Michael rasps, "I heard you were dead," to which Kellerman blithely replies, "Those rumors were greatly exaggerated. I was freed by a group working against the [One World Conspiracy], the same group your father founded." Michael pissily, albeit correctly, points out that he really could have used a hand from the group. Kellerman shrugs all, Bad timing, eh? and asks if Michael has Scylla. If Michael does -- which Kellerman is willing to bet on -- there is a U.N. attaché in Miami who would be happy to take Scylla off Michael's hands. Well, this is a development that will certainly confuse apocalypse-minded wingnuts, as they're used to thinking of the United Nations as being proof of the One World Conspiracy, not being the enemy of said vast and amoral global cabal. Michael asks, "Why should I trust a word that's coming out of your mouth?" and Kellerman says, "I assume you know that what you have can -- and this is no exaggeration -- change the world for the better. All you have to do is deliver it. And you don't have to trust me. Just trust the people that work at the United Nations." He hangs up -- or is hung up upon -- and looks reflective. Is he wondering when he turned into such a people-loving peacenik? Because that's what I'm wondering.
Michael comments, "The phone died" right as Lincoln coughs up a gusher of blood. "He's not getting any better," Mahone says. Look, there are those keen observational skills that helped make him a superstar at the FBI! Dr. Sara's like, "Right. Let's go knock over a hospital so I can get some doctorin' supplies."
We cut to C-Note and Sucre, who already have a Miami safe house that will be just perfect for torturing T-Bag. And after getting the season four backstory from Kellerman via his still-working phone, C-Note is in the mood to visit unto T-Bag a new world of hurt. Sucre plays good cop, though, telling T-Bag that if he gives up the General's location, he can help put T-Bag's name on an immunity list. Despite being tied up and facing a certain beatdown from C-Note, T-Bag refuses: "From where I'm sitting, albeit momentarily compromised, you're backing the wrong horse. Scofield cannot pull this out. You help me get him to the General and we are set for life!" C-Note's all, "I don't have time for this," and the crunchy beatdown commences.
We cut to the General, who is getting an update from the ever-loyal Receding Hairline Goon on how T-Bag has probably been captured, as there is no way his minder goon would have let him escape. The General muses, "So we're exposed here. Is this the end? Whimpering?" Receding Hairline Goon says, "There's no shame in retreating to regroup, sir." Translation: I will love you forever and ever, amen. Do you like Randy Travis songs? Because that's how I feel every time I look at your face, even the flambéed side. The General is not receptive to his subtle message. Aaaand, it turns out that the One World Conspiracy just locked on to Linc's cell phone in a location downtown.
Michael and Linc are sitting outside the hospital having a chat/wheeze over whether or not to trust Kellerman and turn over Scylla. Linc points out that the whole point was to be free, and if this is what does it, then he's for it. Michael's clearly thinking it over, and Linc says, "If you have to leave, Michael, you should." Michael sets him straight: "I'm not leaving you, Linc. You're my brother." Linc says, "Not according to Christina." "Don't let her mess with your head ... it doesn't matter what she said. It doesn't change anything. You are stuck with me whether you like it or not," Michael says. Awww! I am going to assume the brothers are so overwhelmed by emotion, they can't stand to look at each other.
Inside that very same hospital, the FBI agents are debating the ethics of treating Don Self promptly versus withholding treatment until they get what they want from him. Don Self more or less settles the debate for them when, instead of writing down anything useful on the little notepad he's been given, he scribbles, "Kiss my ass." I could almost pity Don Self, as even before this accident, he was not what we like to call a strong long-term thinker, and his bullheaded stupidity now has really done him in this time.
Unfortunately for Mahone and Dr. Sara, they end up nearly running into two pissed-off FBI agents who a) have just reviewed dossiers on Team Scylla and b) are looking for a consolation prize since Don Self will soon be sporting a bucket of tapioca where his brain used to be. Dr. Sara manages to boost some medical supplies and head out undetected, but Mahone is arrested in a freakishly short interval.
Dr. Sara heads out to the car, breaks the news about Mahone's arrest, and Michael's sense of obligation pushes him to make his decision: "If we give Scylla to Kellerman, Mahone gets exonerated. He's fine. He's fine." Yes, but Lincoln is not; his lung is currently filled with fluid, which is a problem for anyone who's not equipped with gills. Dr. Sara does some doctoring, and that distracts Michael from noticing the two One World Conspiracy goons who just snuck up on the SUV and busted out the passenger windows. Receding Hairline Goon cheerily asks, "Mind if I drive."
