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At long last, this show recognizes Sucre for what we've known him to be all along: a delicious slab of Grade-A prime beefcake. He's forced to shake his moneymaker in Las Vegas for Cardholder #5, who is immune to Dr. Sara's abundant cleavage-based charms, and boy, does Cardholder 35 fall for Sucre. What follows is one of the most hilariously awkward and implausible attempted-seduction scenes ever -- mostly because there's a total sitcom twist at the end where it's revealed that Cardholder #5 was actually stud-shopping for his wife -- and our boy Sucre persists in not fleeing the scene until Charybdis has finished gobbling all the data off the guy's card. I cannot decide if having one of the male members of Team Scylla have to objectify themselves for a greater cause is A) sort of awesome because it points out how degrading it is for anyone to have to do that, be they male or female, or B) sort of offensive because oh, ha ha, it's funny 'cause it's a boy who has to fend off an evil letch.
Then Roland has to go screw it all up by attempting to use Charybdis in a casino. Security promptly descends upon him and reminds him that he was banned from all Nevada gaming establishments for five years, then they take Charybdis. Linc threatens to leave Roland in the desert, but Dr. Sara is the cool voice of reason: there are many more people in L.A. who can put the hurt on Roland.
She's probably thinking of Mahone, who has his hands full this episode, what with rescuing Michael from the dastardly clutches of T-Bag and Gretchen. T-Bag uses Gretchen to extract revenge upon the GATE employees who wronged him, making Andy his first victim of the year, and then he uses Michael to decode the bird book. Michael's big, tumor-riddled brain (more on that in a moment) soon realizes that Whistler coded a schematic in the book, and that will lead them to the facility where Scylla can be decoded. That facility is accessible via the GATE office, and it's there that Mahone rescues Michael. And then Michael shuts T-Bag into a little side storage area, sort of like a white-collar update to "The Cask of Amontillado." They eventually turn him over to Self, who plans to keep T-Bag in protective custody until Scylla's all retrieved. Everyone's feeling pretty good about the state of the whole get-Scylla thing until Gretchen pops up and says that she wants T-Bag, or else Michael won't get the rest of the schematics.
Then again, Michael may not live long enough to worry about it. In some moderately retconned backstory, Linc tells Dr. Sara that his and Michael's mother died of a brain aneurysm linked to a rare medical condition, and Michael's nosebleeds indicate that he's got the same thing -- a ticking time bomb in his big ol' brain.
Want more? The full recap starts right below!This episode begins a little after the last one left off, as T-Bag is now coming to and discovering that he's been tied to a chair in "Cole Pfeiffer's" dining room. The good news is that Gretchen hasn't spread a tarp over the floor, so it looks like he'll get to keep all his (remaining) body parts. For now. The bad news is that he has nothing to look at except one of those dreary Pergo floors and a pissed-off mystery woman. T-Bag drawls, "The last time a pretty little filly like yourself knocked me senseless, then tied me to a chair, I had to pay for it." Gretchen deadpans, "You still might." Then she gets down to business: why is a stringy little con running around with James Whistler's pseudonymous life and -- more importantly -- the bird book? T-Bag lies that the book was "a gift from a very dear friend of mine who left this realm all too soon." Gretchen replies, "The only thing James Whistler ever gave anybody was the clap." Oh, I hope someone passes along that information to Lincoln. He might find it useful when he begins to wonder where that burning sensation came from. ("LINCOLN WINCE!") Gretchen whips out a folding knife and tells T-Bag he needs to commence babbling, now. Amazingly, T-Bag does not quip about how knifeplay usually costs extra. He eventually babbles, "Scylla! How about that? Does that ring a bell?" Gretchen leans over his shoulder and begins playing with the knife as she asks, "What do you know about Scylla?" T-Bag pretends to know what all of Whistler's extra markup in the book means. Gretchen's all, "Goooo onnnn?" and T-Bag snaps, "What do you bring to the equation, darlin', beside a pair of baby blues and a knife?" Gretchen brings a willingness to use the knife: she draws a line across his forearm by the elbow, saying, "This is me." Then she cuts T-Bag across the wrist with "This is Scylla." Then she makes another horizontal slash between them: "This is you." As she draws a vertical line to connect her three incisions, Gretchen growls, "I am going to get Scylla, and it will either be with you, or through you." T-Bag's screams seem to indicate that he's on board with whatever Gretchen wants to do. Once Gretchen informs T-Bag that he's messing with the wrong bitch (her words, not mine), T-Bag decides he likes his guts where they are and spits out, "How may I be of service?"
