Meanwhile, at a dive called the Alibi -- identified on-screen as "war veterans bar" in Pratt, Kansas, T-Bag notices the report, raises his glass to his mug shot on the screen, and wishes the other three luck: "Godspeed, gentlemen." He looks around, noting the assorted hooks and other prosthetics, then licks his lips when he sees someone with a grade-A fake plastic hand: a crotchety old guy playing pool.
T-Bag heads over to talk to the guy, opening with, "I only recently returned from delivering democracy to the desert, and I was wondering if you could tell me how a guy goes about getting one of those prosthetic jobbies." I love how he makes it sound like he was dropping off a pizza with a side of political ideology. The veteran can't believe T-Bag doesn't have a prosthetic already. T-Bag says, "Let's just say the doctor made the bed but he neglected to tuck in the sheets." Frankly, in this case, the doctor hasn't even picked up a duvet off the floor to shake off the wrinkles. How T-Bag's been running around with a bloody, raw stump and not come down with septicemia or anything is... oh, what I am saying? T-Bag only bears a superficial resemblance to humans; his anatomy is made of stronger, more narratively expedient stuff. Anyway, the veteran tells him to take it to the V.A., and T-Bag tries to follow up by asking what forms he'll need, but the guy takes a turn for the ugly: "You know what, Mister Don't-Ask-Don't-Tell? If you can figure out how to dye up that hair of yours like a nancy all by yourself, you sure as hell can figure out how to get a prosthetic for that stump of yours all by yourself." And with that, Corporal Bigot turns back to his game. T-Bag eyes the prosthetic and says reflectively, "Yeah, I think I got a pretty good idea where to start ... " He's so goal-focused: he didn't even bother to correct Corporal Bigot by pointing out that he's currently stalking and killing a heterosexual ex. And I have to hand it to the writers: they are ceaselessly inventive in finding ways to justify keeping an appendage on the end of both of Robert Knepper's arms.
We then switch to the border patrol holding facility in Las Cruces, New Mexico, just long enough to see Michael and Linc being walked to their holding cells.
Then we're back at Fox River and hey! It's Pavelka, whom we all remember as a jackball from earlier this season. He is now the warden of Fox River. The news reporter standing next to Pavelka exposits that Michael and Lincoln are due to arrive back at Fox River the next day, and I pause the show to wonder, "You've got an inmate with your joint's blueprints inked on his back and a history of escaping. Does it really make sense to bring him back here?" Anyway, the reporter then asks if we can expect Lincoln's hasty execution after he re-enters Fox River, and this gives us all an opportunity to hear Pavelka's V.O. as the boys are being walked to their cells: "Lincoln Burrows is a convicted murderer. His escape is a danger to lives of civilians across this country. He is not a celebrity, he is not a martyr. I can assure you, whatever leniency was afforded him and the other prisoners under the old regime at Fox River will no longer be tolerated. The only thing Mr. Burrows can is expect is what a jury of his peers demanded." A razor? A shirt with easy-to-undo buttons? Hey, you said his peers. It turns out Pavelka's thinking death, death, death. As for Michael, Pavelka says, "With his escape, the aiding and abetting charges, the felonies he's racked up along the way... on top of his original sentence, I'd say Mr. Scofield will be spending the rest of his life behind bars." We cut to a shot of Michael, who seems like he's already planning his escape from New Mexico.