And now, it's time for the seemingly-extraneous subplot that can be summed up in a paragraph or less: T-Bag, superpowered survivor that he is, is stranded roughly 60 miles south of the U.S. border, somewhere in the Mexican desert, with his paunchy little assistant guy. The two of them are parched and hungry, and when T-Bag lays down to rest, his inept little buddy attempts to kill him. Naturally, in the melee, said little buddy bashes his head on the side of a rock and ends up dead. There's a thoughtful pause on T-Bag's part... then we cut to him building a fire and settling in for a night of long pig. The next day, as he's stumbling around, he comes across two amiable, if stereotypical, SoCal guys who give him a ride to San Diego. (When noticing his gastrointestinal distress, one asks, "Did you eat some bad Mexican?" T-Bag's face as he says, "You could say that" is priceless.) Because T-Bag is not exactly dumb, he's quickly figured out that Whistler had some stuff stashed in a locker at a San Diego bus depot, and he ends his stint in this episode by happily discovering that Whistler had left papers, credit cards and ID. T-Bag's got himself a credit line! And ten bucks says he stays right the heck away from Taco Bell or Chipotle for the next ten years.

Back to Team Scylla... Dr. Sara is sitting out on the dock brooding, and Michael's getting broody as he watches her. These two are not exactly in the running for the title of America's Fun Couple. We go to Dr. Sara, who is having inconvenient flashbacks to Gretchen tying her up and torturing her. Ah, Prison Break. It's just not a season if you're not tying up some woman and physically brutalizing her, is it? Anyway, it turns out that Dr. Sara has some moderate anger management issues she needs to resolve, and she does so by pulverizing a few shipping pallets outside.

Inside, Mahone's looking at a sheaf of neatly-formatted DMV records and commenting, "I used to work with Homeland. The FBI would take days to gather this intel." Roland boasts, "The FBI should have hired me, because I could have gotten whatever info you wanted in 25 minutes, tops." We cut to Sucre looking horrified at the prospect of another freakishly smart criminal in his life. He says, "You're a hacker." Michael corrects, "He's an identity thief." Lincoln corrects Michael: "He's a douche." He then terrifies Roland further by ordering him to sit in a corner until he's needed. Roland is only too happy to comply. He's probably worried these guys are going to make him join their freaky little bald cult. (Only Mahone and Dr. Sara have anything resembling visible hair at this point.) Good news, everyone! Mahone's picked out the driver.