Original subtitles

- Some big high roller once said,

"The business of America is business."

And I'm happy to report,

the criminal justice business is booming.

With heavy industry headed south,

small towns are battling for state contracts

to build correctional facilities.

Who'd have thunk it?

Nice, upstanding citizens

begging to have rapists, drug dealers and murderers

right in their own backyard.

- How's your brother?

- The doctor said he's fully recovered from the overdose.

They're gonna keep him in the hospital overnight

for observation, but Cyril's gonna be fine.

- Praise, Allah.

- Hey, O'Reilly.

Sorry to hear about your girlfriend.

- Who's his girlfriend, Adebisi?

- Dr. Nathan.

Yeah, she took a leave of absence.

Apparently, she almost choked to death

when our boy Ryan, here, came in her mouth.

- Fuck you!

Bring it on!

- Fuck you!

- What the fuck are you cuffing me for?

I didn't start shit!

- Shut your fucking face, O'Reilly!

- Eat me, you goddamned clit!

- I'll take this one.

- Fuck you!

Are you crazy? Goddamn it, fuck!

- Just stay down, stay the fuck down!

- Blow me.

- Again? - Yeah.

Oh, fuck.

- Rabbi.

So, feeling better?

- A dead man needs to cover all his options.

- You sure you're a dead man?

- Mr. Querns,

sometime after you send me back to Em City,

a day, a week, maybe,

O'Reilly will have found a way to kill me.

- I like you, Stanislofsky.

I don't know why, but I do.

I can let you stay up here for a few more days.

- What good is going to come of that?

Death is inevitable.

- Not necessarily.

I plan to have a little talk with your old pal,

Ryan O'Reilly.

- You know,

I'm trying to eliminate violence from Em City.

- And doing an amazing job, sir.

- Cut the crap!

When Stanislofsky returns,

if anything happens to him, I mean, anything--

he cuts himself shaving,

I'm holding you responsible.

- Hoyt's got the hots for Stanislofsky, not me.

- I don't care, you're responsible.

Understand?

- Uh-huh.

If Nikolai gets hurt when he gets back to Em City,

my ass is grass.

- Right, now get lost.

- Claire? - Yeah?

- Baby? - Yeah?

- Hey, how much do you love me?

- Oh, plenty.

- Yeah? Enough to do anything I ask?

- Yeah.

- That a girl.

- Cyril, hey!

How you doin', huh?

You okay? You feeling better?

- Yes. - Good.

- O'Reilly? - Mm-hmm.

- That certain someone you asked me to inquire about?

- Yeah.

- He's coming back to Em City tomorrow.

- Stay right there.

Shit.

- Ready for this?

He asked Querns for a favor.

- What?

- He wants to take a bath.

- There's no bathtubs in Oz.

- Hospital therapy room.

That's perfect.

You know what to do, right?

- I'm here to pick up Stanislofsky.

Thanks.

You almost done?

- Five minutes, please. I'm enjoying myself.

- I'll bet I can help you enjoy yourself even more.

- Ah, that's good.

- How's that?

- It was never like this in Gulag.

- You men are all alike.

So quick, so easily satisfied.

Most of you don't know dick about making a woman happy.

- Ryan O'Reilly does. - Oh, really?

- Here's a small token of his affection.

- What is this?

- A rubber duckie.

- Rubber duckie?

- Call the medic; I think the Russian guy's dead.

- Hey, Mr. Querns.

I heard about Stanislofsky.

That's weird.

A guy dies before he gets back to Em City?

Yeah.

- Picasso, bend over.

- Hey, Miles, special delivery.

- Paints, thank fucking Christ,

I'm almost out.

- It's coming along real nice.

- Nice?

This is a masterpiece of 21st century art.

This wall should be in the Louvre.

- Hey, Schillinger!

Next time try handin' them to me.

- Fuck you.

- Lunch!

- Hey, what you got, Leroy?

- Chicken nuggets. - Again?