Oooh, the suspense! Exacerbated because we go to a truly funky shot of T-Bag being suspended upside down. All the blood is apparently rushing to his head, as C-Note is busy telling him, "In two minutes, your eyeballs are going to pop out of your head. Now, that's worse than death." T-Bag gasps out, "I can't betray. My destiny is to be a respected gentleman." Then he begins screaming in pain, frustration and heartbreak. Perhaps the blood finally overwhelmed that part of his brain reserved for obsessing on Scofield and it's occurred to T-Bag that really, the cards have been stacked against him from birth and his bad decisions never really made matters any better. And while we're here, let me note: I love how the writers have delicately constructed and spooled out this most secret and impossible aspiration of T-Bag's over all four seasons. I have very little love for most of T-Bag's hijinks, but I have thoroughly enjoyed how his collision with Michael brought all his inchoate desires for legitimacy and respect into sharp and painful yearning. It's the real tragedy of T-Bag: that he so completely lacks the personal traits necessary to realize his aspirations, and he is actually aware of all that he's missing.
Moving on: Michael, Linc and Dr. Sara are back at the loft and we learn that General Von Baldy is prone to bad judgment -- like, T-Bag-level bad judgment -- by gassing on and on about how thoroughly he's beaten them instead of just killing everyone and moving on to the "cleaning up the mess Christina made" portion of events.
We cut to the FBI agents attempting to interrogate Mahone and coming to all the wrong conclusions about who assassinated Bannerjee, Jr. Mahone is all, "I see that the IQ of the agency dropped by ten points when I left," then points out in all sincerity, "Lincoln didn't kill Bannerjee. He was set up ... It was the [One World Conspiracy]. They've developed a device called Scylla. Listen to what's right in front of your face! The brothers didn't kill anybody. Listen to me. Listen to what I'm telling you." Alas, the same agents who were so right to call Don Self out on his punk-ass punkness do not follow their instincts on this, and so all Mahone can do is stare in bemusement at these tool-using primates whom his former employer has put on the payroll.
Back at the loft, General Von Baldy is still gassing on and on and man, how long until someone effects a dramatic rescue? 3 ... 2 ... 1. There we are! Who knew Sucre and C-Note were so capable of scaling buildings and taking people out with one or two well-aimed bullets. Michael then aims a gun at General Von Baldy's head and says, "This is where we say goodbye." And AGAIN, Dr. Sara is like, "Michael, no." And it's not because she's like, "Let me -- he did kill my dad and sic his mistress on me." ARGH. They end up handcuffing General Von Baldy to a staircase and taking off with Sucre and C-Note. And I must say that I am very disappointed in this scene for two reasons. First, because nobody in that room has the stones to kill the old bastard. And second, because Michael and Sucre do not hug at all. Which is just wrong, because damn, greater love hath no papi for his cellie than what Sucre just showed.
So then we hear sirens and Dr. Sara snaps, "Gentlemen, we have to leave." Sucre and C-Note carry Linc down to an SUV that is not all shot out, and everyone scrambles to get in, except -- oh, no! The cops are there now! Sucre heroically gets into another car and provides a roadblock/distraction to buy everyone else time to escape. He screams to Michael, "Go! Go!" As the cops arrest Sucre, we hear his theme and I can't help but remember: this is, like, the second time Sucre's let himself get arrested so Michael can escape. At least Michael looked a little torn up when he drove off, but I ask you, where is the love? Forum posters, I command you to deliver it to Sucre, since Michael so obviously cannot.
Back at the hideaway, Dr. Sara frets about Linc's health. Michael calls Kellerman and rasps, "You'd better come through for us in the end." C-Note thinks he will, but Michael dismissively points out, "We know him a little better than you." Linc gasps that they need to turn off the phone, as that's how General Von Baldy found them, and C-Note looks out the window to observe. "Somebody already has." He helps hustle Linc and Dr. Sara out of the room, then flees in advance of the gun-toting thugs. These are, as it turns out, Christina's thugs. Her makeup, by the way, is remarkably durable for a woman who was in the direct blast radius of an office-shattering bomb.
Meanwhile, Agent Franco is trying to get Sucre to drop a dime on Michael, apparently unaware of Sucre's tremendous obstinancy and willingness to go to jail for his friends. Agent Wright adds, "This is your last chance before we take this deal to Mahone." Sucre says, "If Mahone was talking, you guys wouldn't be here." Wright sputters at that, but his arguments are dashed against Sucre's story about a One World Conspiracy. Agent Wright concludes Sucre is dumber than he looks while we viewers at home chortle that it's Wright who is really the fool here.