Hill blathers that some pain is yours alone. Yeah, like the pain of recapping these monologues.
After lights out, Keane lights a matchbook and tosses it onto his bed, starting a fire. His podmate starts screaming like a little girl, and the hacks come in, extinguish the fire, and pull Keane out. Maybe Keane's planning to come back from the grave as BOB. "Do you want to play with fire, Adebisi?" I think we all know the answer to that one.
McManus chews Keane out for the fire. I think he was just afraid Madonna would show up and start singing "Like A Prayer." He asks why Keane is so anxious to get sent to the hole, and Keane says he wants to spend some time alone. McManus tells Keane that his brother is coming back from the hospital, which Keane already knows, but informs him that he's won't be in Em City -- he's sending him to Cell Block Three, which Keane terms the "fucking fag unit." Well, you can just braid your own hair, mister! But now McManus is using Keane's brother to get back at him? The gall of this execrable, abhorrent bucket of rat semen. Yecch. And he tops it off by calling after Keane, "I wish you'd learn to trust me." To turn every person's life you touch into the foulest-smelling sludge? He does, Timbo. He does.
Keane gets tossed in a cell, where the first thing he sees is Healy's club connecting with his face. He asks what that's all about, and Healy says it's a warning that nothing better happen to Ryan. Healy clubs him again for good measure. Upstairs, the Lord Of The Dance turns a pirouette for no reason apparent to anyone else, I'm guessing. And it's time to learn how Mickey O'Velli (y'all liked this nickname too much for me to one-off it, people) ended up in Oz. This is actually a good old-fashioned inner-city car chase. Ryan seems to be enjoying himself at first, but after he barrels through some construction and knocks over a worker, he plows into a parked car, seemingly killing his companion in the front seat. He tries to escape, but the cops surround him, and he falls to his knees. Ryan in a black leather jacket and black pants, on his knees. Sorry, but I'm going to have to take a break -- the creative part of my brain is busy at the moment.
Okay, I'm back. We get a fantasy overhead shot of Ryan in a glass cage, smoking a cigar and chugging from a flask, as a number of members of the press watch him from below. Even Hill knows how much more fun Ryan makes things, as he laughingly tells us, "Prisoner Number 97P904. Ryan O'Reily." Vehicular manslaughter, reckless endangerment, weapon and controlled substance possession, and parole violation. Life, parole in twelve.