word?" Lechero gets in Mahone's face to ask if he got it right; Mahone is too far gone in the shakes to reply, "No, actually, I think you have it confused with 'despotism.'"
Lechero then asks if there's anything the prisoners would like to tell him. Wow -- even prisoners can't get away from the dreaded "sharing circle" in orientations. Michael looks at Mahone before declining to reply; Lechero does not miss that. He comes over and says levelly, "I don't think you're telling me the truth, Mr. Scofield." And indeed, they get CNN inside Sona. The hooker -- who has not bothered buttoning up her habit, because her real act of charity is letting everyone get an eyeful of the funbags -- is watching this with interest. I guess she's a CNN fan. Anyway, Lechero seems to be operating under the assumption that Michael enjoys his high-profile fugitive status; he barks, "You're not a superstar here! You realize that, don't you?" Michael veils the power of the Blue Steel as he mumbles, "I'm not going to make waves." Lechero replies, "It wouldn't be within your power." Then Michael gives him the Blue Steel, as if to say, Oh, yeah? Do you want some of THIS?
Then Lechero walks over to Mahone and says he's up to date on the plotline through the first fifteen minutes of the show. He then exposits some more about how people settle their differences in Sona: if you've got a problem with someone, you hand them a chicken foot, and that's the cue for a one-on-one fight to the death. No doubt thinking that he can use Michael for some escape, Mahone assures Lechero it won't be necessary to wield the chicken foot. He also catches a little flack for having the gall to go through extreme withdrawal.
However, Mahone gets off light compared to the guy to him, who pees his pants in sheer terror the minute Lechero looks at him. Lechero immediately begins beating the guy about the head and shoulders; it is like watching the Ike Turner method of paper-training a puppy. After a minute of this, Michael shouts, "I think he gets the message." And it bears repeating: shouting Scofield = hot Scofield. Lechero disagrees. He gets up in Michael's face and postures for a bit before concluding as he taps a chicken foot on Michael's temple, "You're a brave man. You're lucky I've been meditating. Before, I couldn't take my finger off the trigger, but now … now I have mind control. Complete control. Mind, body and soul. So namaste, motherfucker." I may have embellished a little at the end there.
After the inmates skedaddle, Sister Magdalene and her cleavage come over to comment, "Who would have thought...a famous person in Sona?" If you want a few more, there's a raft of drunken and/or drugged twentysomething nitwits we can ship down to you. Hell, we could probably even throw in a US Weekly writer ("Inmates -- they're just like us! They do yoga..."). Lechero frets that people are blinded by celebrity and will worship it and frets, "As you can tell, there are many people of weak character behind these walls. Yes, they will follow a man like this. They will put him on a pedestal. He has an [sic]...charisma." How Lechero got that from a man who's been trying to make himself practically invisible is anyone's guess, but we might as well set up the season's great antagonistic relationship early on. Then we go into a ridiculous exchange that can best be summed up below:
Lechero: Tell me the truth: he's prettier than me.
Sister Magdalene: No, baby, no.
Lechero: You can be honest. I can take it.
Sister Magdalene: Okay, fine I wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating nachos.
Lechero: Get out. Now.
Oh, Lechero. You were doing so well before you turned into a girl asking her boyfriend whether her new jeans made her ass look fat.
After another tasteful pause where the commercials would normally be, we get a brief pan over everyday life in Sona, and then we join Michael as he engages in extended flashbacks recounting his relationship with Dr. Sara. We then cut to Linc in a Panamanian police station, trying to see if Dr. Sara has been spotted, or maybe checked in, or anything. Linc extracts a promise from a cop to call if he hears anything.
Back in Sona, Bellick's stringy friend now has a handsome pair of leather sandals. Bellick wants to know where the shoes came from, and Stringy points to the corpse that's still in the courtyard. He does not add, "It's still got pants, hint, hint." The same guy who ushered Michael et al. into orientation comes over to tell these two lower-caste cons that "it's time to start earning your rent around here." Bellick lips off, "There is no rent around here -- it's prison." The stooge is like, "Please keep talking. I need an excuse to kick some more ass." He hands both men plastic trash bags to wear as tarps and then we see that -- oh my God. Y'all. I have worked as a lifeguard in water parks. I have dealt with diaper blowouts in a wave pool, intestinal distress on a water slide, people who confused changing stalls with composing toilets. I have seen how humans treat public facilities and it makes the Tragedy Of The Commons look like drawing-room manners. But this feculent cesspool...oh, my god, it makes all that look a Martha Stewart Living spread. Now guess who has to clean it all? Karma, yo.
