Freedom has a price.
I died seven years ago.
Left behind a brother...
a wife...
a son.
But the dead talk...
if you listen.
They're there with you...
reaching out...
trying to tell you something.
Because not all deaths
are the same.
Some are real.
Some are a story.
Question is...
do you believe the story?
Was the man who died
who you thought he was?
The dead talk...
if you listen.
Still tight as...
scales on a snake.
Must have friends in
high places, Bagwell.
How a cesspool like you gets his
walking papers I'll never know.
This cesspool
has been a model citizen.
Model citizen.
(closes zipper)
$71,31.
Laptop.
Pack of gum, three pieces.
How about you keep that?
Whatever you bring in,
you bring out.
And one last piece
of correspondence.
Something really wrong with
the world when I'm receiving
dozens of letters a week
for guys like you.
Nothing compared to the e-mails.
What is it with you killers
that put the satin
on women's panties anyhow?
(exhales)
♪ ♪
Lackaday!
(car engine roaring)
(tires squeal)
(car doors closing)
(panting)
(weapon cocking)
Burrows!
How about you step out
and pay us
the hundred grand
you owe us?
Take that as a no.
Lincoln Burrows... says no.
Big tough guy...
who made it out of
the neighborhood.
And look at you now--
back to your roots,
the way
you've always been.
A small-time crook
who can't pay his debts.
We're gonna find you, you know,
and we're gonna
open you up.
(car door closes, engine starts)
(dog barking in distance)
T-BAG:
Lincolny-linc.
All huffin' and puffin'.
Don't you look at me
like I'm trash.
My house is in order.
I'm clear with the government,
the D.O.C. and my God.
Doesn't appear to be
the same with you.
Look at you,
all backslid.
You're supposed to be going
up in the world as you age,
or did you not
get the memo?
You don't get off my deck,
I'm gonna crack your skull.
I wouldn't do that.
Seems fate has deigned
to join us at the hip
once again,
despite our mutual contempt.
Have a look-see.
(sighs)
Where'd you get this?
Received it on release
earlier this week.
No return address.
If you're playing me,
I'll kill you.
Take a look
at that postmark on that.
I may be
a sophisti-cat,
but not
so sophisticated
as to forge something like that.
Besides...
what angle could I possibly have
in coming here
and telling you that
it looks like your brother
might just be alive?
♪ ♪
It's impossible.
That's what I thought.
Why'd he send it to you?
Again, what I thought.
And then I gave the words
another look-see.
Maybe that's the answer.
"By your hand
"you shall know the
glories of your Progeny
"and our world will be
made right forevermore."
Hell if I know
what that means.
But just like that
envelope's addressed to me,
those words are addressed
to me. Got to be!
Get out.
I'm trying
to work with you here.
Is there any possible way
your brother could've survived?
My brother's dead.
Th-Then who sent
this? And why?
Get out.
At least let me take
my rightful correspondence.
(scoffs)
Oh, I made a copy, Burrows.
I knew you'd be the same
obstinate son of a beyotch
you always been, but I'd
hoped you'd seen the light.
But you are what you is
and you is what you are.
(scoffs)
Still, I'm telling you...
fate has got us joined
at the hip somehow.
(door closes)
(takes deep breath)
(exhales)
♪ ♪
MAN:
Where you in from?
LINCOLN:
Chicago.
MAN:
Love Chicago.
There you go.
Thanks, man.
(engine roaring)
(exhales)
(laughs softly)
I didn't think
I was ever gonna
see you again.
You didn't come
to the wedding.
I mean, I...
I figured I, I get it--
he hates me for marrying someone
other than his brother, but...
I haven't been
in a good place, Sara.
My brain, it's, it's,
it's been a mess.
That's why I didn't show up.
And I didn't want my nephew
to see me like that.
(sighs quietly)
But now it's impossible
to stay away.
SARA: Someone's got
a sick sense of humor.
I know you want it to be true.
Losing a brother--
the massive hole
that leaves in your life.
Like the same massive hole
losing a husband makes.
(sighs)
Maybe.
(door opens, closes)
Lincoln Burrows?
Jacob.
I haven't seen
you in what,
three, four years?
Yeah.
MIKE: Uncle Lincoln!
Hey-hey! Buddy!
Oh...
so good to see you.
Did you bring me
any sunken treasures?
"Sunken treasures"?
Oh. The dive shop.
Panama.