Don't you niggers know how to shake 'n bake anything else?

- Yo, we've got state dietary guidelines to follow, dog.

- Careful! You spilled my nuggets!

- Fuck you.

- Time to go, Deyell.

- Go? Where's he goin'?

- Meeting with his lawyer.

- You still tryin' to appeal your death sentence, black boy?

- Fuck you, bitch!

- Hell, man, they ain't never gonna let you off.

- No one's asking your opinion, asshole.

- Yeah, Miles, give your mouth a rest, okay?

- Judge Fee has denied our appeal.

- Shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

- Is there a problem?

- He's fine, officer. We're fine.

- So, what's next?

- We go to the State Supreme Court

and appeal the appellate court's decision.

- How long is that gonna take?

- Given the court's current caseload,

I'd say at least a year.

- A year?

Dawn, I can't sit up on death row another day,

much less a fucking year!

- I didn't create the system, Moses.

I just wallow in it.

- Can't you drop some speed on the process?

- I don't even know if they're going to hear our case.

Chief Justice Ginther,

who was appointed by James Devlin,

tends to turn a deaf ear

to anything he considers soft on crime.

- So, what you're saying is I'm fucked?

- What I'm saying is time may be on our side.

Rumor is Ginther's got prostate cancer.

He dies, retires,

a new chief might look at the death penalty differently.

- And meanwhile?

- Meanwhile, you're alive for at least another year.

Make the best of a bad situation.

- Hey, Deyell,

you know how I'm always calling you "black boy"?

Well, while you were downstairs with your legal beagle,

I thought, "Shit, there's a whole bunch

of other names I can use."

"Nigger," of course.

Or "coon,"

"jigaboo,"

"spear chucker,"

"schwatza,"

"mulonian."

But I settled on "Negro."

Neeee-gro!

It's got a kind of simplicity.

Negro is the Spanish word for blacks, a Negro.

Negro.//

Negro.

Negro, Negro, Negro, Negro, Negro, Negro!

- Idiot, move out of the way, idiot!

It goes like this, faster!

See this? Now, move!

- Crybaby.

- Prisoner number 96Z858, Eli Zabitz.

Convicted April 1st, 1996.

Aggravated assault.

Sentence: nine years.

Up for parole in six.

- Zabitz. - Oh, Keller.

- Where you going? - I gotta be somewhere.

- No, you gotta be right here with me.

- Yeah, yeah, okay.

- How are your daughter's teeth?

- Oh, I'm proud to say every one is now a pearl.

- I'm glad.

That makes me happy that you're able

to provide dental care before you die.

- Die, I'm not... Jesus, Keller!

- Why don't you just sit down and shut the fuck up?

Now...

You told Tobias Beecher that I killed his kid.

- Yeah, but Schillinger made me do it.

- Shh, shh, shh.

Regardless.

Soon, you're gonna be joining your ancestors.

- If you're gonna do it, why tell me?

- So, you can get your affairs in order

and to watch you sweat.

- Are listening to me?

Keller says he's gonna whack me.

- Will you get off my back?

You're ruining my concentration.

- Listen, you gotta protect me.

Because if you don't protect me,

I'm goin' to the hacks

and I'm gonna tell them you paid me

to lie to Beecher.

- Lower your voice.

You see what you made me do?

You're fucking up my game here.

- Your game, huh?

This is my life we're talking about!

Look, I said I'd protect you from Keller.

I'll protect you, okay?

- Okay.

- Now, buzz off.

- Jesus.

I thought the Jews were supposed to be tough.

- Hmm, that's just the Israelis.

- Kill him.

I'm gonna take that shot again.

- Hello, Eli.

You know, this room really isn't that safe.

I got stabbed here once myself.

- Fuck, Keller, no!

Oh, thank God.

Get him.

- Schillinger wants you dead.

- What? Fuck!

- Robson, this is my kill.

- Take a fucking walk, Keller.

- Please, please, don't kill me!