We get another life-in-prison montage, all the better to set up the courtyard so we can see T-Bag arriving in the prison. How is he not dead from some dreadful infection in his stabbed arm? Anyway, Michael catches sight of him and his face dissolves into pure panic. That poor guy, trapped behind bars with three of the people whom he hates and fears most in the world. And two of them, it's the second time.
Fortunately, Michael has a visitor. It's your generic middle-aged white guy kind of visitor, which, to those of us versed in Prison Break conspiracy lore, practically screams, "Shadowy Stooge!" And...well, the guy is a shadowy stooge. Elliott Pike at first offers to represent Michael, who snots, "The court already appointed me a lawyer," and then Elliott offers to be of assistance in a different way: "I've got a lot of big guns behind me, Mr. Scofield. People you might like to have in your corner should you ever decide to, say...break out of here." To his credit, Michael does not immediately burst a blood vessel in fury. He just asks whom Elliott represents, and Elliott's all, "Hey, once you're out, the world will be your oyster. Except in months that don't end in 'r,' of course." Michael stares some more, and Elliott drops another giant clue to the season set-up with "There's a reason a guy with your skill set was put in here, you know." Michael currently does not. Elliott leaves with the warning that, hey, they tried to get his consent for an as-yet-unnamed mission the easy way.
Back inside the prison, a couple of inmates have started a percussion group. I bet the prison's black-market trade in acetaminophen is lively. Michael heads to what is presumably his bunk in cell 44, looks at the angel and devil drawings on opposite walls, and makes as if to settle down for a nap, but he's interrupted by a frame-up job in progress. A beefy dude we saw making eyes at Lechero earlier in the courtyard is accusing Michael of stealing his stash, and lo, it is secreted beneath the mattress. Michael gives Lechero, his neck-snapping stooge, and his beefy stooge a withering look and decrees, "That's bull." Kudos to Wentworth Miller for managing to append "...shit" to the end of that sentence without saying a word.
Lechero, who seems a bit of a drama llama despite all that yoga, grabs the stash of drugs and huffs, "You're both scumbags!" It's no "I'm shocked -- shocked! -- to find that gambling is going on here," but it's a respectable runner-up. The druggie promises Michael that they're not done and lurches off. Michael is wearing a look like, Could this day get worse?
Well, it could. Linc has just gotten a call from the constable with whom he spoke earlier, and it seems that a young American woman matching Dr. Sara's description has just turned up in the morgue. Linc stops for a moment, looking stunned and guilty.
Back in the prison, Bellick and Stringy are lining up for whatever soup some inmate is dishing out, but the guy refuses to serve them. To add insult to injury, he's busy munching on a poultry drumstick while he tells them he won't serve them. Stringy begs, "Please -- I haven't eaten in the week since I've been here. Please." You know, I am totally curious as to exactly what Stringy did to get himself thrown into Sona. Do you suppose he was another Bellick, all gleeful bullying and petty crime, until getting thrown in with the worst of the worst? Or do you suppose he's a very unlucky American tourist who happened to underestimate the penalty for something like, say, scoring a kilo of cocaine? I want some Stringy backstory! Anyway, the dinner pot despot deigns to drop his gnawed drumstick into Stringy's empty tin plate. Stringy looks at Bellick in despair.
We cut to him and Bellick walking through the prison corridor while Stringy moans, "They expect us to forage -- like dogs! I'll die! I'll literally die!" He breaks down sobbing. Bellick looks deeply uncomfortable, but manages a "Hang in there, man." This does not soothe Stringy. Wild with despair, he decides that he'll pop out of the window in his cell and run toward the fence for freedom.