Yeah, I've been
telling him stories
about being down there before
we came back to the States.
You've become kind of like
a mythological hero to him.
Let me get some beers.
I want to know what
you been up to.
Sure, man. Yeah.
Okay.
Come here.
I want you to go wash up, okay?
And then you can catch up
with your uncle.
He hasn't just
mythologized you.
He mythologizes
Michael, too.
It's like someone thinking
he was born to a god,
a god he's never met...
and who isn't here.
And who never will be again.
I can be pragmatic.
Michael was sick.
He was terminally sick.
And he died.
(sighs)
Sara...
how do you explain that?
(sighs)
It's Photoshop, Linc,
or something.
You got to consider
the source.
This came
from T-Bag.
I know you want
it to be true.
I want it to be true.
(loud, indistinct music plays
in next room)
How about a date tonight,
model citizen?
(groans)
(sighs)
A little well-earned love
after a long time at sea.
Jeh... boop.
Miss Dorothy.
E-mailing her undying love
from Aurora, Illinois.
I-eesh.
(sighs)
How about this one?
"Love Cannon Alonzo
in Champaign."
Ooh. Hop on that
just on the name alone.
(computer chimes)
What the hell?
Prosthetic research?
(sighs)
(crow caws, birds sing)
Smart girl, your Sara.
She's right.
I'm just desperate
to see your face.
My life's been a mess
ever since you left.
Fallen back into my old ways.
Something
you wouldn't tolerate.
But I got good in me, Michael.
I got good in me.
(Lincoln sighs heavily)
It'd just be nice if
you were here to...
help me find it.
So... yeah.
(crow caws)
"Ogygia."
(keyboard keys clicking loudly)
Telling me where you are.
There's only one way
to find out.
(groans)
MAN:
Theodore Bagwell.
And you're Dr. Whitcombe,
the man who invited me
to this mystery meeting
at 9:30 at night when the rest
of the building's closed.
I know what you've done.
That's why I don't want to be
seen associating with your sort.
Just want to know
why I'm here, and...
if this has anything
to do with that special envelope
I received in the prison.
I know nothing
about an envelope.
I can only tell
you my work.
Targeted muscle reinnervation.
Using the brain
to manipulate prosthesis
as it were a natural limb.
But as with any
cutting-edge work,
funding is not easy
to find, and yet,
incredibly, I got the grant
in the form of a
considerable anonymous grant
on one condition--
the first recipient
of my procedure...
is you.
I can equip you
with a fully articulate
prosthetic,
operationally indistinguishable
from a real hand.
All of this because
of an anonymous donor?
Someone seems to have plans
for both of us.
I've reserved an
operational lab for Monday
if you decide
you are interested.
It's your hand, ultimately.
By your hand,
you shall know glories
of your progeny.
What's that?
Nothing, Doc.
(panting)
(shovel thudding hollowly)
(shovel clanks on ground)
(grunting)
(creaking)
(panting)
Come on, Michael.
You must have left me something.
Come on!
(panting)
Come on.
(panting)
(sniffs, panting)
(brakes squeak)
(computer chirps)
(clack, tires squeal)
(computer chirps)
What's going on?
(groans)
(groans, tires squealing,
horns honking)
(groans)
(grunts)
(loud gasping)
(water gurgling)
(groans, pants)
(vehicle approaching)
(panting)
Oh, my God,
what happened?
I'm not sure.
I'm gonna call
the police.
(man speaks indistinctly)
(panting)
(indistinct chatter,
car door opens, closes)
(car engine starts)
(phone ringing)
Hello?
I dug up Michael's grave.
He's not in it.
He... What?
Sara, someone just
tried to kill me.
They've been watching.
They've been watching,
probably for...
Who tried to kill you?
It started at the airport. I...
There was a... a red sedan.
It started following me.
Then they, they, they swapped
down to a...
What was it?
A pickup.
(vehicle engine approaching)
What color was the pickup?
LINCOLN:
Black.
Why?
(phone beeps off)
(dial tone sounds)
Sara?
Jacob?
Yeah.
Behind one of
the pictures on the brick wall,
there's a hole, and there's
a gun in it. I need
you to get it.
What?!
Right now! Right now!
Someone's coming for us!
A gun? What do you mean, a gun?
Mike?
(touch tones sounding)
WOMAN:
911. What is your emergency?
I have an armed intruder
in the house.
I need you to send people
right away.
I don't have time.
Please, come.
Mike?