Please!

- Later.

- Later.

- He dead?

- Heart attack.

- Jesus.

I told him you gotta watch that red meat.

- Beecher!

- I'll see ya.

- You know, you used to be addicted to alcohol,

then heroin.

But this obsession,

that's the worst,

and the most dangerous.

Hey, I'm talking to you.

- Oh, I like it when you're rough.

- You're a slut, Beecher.

You'll sleep with anyone.

So?

- So, how does that sex make you feel?

You feel better about yourself?

- No, worse.

- Then, why do it?

- Because at least I'm feeling something.

I prefer to be happy,

but self-hate'll do in a pinch.

- Don't hate yourself.

- Why not?

My son is dead 'cause of me.

My daughter's a mess 'cause of me.

And Keller...

Keller doesn't love me.

But I tried this new detergent.

It really seems to get the whites clean.

- Hello, Chris. I'm here about Beecher.

- I get a half-hour in the gym.

You're eating into my time.

- Will you just hear me out, please?

The man is dying inside.

- Well, that's not on me.

- I'm not blaming you.

I'm asking you for your help to turn him around.

The two of you had a relationship.

You had an intimate relationship.

- Oh, come on, Father, you can say it.

We fucked each other up the ass,

in the mouth.

- No, no, not the fucking, the love.

The two of you loved each other.

Now, I know that is all over now.

But still, if you had any real feelings for him,

I can't believe that you would sit by

and watch what's happening.

- He tried to kill me.

- Ahh! You murdered my son!

- And my relationship with Beecher,

it started in brutality and that's where it's ended.

Love was the smallest part.

- I don't really believe that you believe that.

- You don't?

Where do you live, Father?

Where do you live?

- In a rectory at St. Margaret's.

- A rectory, only men live there, right?

- Yeah.

- You share common experiences,

a common belief.

You accept each other's eccentricities, flaws.

Some flaws are unacceptable,

like, say, one priest wants to fuck another.

- Oh, Keller! - You said, "Hear me out."

I mean, I'm just asking for the same courtesy.

- Okay.

- Unless, of course, I'm hitting too close to home.

You never have, have you?

- What?

- Fucked a fellow priest.

- No.

- Ever wanted to?

- No.

- Oh, come on, you share a bathroom together.

You walk in and some seminarian's

tight little ass is hanging out.

- Keller, I see what you're up to.

- You want me to do the honorable thing,

the selfless thing.

Say, "I'll help Beecher out."

Hey, Mukada,

we're in Oz.

And like I said, other rules apply.

Now according to the code we got here,

I'm not expected to save Beecher.

Fuck, I'd be breaking that code if I did.

- It only takes one man to change the way things are.

- Yeah?

Well, I'm not that man.

- Seven out of 10 inmates are from cities,

but 90% of the prisons themselves

are in rural areas.

You know, farmland, hillsides, forests.

Now, you'd think such bucolic surroundings

would have a calming effect on those inside.

But no.

Out in the wild,

things only get wilder.

- Tobias, we have bad news.

- Bad news? Gee, that's a change.

- Hank Schillinger got off on the murdering

and the kidnapping charges.

- What?

You mean he's free?

- Yes.

Evidently, when the arrest was made,

the police didn't do something they were supposed to do

and the judge just let Hank go free.

- On a technicality?

- Yeah.

- What happens next?

- Nothing.

There's nothing that can be done.

- Okay.

- Tobias, aren't you going to stay

and talk about this?

- If there's nothing to be done,

what is there to talk about?

- Your anger.

- Sister, you do not want to see my anger.

My anger is massive, all-encompassing.

- I'm not afraid.

- Fine.

Where the fuck have you been during all this shit?

- Tobias. - What?

- Let him talk!

- I thought you actually cared,

but only if it doesn't get in the way

of your own fucking bullshit.

You are nothing but a selfish cunt.

Now can I go?

- Yes, but think about something.

There's only one person who really matters

in all of this and it's your daughter, Holly.