Before we can see Stringy sprinting, we switch to Michael sitting alone in the courtyard, meditating on an origami swan he has. T-Bag comes over and purrs, "Playing by yourself...same old Pretty. You're just not good at making friends, are you?" Ridiculous as this character is, I still love his tongue-in-cheek observations. Michael's like "Talk to the ha-- oh, wait. You can't." As he strides off, T-Bag paces him, asking, "On a big-picture note, them big-government types that shook me down so hard, why is it they wanted you here? Was it Sona they was interested in? That's what I'm thinking...do you think it's Sona? Who would be interested in a dump like this?"
Unfortunately, that line of inquiry is not open for further debate, because news of Stringy's impending sprint has just broken in the courtyard. The inmates swarm over to the walls and windows for the free entertainment. We see Stringy drop from his second-floor window and land painfully on the hard, barren ground below. He gets up, nursing a hip, and begins loping toward the fence. After a few minutes of lurching toward the fence, Stringy is machine-gunned down. Bellick and Michael are both shocked.
We cut to Michael, who is having a mid-level freak-out at the entrance to his cell. Once he finishes breathing deeply and collects himself, he looks up and realizes he needn't have bothered: there's a chicken foot waiting on the bed for him. Now would be a fine time to freak out after all.
And after yet another small pause where the commercial would go, we're back and getting a good look at the canal. Ah, Panama. I would like to see more of you. Specifically, I would like to see more of that gorgeous beach we saw at the end of Season Two. Unfortunately, that is not likely to happen. Linc is now at the Panama City morgue to confirm that it's Dr. Sara on a slab. It's not looking good -- the body was fished out of the water right near the last place Linc managed to see Dr. Sara. The coroner pulls out the body. We don't get a good look, but -- Linc takes a look and says softly, "It's not her." He repeats it again, more confidently, "It's not her."
We go back to Sona, and back to Lechero's den of iniquity. He's counting out a fat wad of cash when Michael comes in, and looks up only long enough to comment, "Someone's thrown the glove down on you. The gauntlet, right?" Michael's all, "Congrats on passing Olde Englishe Lit 101, but we both know I didn't take those drugs." Lechero washes his hands of any involvement with "I'm not the judge. I don't deal in the claims people make. I just make sure the rules are followed. And the rules say all grievances are dealt with. Two men in a ring, and a fight." Michael tries to get out of it with "I'll be leaving tomorrow, so that won't be necessary." In that case, Lechero will be bumping up the fight to tonight: "[This] is necessary to me. I have a duty to maintain order here."
We zoom to the grate -- by the way, this is the second time in the episode that we have focused on how it leads out and down -- and Lechero's voice falls away. We see a guy listening in the dark. Then we zoom back up to Lechero, who is busy explaining to Michael, "Here, there is a system. And that system means order." Political philosophy or Container Store slogan? You be the judge. Michael asks what happens if he refuses to fight. Lechero lets him know that's not an option.
Michael asks, "Do you always set up your fights?" Lechero lies about how he had nothing to do with it, and Michael quickly replies, "Yet the only person in here who has a problem with me is you." Outside the door, T-Bag, Bellick, and Mahone look at one another and ask simultaneously, "What am I, chopped liver?" Inside, Lechero basically admits that he's so very jealous of Michael's fame as an international fugitive.
We return to the guy in the sewers having a sit-down and a good think. He's on one side of a wall, and Bellick is on the other. The former CO is down there burning all the fecal waste he and Stringy collected back in the happier times when there were two people to bear the brunt of the prison's collective scorn. The guy whistles Bellick over. He limps through the raw sewage. I try not to think about how many different drug-resistant bacteria are probably entering his bloodstream as he goes. That man is either going to end up with an immune system to rival T-Bag's, or he's going to be the starring exhibit in a World Health Organization conference on emergent pathologies.
Anyway, Bellick limps over to the hole in the wall, and the guy on the other side asks (in an Australian accent), "Think you can do me a favor?" Bellick cordially invites the guy to get bent. The guy replies hoarsely, "I can feed you." Now Bellick is all ears. And mouth -- he demands food first, favor second. The guy hands over a pale slab of something. Bellick shoves it in his mouth and chews, grunting, "Chicken." The other guy is like, "...right. Chicken it is." He'll give Bellick more mystery meat, but Bellick has to run an errand involving two pieces of paper. We don't get any more detail than that.
