Original subtitles

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)

(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.

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