We cut to Team Scylla HQ, and Michael is busy catching Don Self up on their efforts to suck the data from card number five. Unfortunately, cardholder #5, Howard Scuderi, has chartered a flight to Las Vegas. Don Self is like, "Are you sure you guys didn't plan this?" but Lincoln assures him that's not the case, via some huffing and eye-rolling. Roland pipes up, "Scuderi splitting town kind of cut us a break, huh?" and Linc asks Sucre to please shut Roland up. Sucre does by grabbing Roland's neck and wringing it, Homer Simpson-style. This may be the first documented instance of Roland abuse before the credits even roll. The episode's going to have to start with a closeup of Bellick repeatedly kicking Roland in the ribs or something.
Anyhoodle, Don Self is like, "Why not just nail the guy at Agrisow? It's an agricultural chemical firm, so how secure can it be?" Mahone and Michael perform a mind-meld and tag-team Don Self with a brief lecture on intellectual property rights and the lucrative bounties that can be reaped from exclusive patents. And as much as I enjoy a good team smackdown on Don Self, I have to ask: Really? The guy who's been a lawyer for nearly twenty years wouldn't grasp the idea that many companies are deeply concerned about intellectual property theft? Does this officially make him a worse lawyer than Veronica?
Anyway, the upshot of this scene is that Team Scylla manages to persuade Don Self to let some of the folks take a road trip to Las Vegas, because getting close to Scuderi will be quicker than if the team tries to circumvent his workplace and residential security. Don Self is all, "Fiiiiiiiiiine. But be back by midnight!" He then grabs Mahone for a little outside chat. Inside, Sucre asks Linc, "So what's the plan?" Linc replies, "We're going to Vegas." Roland immediately recovers from his disciplinary asphyxiation and begins whooping in glee. "I call shotgun!" he cries. Poor Roland -- I don't think he realizes that the first time he monkeys with the radio, Lincoln is going to snap his arm like a pretzel rod.
Outside, Mahone sullenly asks what Self wants. Don Self says, "I've been part of hundreds of operations during my career, and I tell you one thing: I've never been on the top of someone's hit list." Mahone's all, "Come again?" and Don Self babbles, "If this One World Conspiracy goon Agent Blots Out the Sun can find me once, it's only a matter of time before he creeps up in the back of my rearview mirror again." Mahone replies, "That's not true. If he's coming for you, you'll never see him coming at all." Well, that'll keep Don Self from tossing and turning at night. Don Self asks, "You were an agent longer than me [sic]. What's my play here?" Mahone laughs incredulously: "Let me get this straight: you turn your back on me, and now you want my play? Really?" Don Self challenges Mahone with, "What would you have done?" Mahone collects himself and speechifies: "I've tracked down rapists, killers, even former military, but a structural engineer from Illinois was able to get to me. Wanna know how? He stopped running. He got aggressive. He took the game to me. That's your play. That's your only play." Mahone stalks off, leaving Don Self alone with his thoughts, and/or encroaching dread.
Meanwhile, in the One World Conspiracy's bright shiny headquarters, General Von Baldy is busy plotting more evil. He tells Agent Blots Out the Sun that "I shouldn't have to remind you, killing a federal agent is a complicated job, even in our line of work." Agent Blots Out the Sun -- who has thus far proven only that he's capable of simple jobs like killing helpless children and torturing women -- isn't too rattled. He advances the argument that Mahone, Scofield and Burrows are all tied into the Don Self situation. General Von Baldy says, "If Scofield and Burrows are working with the government, we've got a much bigger problem than one bureaucrat at Homeland Security." Agent Blots Out the Sun asserts that Don Self is the one heading up any problematic operation; kill Don Self and you render the operation ineffective. General Von Baldy is like, Okay, FINE, kill the fed, and that is when Agent Blots Out the Sun informs him that, oh by the by, the fee for his services has just doubled. The general winces like, Of COURSE.
