Sawyer wakes up to the sound of Zeke bitching at Ben. We learn that it's been two days since "the sky went purple," and that the Others' coms are down, and Colleen's in critical condition, and blah blah blah, and Ben interrupts Zeke to say that Juliet's looking after Colleen. They notice Sawyer coming to. Sawyer's not too pleased to be strapped to the large table he's on and says so, but Ben ignores him and asks "Jason" (another Other) to do something. Jason walks around to the head of the table and tries to give Sawyer a thick rod with a leather strap, and tells him to bite down on it. "You bite down on it," snaps Sawyer, but it gets stuck in his mouth anyway as Ben says it's for the pain. Fortunately, I was able to cut and paste the previous few sentences from some gay Lost fan fiction. Efficient! Meanwhile, another Other is preparing an alarmingly large needle, and it looks like they're prepared to go all Pulp Fiction on Sawyer's ass. "God, I hate needles," says Ben, looking askance.
Over in his own cell, Jack can hear Sawyer's screams crackling through the supposedly broken intercom.
Back in the torture chamber, Jason is correcting the other underling's technique, telling him he's got to go through the sternum, "like in the movie," he says. Hee. The Others count to three, with Sawyer yelling "WAIT!" as best as he can through the bit in his mouth.
Paulo is on the beach, knocking guava or mangos or whatever into the ocean. Oh, Paulo! At it again! Everybody drink! Desmond strolls up and says he's going to borrow one of this clubs, and Hurley said it would be okay. "Does that mean you're off to save the day?" says Paulo, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. He tells Desmond to take the five-iron, as he never uses it. Which is true. We've certainly never seen him use it. "That way, when you die in the jungle, doing whatever you're doing, I don't have to go looking for it," he adds, like JUST WHAT IS HIS PROBLEM? Desmond watches Paulo top his next shot and suggests squaring his shoulders. "You play golf?" says Paulo, as though hitting tropical fruit into the ocean has anything to do with golf, and Desmond points out that he's Scottish. Nice, Desmond. Similarly, I'm Canadian, therefore I play hockey. No wait, that's true. Okay: similarly, I'm Canadian, therefore I say "eh" a lot. Okay, bad examples. Let's just move on.