Then "Lay It Down Slow" by Spiritualized begins playing, and we see a newspaper hit a well-manicured suburban lawn. A UPS guy steps out to pick it up, and we see that it's C-Note. He waves to a neighbor, then stands on his lawn, breathing deeply and turning his face to the sun. It's all very sweet but I'd love to read a headline that subtly updated us on whether or not Scylla's been implemented worldwide ("DROUGHT ENDS IN EASTERN AFRICA," for example) and I can't tell if he's wearing a wedding ring or not.

And then, we get the steps of a big building, and we find out that Kellerman's apparently become ... a Congressman? Whomever ran against him should sue their opposition researchers for gross incompetence. Even if you can't pin a dozen different murders on the guy, what about him testifying to being part of a massive One World Conspiracy? I mean, Jack Ryan lost a senate seat once it was revealed he liked sex clubs and that is small potatoes compared to someone cheerfully committing the following to public record: " I planted evidence, I procured a body, I lured Lincoln Burrows into that parking garage on that evening on the false premises of a different hit. From the ground up, we framed him. So Lincoln Burrows gets executed, people forget about Terrence Steadman, the controversy surrounding him and the presidency, and nobody ever knows about the [One World Conspiracy]." I guess the voters of Illinois will forgive corruption more easily than they do kink. Anyway, some voter is telling Congressman Kellerman, "You fight those bastards in Washington. You don't let them give you any guff." Kellerman chortles and assures her he won't. Because the voters have given him a license to kill, it seems. Right before Kellerman gets in his car, the widow of Danny Hale (the partner Kellerman killed in season one) stops by to introduce herself and spit in Kellerman's face. And we learn that he really has changed because he does not immediately break her neck or anything. Once in the car, Kellerman sits and sighs, looking regretful.

Then we cut to General Von Baldy, who is trembling and choking back tears as he is being strapped into an electric chair. After only four years? Wouldn't someone who was the head of a vast criminal conspiracy, with buckets of gold doubloons and agents in every powerful place on the planet, be able to muster enough legal help to tie up the appeals process for at least a decade? This is ... well, it makes "Congressman Kellerman" look plausible. Anyway, a priest asks, "Are you ready, my son?" and Von Baldy quavers, "Semper peratus." I can only hope we're going to get a wide reveal on the scene and discover T-Bag strapped into the chair next to him as someone reads off a yard-long scroll of all the people T-Bag killed while he was on the lam.