So we're back at Scylla HQ and what do you know? Trisha the dishy receptionist has just called Bellick and says she's got information on where T-Bag is. We quick-cut to everyone listening to Bellick explain that Trisha's demanding $2000 at the first meeting. Roland says, "The card is more important, so first we do Vegas, then we deal with T-Bag." Sucre bellows at Roland to shut up, and Mahone volunteers to stay behind to deal with T-Bag. Michael then assigns everyone their teams: Lincoln, Sucre, Dr. Sara and Roland will go to Vegas, while he, Mahone and Bellick will chase down this T-Bag thing in Los Angeles.
As Dr. Sara prepares to go, Michael grabs her by the arm and says, in all apparent sincerity, "Promise me something, will you?" Dr. Sara sure will. Michael continues, "Can you get me Carrot Top's autograph? 'Cause I just think that would make this whole thing worthwhile." He grins as Dr. Sara collapses against his chest chortling. (I love it when Michael cracks jokes.) They kiss goodbye, and then Dr. Sara departs to Roland's shrieks of "Vegas, bitches! Ha-ha!" You know, Roland is growing on me ... like a fungus, perhaps, but growing on me nonetheless. He certainly keeps the group from sinking into a persistent, collective sulk.
We cut to Michael and Mahone in a parked car, all annoyed because Bellick's taking a lot longer than a simple, "Here's $2000, now where's my information?" transaction should require. The mobile phone rings on cue and it's Bellick stammering out something about how Trisha wants more money and Michael, "you got to come talk to this chick." Michael rolls his eyes. He and Mahone head to the roof, where the discomfited Trisha and Bellick are. Mahone asks, "What's going on, Bellick?" And that is when T-Bag pops out of nowhere with a dramatic flourish of a gun. Sadly, the writers choose not to underscore the parallel themes of scheming and lawlessness, because they don't have T-Bag shouting, "Hostage-taking, bitches! Ha-ha!"
Instead, T-Bag orders Trisha to tie everyone up, and Michael asks irritatedly, "Why don't we just skip the theatrics and you tell us what you want?" What T-Bag wants is to put a bullet in Michael's brain. What he'll settle for is tying everyone up. Trisha awkwardly fumbles with the zip-ties she's using on everyone, T-Bag waves everyone over to his kidnap van with his gun, and Mahone demonstrates what a badass he is by breaking loss, leaping over the side of the building with his hands tied, then escaping in a hail of gunfire. It helps that T-Bag's a terrible shot.
Once the little band is back at the condo, T-Bag has the hands-tied Bellick and Trisha sitting on the floor, with their backs against the wall, while Michael gets to sit at a table. And then -- oh, heaven help me, we're in for the T-Bag monologues. Don't get me wrong, Robert Knepper is a fantastic actor and the fact that he manages to play this character without a wink and a nod to the camera is a testimony to his professionalism, but I am so bone weary of T-Bag's annual "Lo, here is my grudge against [fill in the person here] and how it has exacerbated my [fill in the character flaw here] but now, through torturing you, I will be able to accomplish my [fill in the catharsis T-Bag thinks he will achieve but won't here]." I have no wish to play T-Baglibs.
So this year's variation on that theme: oh, there is not much difference between Michael and T-Bag except that one is a one-handed, child-raping, mass murderer and the other is an alpha geek with the ability to control people through the power of Blue Steel. Also, if Michael is interested in making sure that he's not brutally raped for the twelve hours, he might want to take all of Whistler's pages from the bird book and make sense of whatever the line drawings mean.
So when T-Bag name-drops Scylla and Michael condescends with, "This is not a game, Theodore. You need to tell me who you've been talking to," T-Bag reacts poorly. He pimp-slaps Michael a few times, then reminds him, "I don't need to do a damn thing. That's the benefit of being the man with the gun." T-Bag then opens his GATE-labeled box, pulls out some office supplies and a pair of wirecutters, then tells Michael that he's going to start writing down everything he knows about Scylla and the book, or "I'm going to paint these walls with your gray matter." T-Bag uses the wirecutters to release Michael's hands, then walks off. Michael checks to make sure the tracking anklet is still in place, then smiles.