JACOB:
Sara?
What's going on, Sara?
(panting)
Hey.
Mom?
Come here.
(door slams open)
(panting)
Sara? Sara!
(panting)
(Jacob groans)
(Jacob groaning)
(pained groaning)
It's just me. There's no one
else in the house.
JACOB:
What do you want?
Get in the tub.
Who's here, Mom?
What do they want?
(Jacob groaning)
I don't know, baby.
(door squeaks open)
(metal creaking, Sara groans)
Okay, listen to me,
if anyone comes
through that door,
you don't move, okay?
I will put this through them,
and you will not be harmed.
You understand?
Good boy.
(sirens wailing in distance)
(groans)
Jacob?
(Jacob groans)
MIKE:
Mom.
Go get every towel
you can find.
Right now, right now.
Please, Jacob.
Okay. I think it got an artery.
Stay with me.
I want you to look at me,
all right?
Don't close your eyes
and don't go to sleep,
all right? I'm gonna need you
to stay with me.
I need an ambulance!
(indistinct chatter)
How is he?
The shot almost completely
severed his femoral artery so
they're trying to stabilize him.
And him?
SARA:
He's seven.
How you doing, Mikey?
Something's happening,
isn't it?
First, you come
and that person
came in our house.
It has something to do with
my real father, doesn't it?
Why do you say that?
Because I can see it
in her face.
I'm gonna need
to talk to your uncle.
I'm gonna be right over there
where you can see me. Okay?
What's going on?
We've awoken something.
Something people are trying
to hide about Michael.
Your brother's dead, Lincoln.
Or is he dead?
Where is the body?
Then why did he leave?
If he's been out there
for all of these years,
why did he abandon his own son?
You know I'm right.
It wouldn't be like this if
something wasn't happening.
It wouldn't, but...
Let's fight back.
I don't know who we're fighting.
Let's go to Yemen and find out.
To Yemen? I have a son, Lincoln.
My husband's in the ER. Right?
Look, leaving them is exactly
the wrong thing
for me to do right now.
Ma'am. He's ready to see you.
One second.
I'll do it.
I'll go to Yemen.
You don't know a damn thing
about Yemen.
I'll find someone who does.
See ya, Mikey.
(men praying in Arabic)
(praying continues)
LINCOLN:
I envy you.
You changed your life around.
C-
of living a profligate life.
So I took up jihad.
Real jihad,
not that madness
that you see on the news.
War within.
The spiritual struggle
to clean up your act.
Finding and serving God.
That's good, man.
The world needs it, Linc.
I mean we're, uh,
we're small here,
but we do what we can
to help the peace efforts
in the Middle East.
Working on anti-radicalization
campaigns here at home.
Like I said, the struggle.
That's why I'm here.
If I needed
to get to Yemen,
that something
you could help me with?
C-
I thought he was dead.
So did everyone.
But Ogygia?
I mean,
that's for heavy hitters,
political prisoners.
In Yemen,
it doesn't come any worse.
I mean, do you know what
it would take to stage a death?
Not to mention
keeping a man who is not dead
under the radar
for seven years.
Some very powerful players.
Sayed, what do you make
of this mosque right here?
Aksa Mosque. It's one of
the main ones in Sana'a.
It's very distinct.
Ah.
SAYED: Sightlines seem
pretty consistent
with what it would probably be
from the prison to the mosque.
Now, you ask me,
that photo's legit.
Then that's the building
my brother's in.
Easiest way to find out is
to call the prison and ask.
Mafi Michael Scofield.
Shukran.
There's no Michael Scofield.
Punch up an image
from the Internet.
Michael Scofield.
Send it to the prison.
Maybe he's under
a different name.
C-
Listen, Linc,
I got to say
something, man.
Man, you got to
slow your roll.
Yemen is in a civil war.
They're really close
to collapse.
It's no place for a white man
with an American passport,
no command of Arabic,
to just show up on a whim.
And yet, apparently,
my brother did.
Got a picture.
Your brother's intake photo
from the Fox River Penitentiary.
Here's his DMV photo
and here's a photo
from his old workplace Web site.
LINCOLN:
It's not him.
None of them are.
Someone's erasing him
from history.
C-
Lincoln, where are you going?
Hotel, to grab my stuff, then
the airport.
Hey, listen, you're
not going to Yemen.
Stop me.
You won't make
it three days.
We need to go through
the proper channels.
"The proper channels"?