Holly needs your strength!

She needs her father!

- What is your name?

- Hank? - Yo, Dad.

- "Yo"? What kind of talk is that?

- I was shittin' in my pants.

I thought the Feds had me by the balls.

- They can't touch you, son.

- Do you have any more cash?

I was thinking of going to Miami.

- Leaving town?

- For a while.

- I was hoping we'd get to spend some time together.

- Well, yeah, yeah, when I come back,

we'll do the father-son thing.

So what do you say?

Can you give me some more money?

- Sure, anything you need.

- Cool, cool.

- I've arranged with the warden

for you to have regular visits with your daughter.

We spoke to your parents,

and they've agreed to bring Holly here three times a week.

Twice after school and Saturdays.

You and she need the time together.

You need time to heal.

- Mail.

- Stop them!

- I'm gonna kill you, motherfucker!

- Well, I guess you heard the good news about Hank.

- Oh, stop that!

- Cocksucker! You fucking cocksucker!

- Take him to Em City!

- You wait! You fucking wait!

- Wow-wee, got quite a temper, hasn't he?

- Oh, what do you want?

- I'd like to have a chat with Mr. Pancamo.

- A chat?

Let me see if he's in a chatting mood.

- Nice shirt.

- You can go in.

- Mr. Pancamo, thank you for seeing me.

- I have to admit, I'm intrigued.

You and me ain't exactly paisans.

- I need you to arrange something.

- Drugs?

- No.

Two of my children were kidnapped.

My son, Gary, was killed.

- Yeah, I heard.

Schillinger's son, Hank, did it,

but the bastard got off on a legal technicality.

- That sucks.

- He's out free,

while my son lies rotting in the ground.

I want Hank Schillinger dead.

- Wait a minute, wait a minute.

Are you asking me to set up the hit?

- Yes.

- Well, how do I know

this isn't some kind of a sting operation?

You working with the hacks to fuck me over?

- The only proof I have is this.

While you're taking care of Hank,

I'm gonna kill his father.

- Okay, you got a deal.

A thousand for me, a thousand for the job.

Cash.

- Okay.

- Hey.

You gonna see your daughter?

- Yup.

The first time since the kidnapping.

- That'll be good for her.

And for you.

- Listen, I saw you talking with Pancamo.

- You saw me with Pancamo? - Yeah.

It doesn't take a Rhodes Scholar to figure out

what's in play.

You're gonna have Hank Schillinger killed,

aren't you?

What's the matter? Aren't you gonna deny it?

You know, you killed Andrew,

Schillinger's son.

He killed Gary, your son.

Now you wanna kill Hank?

Beecher, when is all this madness going to end?

- After I kill Schillinger.

- And then you will end up on death row.

And what good are you gonna be

to your daughter then?

- What good am I to her now?

Holly?

Oh, baby, how are you doing?

Oh, it's so good to see you.

Let me look at you.

My beautiful girl.

I love my daughter.

- I know you do.

- I only want the best for her.

- Of course.

She shouldn't have to carry

the weight of my mistakes.

Excuse me, Mr. Pancamo?

- Hey, Beecher.

Thanks for the prompt payment.

I wish others lived by your example.

- Look, I have thought it over

and I've changed my mind.

I wanna call off the hit on Hank Schillinger.

- That's fine.

Except for one little thing.

You're too late.

- He's dead?

- Bullet right through the brain.

- Oh, shit. - But don't worry.

They're never gonna find the body,

never in a million years.

Hank Schillinger has simply disappeared.

- Time to go home, Rebadow.

- Since I took over this unit,

violence has decreased by 92%.

92%!

That statistic would be higher

but for you, Rebadow,

trying to shank Busmalis in the middle of the night.

- I'm very sorry, sir.

And I assure you, nothing like that will happen again.

- Good, because if it does,

I'm sending you to Gen Pop,

where they'll eat your ass for lunch.

Take off.