We then go to a series of interleaved scenes: as Don Self pokes around a file room looking for specific files and Agent Blots Out the Sun fills the trunk of his car with things like a tarp, a Milwaukee Swazall (which is an awesome tool to have, by the by) and lye. Don Self eventually finds what he's looking for in a file folder labeled "The Comrie Group." Then Don Self gets a phone call and says grimly, "I'll be right there." We see him head into the parking garage, and the music gets all ominous ...
But it's Mahone that's lurking behind a pillar, not Agent Blots Out the Sun. Don Self points out that Michael and Bellick are still in the same position they've been in since Mahone called, and Mahone points out, "T-Bag's a psychopath, but he's a psychopath with a plan. He obviously needs something from Michael and as long as Michael doesn't give it to him, he'll keep breathing." Don Self volunteers to go with Mahone, but Mahone says, "I got it. [You] stick to the plan." He melts into the shadows, while Don Self looks all nervous.
And now, we're in Las Vegas and I am talking my way out of CSI flashbacks. Oh, wait -- it's easy: none of the characters are monks in the Holy Order of Forensics as headed up by the chaste Father Gil Grissom. Or so Roland would have us believe, as he's busy trying to convince Sucre that the best way to get over Maricruz would be to get under someone else. Nobody's having sex on Lincoln's watch: "We're here to copy the card, then we leave -- got it?" Ah, Linc, using that burning sensation he may have when he tinkles as the foundation of the "If I'm not having fun, nobody else is" leadership. When he leads everyone into the lobby of a casino, Linc frets over Dr. Sara not hearing from Michael, then says, "I want this thing done. Vegas ain't my town." Ah, but it appears to be Roland's ... at least, casino security seems familiar with him, if their repeated replay of his footage on their video monitors is anything to go by.
We cut to Michael piecing together pages of the bird book; they form a sort of schematic. (Ah, at last, a primitive form of stegenonography!) Michael notices that one page has "GATE" on it, connects it to the box labeled "GATE," and quickly hides that page. T-Bag comes back in for a progress report, and Michael asks him what GATE is. T-Bag pulls out the gun and replies, "I think you're just stalling, biding time 'til you can figure out some MacGyver way to get your ass out of here." Michael uses the blue steel to stop the threats with, "You've got the gun pointed at the one person who can help you, so why don't you stop wasting my time?" That's when T-Bag marches over, grabs Trisha by the hair and pulls her back to the table. He slams her down -- sadly, her cleavage is not pushed up today so there's nothing to cushion the blow -- and T-Bag basically calls Michael on his bluff by threatening to kill Trisha instead. Now this is the T-Bag we all know, managing to extract revenge against anyone who's ever looked at him funny. Assuming Trisha lives through this, she'll never blackmail anyone ever again. As Gretchen watches from around the corner (and notices the tracking cuff), T-Bag asks, "How far gone is Michael Scofield? How far gone is Michael Scofield? When did you stop caring about hurting people? Fox River? Sona? You gonna keep dragging your feet while I put a bullet in her brain?" Michael tells T-Bag, calmly and quietly, to put the gun down, and T-Bag shouts, spittle flying everywhere, "I'll put it down when you start writing things down!" So Michael explains that the pages fit together as a blueprint. That's when his phone goes off, so down goes Trisha on the floor again and into another room T-Bag goes, to get the news from Gretchen that Bellick and Scofield are both wearing government-issued ankle monitors. If T-Bag can get the make and serial number off the ankle monitor ... T-Bag's not down for that. "Feel free to pitch in, Miss Daisy," he huffs, and Gretchen points out, "If Scofield finds out I'm involved this is all over. You need to keep him on point. Now get out there and get that information." T-Bag frets about government agents busting down the door. Gretchen merely shrugs: "Let them come." We cut to the outside of a building, where Mahone's holding the monitoring handset and confirming that yep, Michael hasn't gone anywhere.