Someone's erasing
his existence.
Who does that?
Who has that ability?
I'm telling you,
Michael's caught
in the middle
of something big.
What if he's not caught
in the middle?
What are you saying?
Michael has never
been anyone's sucker.
He's always been
in control. Always.
You saying
he faked his own death?
I'm saying you need to look
at all of the possibilities,
before you walk
into a war zone.
(sighs)
I wasn't sure you'd come.
Sometimes a man has
to surrender to fate.
See what it has in store
for him.
(monitor beeping)
WHITCOMBE:
We'll need to put you under.
No, no, no. I don't do
general anesthetic, compadre.
It's mandatory
for a procedure like this.
You'll forgive me
if I have a problem
lying unconscious
before a man with sharp
items at his disposal.
It cannot be done
without a general anesthetic.
Oh, I've done it
before, friend.
And look what it got you.
(sighs)
You do anything untoward to me
while I'm under and I'll...
You are the last man
I'd run afoul of.
Okay?
Mm.
Oh, fate, you
mysterious bitch.
Why you doing
this to me?
(monitor beeping)
Hi. Dry cleaning.
Nice jacket.
Thank you, sir.
Have a good day.
(door creaks)
(grunts)
What the hell was that for?
Sucre!
What the hell
are you doing here?
C... C-Note told me
what's going on.
He tell you
to talk me out of it?
No. I'm coming with you.
LINCOLN:
You're not coming.
SUCRE: Michael's my best friend.
If he's alive,
if he's in trouble,
I want to help.
Don't you have a
job or something?
Yeah, on a tramp.
Not great work,
but hey,
I'm an ex-con, right?
Tramp?
Yeah, I've been riding her
for a while.
What are you, a pimp?
What? No.
No, no, no.
A tramp is
a freelance cargo ship.
We go to Hong Kong,
Spain, Buenos Aires,
basically wherever
the boss tells us.
Corrupt son of a bitch.
Well, I suggest you
get back on that tramp,
'cause you're not coming.
I'm telling you I can help!
Listen to me, this
is the Middle East.
Lots has changed.
I'm an international hitter now.
A raconteur.
I don't think that means
what you think it means.
Don't speak to me like I don't
know French, I know French.
And I'm brown, that's something.
I'll fit in better
over there
than you will, snowflake.
I decided I was wrong
when I said
you would be dead
inside of three days.
You go over there,
you'll be dead inside of one.
But with me,
we have people at the mosque
that have worked
over there,
people with
legal connections
that can get us
inside of that prison.
Hold on.
You're not saying he gets to go.
He's not any browner than I am.
Ah, but do you speak Arabic?
Huh?
No?
I managed to pick up
a little Arabic
while I was serving in Iraq.
WOMAN: This is the final
boarding call for Flight 39
to JFK, connecting to Yemen.
This is the final boarding...
Listen, man.
There's gonna be a time
when I'm gonna need you.
(plane taking off in distance)
You better find him.
And you better call me
when you do.
I will.
You really
got contacts?
Contacts with contacts.
Could just follow 'em
into the bathroom,
ragdoll him in one of stalls
and be done with it.
(camera snaps)
Then we'd have a body
to deal with.
And we want him utterly
and irrevocably gone
from this world.
Where no amount of digging
will bring him back.
(yelling, glass breaking)
(indistinct chatter)
We're the only ones coming
into the place.
C-
the country's falling apart.
Everyone wants out.
Who's that contact again?
A woman named Sheba.
Our handler.
She helps us track Americans
that come in
to fight the jihad fight.
(explosions, panicked chatter)
(distant car alarms blaring)
Welcome to the civil war.
(man whistles loudly)
Mr. Franklin,
Ms. Sheba sent me
to collect you.
As-salaam alaikum.
Wa alaikum as-salaam.
Uh, this way, gentlemen.
Follow me.
GUIDE:
Yemen very dangerous.
You never know who's enemies,
who's friends.
Everyone scratching
each other's backs.
ISIL is starting
to attack the city.
They have been building up
out in the desert for months.
If they take the city,
they will kill all
the secularists,
install Sharia law.
Huh. You know.
You don't seem worried.
(chuckles)
I scratch backs, too, my friend.
C-
This isn't right.
Hey, wait a minute,
this-this isn't the address.
I get cigarettes.
No, no, you don't.
You take us straight
to the address right now!
I-I get cigarettes.
C-
Linc, this is a setup.