Meanwhile, Linc is brooding somewhere in scenic downtown Panama when he gets a phone call. It's L.J.! We learn that he's in Panama. Linc is instantly less happy to hear from his son, and more worried. He stammers, "How did you get this number?" and L.J. replies, "I -- I ran into Sara. She got this number from the consulate." All those who had the diplomat pegged as a stooge of the One World Conspiracy, raise your hands. Right then, L.J.'s connection begins to crackle with static, but the upshot is, Linc is supposed to meet L.J. and Dr. Sara in the restaurant at the top of the Garfield Price building at 8:30 PM that evening.
Back in Sona, people are beginning to make book on the coming fight. T-Bag flits around, unsure how to place his bet. As Lechero and his posse go by, they're busy expositing on what a brutal, brutal thug Michael's up against, and they bump into another prisoner. The other guy happens to spill some water on Lechero's shoes, and after Lechero determines that yes, he has this guy intimidated, he's all nicey-smiley.
As the guys head back to their HQ, T-Bag sidles up and toadies with, "Surely it's below a man of your status to walk around all sticky-like?" Lechero is amused. He asks, "What do you propose?" T-Bag kneels, raises his drinking cup, and says, "Ablution." Oh my gosh, somewhere there's a corporate office missing a vice president of fraud. T-Bag ladles on more flattery with "A humble sign of friendship from a stranger who's come into your house." Then there's a truly delightful little sandal-washing tableaux, but really, I am marveling that in less than twenty-four hours, T-Bag has managed to stay dressed and procure a cup of fresh water, and he's down a hand. What does that say about Bellick?
Cut to Michael sitting on his bunk, swinging the chicken foot and brooding on his imminent crunchy beating. Mahone comes over and says, "Go for the kneecap. You hit it straight-on, it'll buckle and take the guy out of commission." Michael smirks and asks, "Fighting dirty? That's your secret?" Mahone replies, "I didn't think there was any such thing as clean in a place like this." That is a lot less flip than my reply, which would have asked College Boy there to calculate the odds of his opponent in a fixed fight adhering to the Marquis of Queensbury rules. Michael adds snidely, "It almost sounds like you care." Mahone disabuses him of that notion: "You're my 'get out of jail free' card. Just survive. Kneecap -- really hard." He leaves, and we go to Michael, who looks like he's about to vomit up his central nervous system from sheer terror.
Out in the prison yard, everyone's all excited. First a random runner and now a fight? Best day in prison ever! Bellick sidles up to Michael, ostensibly to wish him luck, but really to slip a piece of paper in his pocket. This weirds Michael out even more. He walks to the center of the yard looking like a condemned man.
Michael looks up at Lechero's patio on the second floor. It does not escape his notice that T-Bag's now standing at Lechero's left. The other guy comes out, hands off his crucifix to someone else, and heads into the circle. Bellick also manages to get a slip of paper in his pants. Lechero grandstands for a moment, because Sona lacks any inmates willing to put on the bikini and high heels and prance around the ring holding the round card over their head, and lord knows the inmates demand a show. He reminds everyone that there are no weapons allowed, and rules are important because without them, we're savages, and then the fight is on.
Or is it? Michael shouts, "I'm not going to fight." T-Bag has a sideways look like, Uh-oh. I smell a crafty scheme brewing. Lechero sits back, perhaps expecting the other guy to shrug and just commence the beating. And then, as the other guy turns around to look at Lechero, Michael darts in and kicks him hard in the kneecap, straight on. The Foley guys outdo themselves on the crunching sounds, and the big guy goes down like the Nielsen numbers on this week's premiere episode. On the sidelines, Mahone starts excitedly and mutters, "Get him." Surprisingly, Michael does. He channels a bit of the LINCOLN SMASH action and beats the big guy down until he's flat on his back on the ground.