- You feel better now? - Hey, killer.

- Hey, killer.

- Thug in the house. Oh, yeah.

- Redabow, hey, you talk to God lately?

- Watch out, Busmalis.

- If you come at me, I'm ready to go down fighting.

- No, no, no, I...

I-I apologize, Agamemnon.

I-I don't know what came over me.

It was like I was possessed or something.

I ask for your forgiveness.

- Well...

- Please?

Ow!

Stop!

Just stop!

Stop talking!

- Mr. Querns, sir, did the doctors figure out

what's wrong with Rebadow?

- Brain tumor.

- Oh, my God.

- They're shipping him off to Benchley Memorial

for emergency surgery.

- Before he goes, may I see him?

- No.

- He wanted me to shake his hand.

I-I didn't shake his hand.

Please, can I see him?

- No.

- We're here to pick up Robert Rebadow.

- Over there.

- Hey, stop that.

Leave me alone. Leave me alone!

- Relax, pop.

- I want somebody I know to go with me.

- On three, one, two, three.

- I don't know you.

Dr. Nathan!

Dr. Nathan?

Busmalis!

Busmalis?

Mama! Mama!

Mama!

- The census bureau counts prisoners

just like they count everybody else.

But the census bureau considers prisoners

as residents of the township where the prison is located,

not where they lived before they got convicted.

"So what?" you say.

The state uses these numbers

to determine where financial aid

like poverty funds are spent.

Some rinky-dink town upstate gets a big, fat check,

while the inner city,

where the money would keep people from committing crimes,

gets zippity-doo-dah.

The census is senseless.

- Y'all wanted to see me?

- Yeah, Adebisi's got a bug up his ass

about your friend, Mobay.

- Look, I don't like him.

- Mobay's filled his quota.

He's bought us five new customers.

Leave him the fuck alone.

- Which customers?

Look, Tidd and Browne,

they gave us the name of their new babies.

Mobay only knows them by face.

- You actually seen him sell tits to anybody?

- No, no.

- We got the cash, who cares?

- He could be undercover.

- With the amount of shit he shoves up his nose,

no fucking chance.

- Look, next time he sells, I want you by his side.

By his side!

- All right. - You got it.

- This hand sucks.

- They insist on watching me sell the drugs to somebody.

Only I can't legally do that.

So either way, I'm fucked.

- Unless, call your lieutenant.

Have him bring in another undercover detective.

You sell the drugs to another cop,

nobody gets hurt.

- Warden, that's genius.

If I'm such a genius,

how come I can't pick out a poster?

I mean, none of them look like me.

- See, I told you Mobay's okay.

- Bruno Goergen fell down an elevator shaft.

- Yeah, freak accident.

- No, he was pushed.

- Wait, wait, Mobay, please, man, please!

- Aah!

- Really?

- I'm here to find out who murdered him.

Any suggestions?

- Nope.

- You never saw Goergen

have any confrontations with anybody?

- No.

- And you never had any confrontations

with him yourself?

- No.

- Now you see,

that's not what I heard.

- Look, lady, you can keep excavating,

but there are no secrets buried in my brain.

- I'll be back.

- Anything?

- Yeah, this one knows something.

I'm gonna let him sit there alone for awhile,

see what percolates.

- Where you been?

- With a homicide detective,

avoiding her questions.

- Relax. She don't know nothing.

- You ain't got no guilt about what you did, do you?

- Guilt?

- We are, both of us, the same, Mobay.

Cop killers.

Except every single day,

I wish I could take back what I'd done.

- Goergen was a monster.

- Yeah.

It takes a monster to kill a monster, right?

- I guess so.

- Peace, black man.

- You wishing me peace?

- Move out of my way.

- You ain't going nowhere.

- I see you went to Adebisi,

asked him to grease me.

Is that any way for a brother

to act towards another brother?

- Move.

- I could kill you right now.

- But you won't

'cause Adebisi promised Querns

no violence in Em City.

Move.