Grab your bag, get out.
♪ ♪
May peace be upon you, guys.
We don't want any trouble.
(grunting)
(man speaks Arabic)
(grunting, yelling)
(shouts in Arabic)
Greetings from the U.S.
prison system, bitches.
What is it?
Someone set us up.
Come quickly.
(gunfire)
Or we'll all be dead!
Go, go.
She's one of us.
Come on, grab your bag.
Come on, let's go!
How did you find us?
SHEBA: A contact
at the airport saw you
get into the wrong taxi.
You're lucky I found you.
This is very radicalized
neighborhood.
Whoever set you up couldn't
have set you up in a worse way.
(panting)
Throw your phones
out the window.
I don't want anyone
tracking us.
Do it!
(opens, closes door)
Sheba, this is Lincoln.
Lincoln... Sheba.
(monitor beeping steadily)
(footsteps approaching)
You've been made whole,
Mr. Bagwell.
You're free to go.
Not till you tell me
what you've put in me.
You feel an unease, do you?
I'd venture that's what's always
been in you since birth.
Your soul. I just put
the hardware into you.
You're the thing
that runs it.
Who's behind this?
Nobody!
Nobody's behind this.
(groans)
What does that mean?
I got a single word.
That's it.
Just, my benefactors I.D.'d
themselves by a single word.
Outis.
(grunts)
I looked it up.
It's Greek for "nobody."
That's who your benefactor is,
Mr. Bagwell.
(panting)
Nobody.
(Muslim call to prayer
over speakers)
(siren wailing in distance)
(car horns honk in distance)
(footsteps approaching)
Okay.
(clears throat)
LINCOLN:
Who's this?
Omar has connections
in Ogygia Prison.
He says he can
arrange a visit.
That mean Michael's in there?
There's apparently
an American
in there matching
your brother's description.
There's just one thing.
Arranging such a visit
is hard. Very difficult.
Comes at a price.
Money's not a problem.
(clicks tongue)
Not money.
Your passport.
My passport?
What, you...
you want to hold it?
No. Straight trade.
Visit for your passport.
Uh, U.S. passport
is like gold here.
A few changes, and it can be
a ticket to freedom.
Don't do it, Linc.
C-
Mm-mm.
I know it is not
ideal, but...
ideals as of right now
are history in Yemen.
You cannot get out
of the country
without a passport.
Don't do it.
Inshallah,
you will see your brother soon.
I told myself I'd never
step foot in another prison.
As long as we walk out of it.
(man grunting)
(shouting in Arabic)
(man screams)
(shouting, clamoring)
(speaking in Arabic)
(speaks in Arabic)
There's no Michael Scofield.
It was a scam
to get my passport.
Omar is one
of my most trusted operators.
Listen, lady.
Trust doesn't seem to mean
a whole lot in this country.
Give me a second, okay?
I'll figure out a way
to work this thing out.
An image.
Right? The one that
they sent to you?
Oh, yeah, yeah.
Do you have it?
Look.
There.
(clears throat)
Kaniel Outis.
Yes, Kaniel Outis.
Is he here?
(speaking in Arabic)
He says, yes, the man
in the picture is here
and we can see him, but only
'cause we're dealing with Sheba.
Why did you say that name?
Because of my brother's jacket.
Thought you were on
the right side of God on this.
Sheba. No, hey,
hey. Sheba...
Hey. Kaniel Outis
is a big-time terrorist.
They got him in here for murder.
He's been working with ISIL
trying to take down
the government.
Come on, C.
You know that's not Michael.
Well, whoever he is...
...we're about to meet him.
(thunder crashes)
MIKE:
What was my father like?
My real father.
(sighs)
Michael Scofield...
...was like a storm.
Grab the camera.
I want to prove he's alive.
He was beautiful
and frightening
and mysterious.
And he would show up
in your life
out of the clear blue sky
and then he would disappear
just as quickly.
But storms, they can come back.
Can't they?
Mm-hmm.
Question is, if they come back,
is it the same storm,
or has something changed?
(thunder crashes)
Michael.
New tats.
What do you mean, new?
We're gonna get you out of here.
My name isn't Michael.
And I don't know who you are.
Sorry.
Guard, take me
back to the cell.
Michael.
Michael, talk to me. Michael...
Mike.
Mike! What are you doing,
damn it?!
(door closes)
(sobbing)
Captioned by
Media Access Group at WGBH
www.tvsubtitles.net