Meanwhile, in Las Vegas ... Dr. Sara's in a ruffly number and looking for Scuderi on the floor of the casino. We pan across to Linc and Sucre both looking very natty in tailored button-downs and black pants, and Linc's establishing that Scuderi's one of the casino's whales (i.e. big-spending high rollers). Sucre heads off to keep looking for Scuderi, leaving Linc and Dr. Sara to trade a little small talk about Michael. Dr. Sara's worried because she still hasn't heard from him, then she calls Linc on the "Vegas isn't my town" nonsense. So Lincoln explains: "Did Michael ever tell you about Mom? They were much alike. They've got the same mind. As Mom got older, she started losing it. We, ah, we later found out it was a symptom of a brain tumor ... as a kid, she got nosebleeds. Then they stopped. In her thirties, they started up again. She, she later died of a brain aneurysm." Dr. Sara says, "And you're telling me this because Michael and his mother are similar in that way too, right?" Linc explains that Michael had nosebleeds as a kid, they had stopped, but recently, Michael's cracked the big 3-1 and the nosebleeds resumed again, so he may have the dreaded brain-tumors-that-cause-aneurysms malady.
We cut to Mahone checking his little positioning device to confirm that Michael's still in place, then heading into the "Cole Pfeiffer" apartment to discover that -- surprise! -- Gretchen had removed the tracking bracelet and left it on the table. All is not lost, however, because Mahone has noticed a small origami swan on the floor, and when he unfolds it, he immediately sees the "GATE" note.
We cut to GATE, where Andy the unctuous saleshark is measuring T-Bag's old office for new blinds. Sadly, this act of interior decoration will be his last as a free man, as Gretchen has just shown up in his office.
We cut to the charmingly modest "El Camino apartments," where Trisha whiles away the hours not spent reinflating her cleavage or attempting to blackmail her coworkers. We cut to the inside, where T-Bag is completely ignoring Trisha's uncanny knack for channeling a shabby-chic vibe without going completely twee. He's more concerned that she'll get visitors who won't take too kindly to the whole "I'm holding hostages" thing he's got going on. When T-Bag goes in to check on Michael, Bellick asks if Trisha's all right. She scoffs and says, "They told me not to talk to you." "They? Who's 'they'?" Bellick inquires. One hopes he'll file this away for later use. One also hopes Trisha will eventually learn better manners, because the co-hostage you treat like garbage now will not be inclined to save your sullen ass later. Anyway, T-Bag walks into Trisha's bedroom and gawps at how Michael's managed to assemble an entire blueprint. Michael explains, "It's the building where we can find Scylla. In other words, it's GATE." I squeal a little, because of course the One World Conspiracy isn't content with merely managing the world's agricultural and financial webs. It's also generating self-help! The scope of their evil is just breathtaking. T-Bag asks where Scylla is, and Michael replies, "I can't be certain until I see the building itself, but I'm pretty sure it's somewhere down here below [Cole Pfeiffer's] office." T-Bag finally asks what Scylla is, and Michael tells him. Then he pulls the Blue Steel and says, "I want you to take me to GATE. Now."
T-Bag erroneously concludes, "You can smell that Scylla money, can't you? That's what you're in it for, just like me." (By the way, Tricia's room has a windowseat with some lovely tailored cushions, and I am totally distracted by the Hable Company-meets-Cost Plus World Market thing going on there. Please excuse me.) Michael clams up and T-Bag coaxes him with, "Say it. I want you to say it." Michael rolls his eyes and sullenly lies, "I'm in it for the money." T-Bag crows that he and Michael aren't so different after all. Really? Because it seems like only one of you is dumb enough to believe the other when he's so clearly lying.
We cut to Agent Blots Out the Sun pulling up to an architecturally confused cottage -- it's got some funky Tudor-meets-Mediterranean thing going on -- and we go back to some interleaving scenes. Over the few minutes, we see Agent Blots Out the Sun walking into the house, then Don Self standing in front of a rich red wall hung with portraits, looking all nervous. I know we're supposed to think that Don Self's idea of standing his ground Scofield-style will be to hang out while Agent Blots Out the Sun guns him down in his home, but the show throws us a curveball. Don Self has already cleared out his home, and his idea of bringing the game to the people hassling him ... is to go say hello to General Von Baldy. We cut to General Von Baldy looking shocked at this nerve -- then to a final shot of Don looking like he'd like nothing better than to vomit before heading into the office.