- Okay, Arif.

But watch where you walking.

You wouldn't wanna get hit from something

falling down from the sky, now, would you?

- All right, everybody, let's go!

- Do you need something?

- Yes.

Imam...

I have committed a great sin.

- I am no longer the imam.

- I have failed.

I have disgraced myself, and our faith.

And because of my blindness,

we are all in danger.

- I know.

- Lead us, Kareem.

- No.

- Stop hiding from who you are.

Stop hiding from who God wants you to be.

In the name of Allah, I ask you, lead us.

- Oh, Miss Sally.

- Oh, Miss Sally. - Miss Sally, I love you.

- Attention!

The following prisoners are being transferred to Unit B.

94D696, Downing.

98M922, Masters.

96Z506, Zonioni.

Get your stuff, follow Officer Howell out.

- Let's go, ladies!

- More white guys leaving Em City?

- They're white, but they ain't guys.

- Still, it's looking pretty dark around here.

- Yeah, I know what you mean.

- Oh, Miss Sally.

- Prisoner number 00B563,

Raymond Browne.

- AKA, "Mondo" Browne.

Convicted April 10th, 2000,

murder in the first degree.

Sentence: 27 years.

Up for parole in 11.

- Fuck you, man.

- Fuck you, nigger.

- Hey, everybody settle down! Everybody settle down!

- What the fuck do you want to do?

- I'm a patient man, I'll fuckin' wait.

- Take Zanghi to the hole. - What do you mean?

He didn't do a fucking thing, Johnson, and you know it.

- I heard him say "nigger." he provoked Browne.

- That's bullshit! - Back away, Pancamo.

- Fuck all you guys.

- Break this up, all right, break it up!

- Get out of here, come on!

- Yeah!

- That's right, do it, baby.

Slowly, slowly.

- Put it in your mouth!

- Kiss my foot, kiss it.

- ♪ Baby ♪

Hello, boys.

- We gotta talk.

- So talk. - What the fuck are you doing?

We're your partners.

You think you're gonna fuck us over

and we're just gonna take it up the ass?

- Morales, nobody wants your ass.

- Johnson hits me with his fuckin' stick,

throws Zanghi in the hole.

That ain't the fucking deal, Adebisi.

- Besides, it's been ten days

since we've seen any green.

You pocketing the profits?

- No, there's plenty of profits.

But there's been a change in the organization.

- How so?

- Well, you know, we three were partners

and now we're not.

- What?

- I don't need you boys anymore.

- You lookin' to start a war?

- You know, if there was a war, you'd lose.

Look around.

See all these faces?

They match mine.

No, boys, there won't be any war.

- And why the fuck not?

- Because you and your pal are about to take

a little holiday over to Unit B.

- What, when?

- Oh, look.

I would say now.

Come on.

Hey, I'm gonna miss you, yeah.

Say "hi" to Schillinger for me, huh?

- Oh, no!

- As you can see,

we have some more prisoner transfers,

including trustees Pancamo and Morales.

So, I'm naming Supreme Allah

and Poet to replace them as trustees.

- Hey, Said.

I told you.

I told you to join me, hmm?

But you never listen, you never listen.

You know what?

That is what is gonna kill you in the end.

- And what's gonna kill you, Adebisi,

AIDS or an O.D.?

- Don't worry about me.

- I don't.

I worry about the people around you,

breathing the air you poison.

- Look, I've created a utopia.

Your Shangri-La Samaa.

- This is not Samaa!

This is an inferno.

- We have all the control and all the power, finally.

- A bad system run by blacks

is the same as a bad system run by whites.

- But...

we have everything we want.

We have everything in our grasp.

- You think you've recreated the world, don't you?

Simon...

it's just an illusion.

Real power can only come from

the grace of God the Almighty.

- If I wanted to,

I could crush you like a cockroach.

- Yes, but you won't.

Because I am the only one

who speaks the truth to you.

- Your truth, not mine.