Up on the balcony, Lechero is less than amused, but the guys on the ground are really unhappy because Michael has not followed the fight to its mandated conclusion and killed his opponent. We pause for where the commercial break would go, and when we get back, there's some more punching, Michael manages to fell his opponent once more...but someone's just tossed the big slab of belligerent beef a knife. He's about to knife Michael in the back when Mahone comes out of the crowd, grabs the guy by the knife wrist, neatly doubles him over, disarms him, and guts him like a trout. It is elegant, efficient, deadly and disturbingly hot. Mahone then shouts, "No weapons -- rules are rules, remember? If we don't have them, we're savages." I think if you continue to carry on like that, my homicidal hottie, I'll remember anything you'd like. Up on the balcony, T-Bag looks thoughtful. Lechero looks grim as he realizes he's got a killing machine in here with him and Michael is still very much alive. Well, that backfired magnificently.
Meanwhile in Panama City, Linc is learning that Exposed Gleaming Sternum is not considered acceptable attire in the restaurant. However, the maitre'd is careful to point out that Exposed Gleaming Sternum Plus Dinner Jacket is A-OK. Linc heads into the kitchen and flashes a wad of bills. A minute later, we see him striding into the restaurant in the same outfit, now with busboy jacket. Hee! I like this new, inventive Lincoln. He heads to the bar and asks for a water. A woman at the bar -- the same one we will all remember from the opening scene -- quips, "Please tell me you didn't come all the way to Panama for the water." Linc tersely replies, "Family." The lady busts him on his jacket, and Linc smiles ruefully, "It's a long story." There's a little more back-and-forth, and we get a good shot of the scratches on her face. Linc asks bluntly, "What happened to your face?" She lies, "Cat." Linc says skeptically, "That's a big cat." The woman says philosophically, "You push anything into a corner too far and the claws will come out." Linc pauses and tries to let the mystery lady down gently, telling her it isn't the right time. As he goes to walk off, she says, "Yes, it is, Lincoln. We have a lot to discuss -- specifically your brother." Then she pushes across a smartphone and says, "I highly suggest you talk to him."
And we're back at Sona, so perhaps Lincoln has taken that advice? The girl who was hollering about her dead husband is back. And she's back to hollering. We see a few military trucks roll up and park mere meters from Stringy's felled body, and then we see what must be a routine exchange: cans of liquid (water? fuel?) go in, and the latest crop of dead bodies is carried out. To make sure everyone's really dead and not mostly dead, the military dudes shoot each body in the head. Michael notes this grimly. The bodies are then set right outside the prison walls, and someone explains to the mystery lady that the bodies will be buried right there unless someone feels like stepping up to make their own funeral arrangements.
The truck heads off, and we see that the mystery lady is not so much a grieving widow as she is a woman on a mission to rifle through dead bodies' pockets. When she gets to the thug Mahone killed for Michael, she hits the jackpot. There's a piece of paper in one of the pockets, per Bellick's not-so-stealthy insertion, and boldly penciled over what looks like an old visitors log is the legend: VERSAILLES 1989 V. MADRID. The girl smiles.
We cut to Michael reading the same thing on the piece of paper Bellick slipped in his pocket. He's waiting for a visit from Linc. Both men, it should be noted, are wearing the same clothes from the day before. Michael has no choice, but I'm thinking Linc -- who was in other clothes earlier -- has been otherwise distracted. Michael asks how the transfer's coming along. Linc replies hesitantly, "There are some people who want you to break someone out of there." Not quite getting where this is headed, Michael says, "I know. Some guy already approached me. I said no, thank you." Linc says bluntly, "You've gotta stay." Michael looks up and Linc explains: the guy in the tunnels is named James Whistler. Michael practically begs, "Oh, no, no, no, Linc. I can't do that again." Linc cuts in, "Michael -- Mike. Mike --" and holds up the smartphone. It plays footage of L.J., holding up a daily newspaper and saying, "I'm so sorry. They got me and Sara --" with the part of "Sara" being played by "hunched figure in chair, conveniently mute in background" so make of that what you will "-- please, do what they want. Dad, please." Michael stares at the footage, appalled. Linc grimaces, "You got a week to find this Whistler guy and get him out of there. Otherwise they, they, uh, Sara and L.J....they both die." Michael looks even more horrified than usual for this episode and...we're done. Season Three set up and ready to go -- let's see where we end up.