Back in Las Vegas, Scuderi is busy losing money at cards. Linc heads over to the table to join him, with the intent of using Charybdis to suck up all the card data while they play. However, the data card soon fills up, and Roland sends Linc a text reading: "Failed. Pull out." Linc dispatches Sucre to tail Scuderi while he finds out what the hell just happened.
So we switch back to Trisha's apartment. Gretchen pulls up in a nondescript sedan, and T-Bag heads out to excitedly tell her that Michael's made real progress on the blueprints. "He works fast," Gretchen drawls. T-Bag adds that they have to head back to GATE, then asks, "Did you take care of our little troll problem?' Did she? Gretchen pops open the trunk and there's Andy, bound, gagged and terrified. T-Bag says, "Don't even think about doing this to me. My name's on the door." Gretchen yawns, "If I didn't think you were valuable, you'd be dead." She lets T-Bag absorb this, then orders him to grab one of Andy's legs and help her carry him inside.
Cut to Roland stammering that poor Charybdis just had a little sensory overload. "Because if we turn on the device in the casino, it fills up with all the data from the slots," Dr. Sara says. Roland sheepishly admits this is so. Dr. Sara adds, "Like when they're about to pay out." Roland claims, "It's completely unintentional." "Really? It's not why you built the damn thing in the first place?" Dr. Sara asks. I like when she gets sassy. Linc grabs Roland by the neck with, "If we didn't need you --" "But you do, so just take a brewski and chill, all right?" Roland shoots back. The brain trust figures they have to get Scuderi alone. Sounds easy, right? Cue Sucre's call: he's trailed Scuderi down to the pool, and there's no way he's packing a data card in those little Lycra shorts. Linc gloomily concludes that the card's in Scuderi's room.
And now we go to the meeting between Don Self and General Von Baldy. Von Baldy takes the offensive with, "Tell me, Donald, how did you play this moment out in your head? Did you picture yourself, chest out, jaw squared, ready to demand answers? Did you, at any time in your fantasy, imagine you would be this nervous?" Don Self answers bluntly, "I didn't think much past giving you these." He tosses down a folder full of the files he pulled on the Comrie Group. "Why not JFK and the Lindbergh baby while you're at it?" General Von Baldy asks dismissively. Don Self does not have the sangfroid to reply, "Because those files are to the Ark of the Covenant in a warehouse outside DC, and I hate to fly." What he does do is tell General Von Baldy that he's got copies of the file plus a sealed letter pointing fingers at General Von Baldy if something should happen to him, and there are currently five different lawyers in the U.S. sitting on these packets of paper, just in case. Von Baldy looks thoughtful. Perhaps he's thinking about cutting Agent Blots Out the Sun's fee, as the hired gun seems incapable of killing anyone before they get truly inconvenient. Or perhaps he's tuning out Don's continuing blather about how the minute a federal agent goes missing or dead and it's linked to Von Baldy, the general's life of peaceful anonymity is over. When Don finally concludes his "so back off me!" speech, Von Baldy gets up and says slowly, "You are not the first person to attempt something like this. Most of the others, I now fondly call my colleagues. They've learned to put their determination and focus to better use, and with far greater compensation." Don Self immediately replies, "Wrong guy." "We'll see," says General Von Baldy.
Across town, it turns out that Andy's also facing a career change -- or rather, he's learning that he will be facing a career change as Gretchen dictates his resignation letter. She makes him sign, and as Andy pleads to be let go, T-Bag comes over to gloat, "And you wonder how I got to be the top salesman in the northeast region. Poor Andy is reduced to whimpering apologies as Bellick and Trisha look on, and then Gretchen has to make everything even more awkward by strangling Andy with a length of wire. T-Bag gives Gretchen an appraising look. She meets his eyes, refusing to back down, even as the desperate, off-camera thumps of Andy's struggling legs get weaker. Oh, so these two will either end up kissing each other or killing each other by the end of the season.
