The episode begins with Manche on the ground, right next to the wall everyone climbed over, and he's begging for his life. The COs are looking for an excuse to kill him: one cocks a gun and asks, "Who was with you?" and when Manche says, "Nobody," the CO says, "Nobody, huh? I swear to God, I'm going to snap your neck right here." Manche tries to hold out, but the CO has actually managed to find his trachea and is squeezing it as he barks, "Names! I want names." Manche grunts out the roster, and we flash back to each of them: "Scofield, Burrows, Sucre, that Vanilla Ice kid, Bagwell, C-Note, Abruzzi and that bug-eyed J-Cat." Itching for an excuse to feel someone's fragile little vertebrae popping between his fingers, the CO screams, "Was there anybody else? Was there anybody else?" Manche finally admits to Westmoreland.
Cut to Pope striding into the clinic, where barely controlled chaos reigns. Someone is examining Mr. "I don't get paid to be a hero," which is kind of amusing as a little background detail. Pope gets the news that eight guys made it over the wall, and he walks over to the clinic window to glare out. Then his gaze falls, and we see what I can only assume is the very dead Westmoreland. His eyes are open, and his face set in mournful resignation. R.I.P., Silver Fox. You will be missed.
But not by any of the inmates, as they're all too busy going wild with glee over the escape. They're all shredding their toilet paper and flinging it around, which seems pretty short-sighted because I'm guessing that the place is about to go on round-the-clock lockdown, and nobody's going to be wheeling around household supplies. Pope charges toward Michael and Sucre's cell. When he sees the toilet loosened away from the wall, he reels. When he watches the inmates squeezing the Charmin, he looks disgusted; it's like he's imagining his career being shredded like so much refuse. Just then, the anti-Pope comes up and tells him that Bellick's finally been unearthed.
And boy, howdy, is he pissed. His first words are not, "Thank you," or "I hope the john's free," but rather, "Hand me my shotgun." I love it -- that Bellick is all possessive of a firearm, and that other people are all, "That's Bellick. He loves his rifle. He usually calls it Bessie, but I guess tonight, he's too angry to be loving to Bessie." Then Bellick steps into some convenient, dramatic lighting and vows, "Those piles of crap don't know what they just did. They signed their death warrant!" Then he holds out a hand for Bessie, avers, "Every last one of them," and locks and loads his ladylove.