Wait, scratch that -- T-Bag has to get over his desperate hate-crush on Michael first. He shows Scofield into the GATE office while nattering about how he shed his incestuous white trash roots and Michael gives him the kind of look that suggests he had neither the time nor the patience for Faulkerian psychodrama in any of his undergrad lit classes. They head into T-Bag's office, and Michael correctly identifies the small anteroom that's Whistler's point of entry. "That's a closet," T-Bag says. "No, it's not," Michael replies. The two head inside.
Back in Las Vegas, Scuderi has bellied up to the bar and proven tremendously immune to the bikini-clad Dr. Sara's advances. The bartender tells her, "Don't take it personal: you're not his type. Right before you sat down, he asked me if I liked to party."
Cut to Sucre in the hotel suite, looking super-pissed and saying, "Absolutely not! No way!" Roland helpfully advances the cause with, "Bro come on, take one for the team. Maricruz will never know." You can imagine how well this argument is received. Linc is like, It is two minutes of your life in a hotel room, but Sucre's very concerned about how much can happen in two minutes. Roland advises him, "Just play hard to get and, you know, let him nuzzle you a little bit --" and then he stops because Sucre has murder in his eyes and Roland has some vestigial survival instincts. Linc is like, "Yes, it's deplorable that we're looking at you like a cheap sex object, but unless you have any better ideas -- which, I can confidently assert, you won't because you're still hanging with us four seasons into our foolish schemes, despite the mayhem we've sucked you into -- well, then, smart guy, it looks like someone's going to get a chance to see whether his milkshake brings all the conspiracy goons to the yard."
Sadly, we do not immediately cut to Sucre in a Speedo, crying like Coco Hernandez at the end of Fame while Scuderi croons sweet nothings about how sexy he looks. Instead, we cut to Michael revealing a secret trapdoor in the floor of the closet. T-Bag's idea of helping is to try and probe for what Scylla's market value is. Michael just ignores him. It's a sign of how curious T-Bag is about the trapdoor that he doesn't even fly into a rage when Michael does this. Instead, we get a shot of the two men leaning over the hatch, and T-Bag says, "You and me and a dark hole ... feels like old times, pretty." Michael does not look overcome with nostalgia.
Back in Las Vegas, Sucre is doing his best to give Scuderi -- and several million interested viewers at home -- a show. Off comes the tanktop poolside. Out comes Sucre's friends known as "Pectoral One" and "Pectoral Two." Within a few moments, we've got pickup: Sucre's all, "I have no more money left after gambling" and Scuderi's like, "Would you like to make some in a hurry?" Oh, my God, how sordid! And how rapid! The only way this accelerated interaction could seem more unreal is if Sucre heads back to his crew at the end of it and Lincoln's already got a big ol' pimp cup. Scuderi asks Sucre what his cognac is, and Sucre admits he's never had any. Scuderi says, "I have a two-hundred-year-old bottle in my suite. Join me for some private business between men." We cut to Linc down at the pool, having overseen the whole thing. Oh, he is so totally going to get a pimp cup after this.
Then we switch back to Michael and T-Bag in their little tunnel. Michael decides that this is as far as he goes, and T-Bag pulls a gun with, "Sounds like someone's caught in the ol' captivity of negativity. Let's get you in a more affirmative mindset. What's ?" Michael opens the gate to a storage area and says, "I think I'm going to lock you in this room. And then you're going to be arrested, and taken back to Fox River." T-Bag laughs at this right up to the moment when Mahone jams his gun into T-Bag's ear. Mahone issues one knockout punch and tosses the still-reeling T-Bag into the storage area. Michael slides a bolt into the latch to keep T-Bag confined, and then the two Team Scylla men waltz off as T-Bag hollers things like, "You can't do this without me! You'll regret this! Mark my words!"
And now, we're back at the slow seduction of Sucre. In Scuderi's suite, he's knocking back the 'nac and nattering on about how awesome Las Vegas is because "it doesn't judge you. Any form of pleasure is acceptable here." Yeah, so long as you're alive. Die from your hedonism and a squad of pissy forensics experts will pass judgment on you all the livelong night. Or so the TV tells me. Anyway, Scuderi asks Sucre of the cognac, "Am I crazy, or is there a note of plum in there?" Sucre, whose tastebuds were probably ruined for life once he drank the prison hooch, sniffs his snifter and stammers, "Muh-maybe?" Scuderi asks him to sit down. He makes some chit-chat -- Sucre has to admit he's never been in military service, despite having a body that looks like a recruitment poster. Scuderi opens some secure briefcase to pull out some chips and blammo! We have Charybdis gobbling up the card data. We cut to Roland commenting, "Filling up nice. Sucre must be in close proximity -- getting oiled up, most likely." Linc just gives him a pained look, like he wants to laugh but doesn't want to encourage Roland. It's hard out there ... you can fill in the rest.
Scuderi is still yammering on: "One and a half tours in Vietnam. A Purple Heart in a friendly-fire exchange near Hue ... what I learned at Hue, though valuable, also cost me a great deal. Specifically, three square inches of upper groin thigh meat. And with that -- my reproductive and sexual function." Sucre is trying to wrap his brain around why he's there, and Scuderi introduces "Mr. Villalobos" to his comely blonde wife. Apparently Scuderi pre-screens all of his wife's breathing sex toys. Sucre checks out the beautiful Alexa and stammers, "You want me to bang your wife?" Scuderi's all, "I know! And you get a thousand dollars out of the deal too!" If Roland ever found out about this, he'd cry with envy. We cut away before we can see what Sucre decides.
But we do cut to the suite, where everyone's silently waiting around. Linc remembers that pimp roles often include that of being a protector, and snots, "He's got a minute before I'm going after him." No need! Sucre has just strolled in the door. He grabs a beer and chillaxes. Roland rushes over and says, "Well?" Sucre says, "His wife was up there." "AND?" Roland inquires. Sucre hands over Charybdis with a quippy "Stays in Vegas." I want to know what he did with the thousand dollars.
As the Team Scylla away squad walks out of the casino, Roland invents a pretext to linger. Stupidly, nobody calls him on his I-gotta-use-the-little-hackers-room excuse, so everyone is sort of to blame when, minutes later, casino security comes down to where Roland's gaming the slots, reminds Roland that he's banned for life from all Nevada casinos, and confiscates Charybdis. Linc threatens to leave Roland in the desert, but Dr. Sara has a better idea: "Let's get him back to L.A. and let Self sort him out." This promises to be one angry and uncomfortable ride back to Los Angeles. I wish we could see it -- I like to imagine Roland wheedling for an In-n-Out stop in Barstow and Lincoln bellowing, "No Double-double burgers for people who lose Charybdis!"
Back in Los Angeles, T-Bag tries to use his prosthetic hand as an extension tool for opening the gate, only to have it hilariously backfire. His fake hand ends up on the ground, out of his reach. He ends up screaming in frustration. Upstairs, Self marvels, "For a little guy, he has some set of lungs." We find out that Bellick and Trisha are "all taken care of." Self continues, "I'm going to keep T-Bag in protective custody until we get Scylla, then I'm going to make someone at Illinois's [Department of Corrections] very, very happy. But more importantly, what the hell is that room downstairs?" Michael explains that the underground complex leads to the building where they can decode Scylla. (And hey! It happens to be General Von Baldy's office building. Small world, huh?) Michael's found a way to get into the unprotected substructure in what he promises is a 24-hour operation. Everything's coming up Scofield! He and Mahone want 24-hour access to the GATE building, and Mahone seizes on the idea that they can dress up as IRS auditors. Presumably, people will be too busy wetting their pants in terror to question that ruse too closely.
So, yeah, things are going wonderfully until a stray mobile phone just happens to ring near the guys, and Don Self picks it up. Gretchen says, "We have a lot in common ... open the envelope." We see that she's included more pages from that infernal bird book. Gretchen threatens, "I don't know what you've done with Bagwell, but unless I see him, you're not getting the rest of the pages." Michael grabs the phone at that point and demands to know who he's talking to. Gretchen says, "Hello, Michael." Aaaaand -- that's it! We have to wait a few weeks to find out if Michael's capable of leaping into a cellphone and coming out the other end to kill someone.
Take a gander at some of the craziest Prison Break plot twists.