- Adebisi's turned Em City into a fucking Zulu nation.

- What the fuck are we supposed to do?

- Create our own country.

McManus, we gotta talk.

- Make an appointment with my secretary.

- This is serious.

- Yeah, I can tell.

You've got that Schillinger scowl going.

- Your precious little dream,

your Emerald City, is now a ghetto.

You been there lately?

Crap all over the floors,

drugs everywhere,

the lack of primary colors.

- Well, that unit is no longer my responsibility.

- Hey, I got no problem with that.

What we don't want is that new attitude over there

to come wafting this way.

They hear about what's going on,

empowerment,

they're gonna want the same thing here.

- And you're suggesting, what,

that we make Unit B all white?

- Yes.

- Get the fuck away from me.

- Let the niggers have Em City.

Fuck, let them have the whole goddamn prison

as long as we're safe over here.

- Goodbye, Vern.

- Don't be a bigger fool than you've already been.

- Lockdown!

Lock the unit down!

- You'll see.

You'll wish you listened to me, McManus.

- Now!

- The new electric perimeter fencing

will go into operation next Wednesday.

As of then, we'll be able to eliminate

the 24-hour watchtower surveillance,

which should save us countless man hours.

- Hey, sorry I'm late.

Emerald City is a shit house.

- McManus--

- There's garbage all over the place.

- Oh, and in Unit B, you can eat off the floor.

- Enough!

- The motherfucker's jealous of me.

- Jealous? - That's right, jealous.

- Martin, please.

- No, he knows that since I took over Em City,

there's been next to no violence.

My system works.

- At what price?

Huh?

At what fucking price?

- McManus?

McManus!

For God's sake, McManus, stop, please.

Conditions in Emerald City are deteriorating rapidly.

Something has to be done to stop Adebisi.

- Hey, why are you coming to me?

Talk to Querns. - I have.

Querns is willing to turn a blind eye

to what Adebisi is doing

as long as order is maintained.

- Then talk to Glynn.

- I've tried that too.

He seems indifferent, distracted,

because of his election campaign.

No.

It's up to you and me.

- You and me?

- Adebisi needs to be shut down and fast.

If that means eliminating Querns,

so be it.

- You have a plan?

- Yeah.

I have a plan.

I was wrong, Adebisi.

I see that now.

You truly have transformed this cell block,

into a paradise, a utopia.

And I'm gonna to say it for everybody to hear.

I want to join you,

and serve you in whatever way you choose.

- Are you serious?

- Yes.

- Then swear to me in the name of Allah.

- I do so swear.

- I've waited for this moment.

Now I can raise you as my equal.

Together,

there's nothing we can't do.

Nothing!

Nothing...

Nothing. Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing, nothing...

all chanting: What? Nothing. What? Nothing.

What? Nothing. Come on. Nothing.

Come on. What? Nothing. What? Nothing.

Nothing. Hey! Nothing. Come on.

Nothing! Come on! Nothing! Come on!

Nothing. Hey! Nothing. Come on. Nothing!

- Adebisi and Said, hand in hand.

That's the end of the fucking universe.

- Those census numbers I was talking about,

they're also used to determine election districts.

A senator from a white, rural area with a prison,

can count the inmates as his constitutes,

and, therefore, increase his political influence.

Those inmates, who are largely of color,

aren't allowed to vote.

The senator has no allegiance to them at all.

In fact, he benefits by voting for laws

to keep them incarcerated longer.

The town benefits

by the increased prison population.

Yeah.

Everybody benefits.

- Somebody must stop him and soon.

- Lenore.

- Look, I'm sorry for stopping by so suddenly.

I know you're busy running things,

and with the campaign and all,

but I didn't know who else to call.

- Well, what's the matter?

- It's Clayton.

Sweet Jesus, I don't know my own son anymore.

I mean, with him giving the inmate the gun

and then the African dress and now...

- What?

- I found this in his room.

It's like he's collected all of his anger toward the world

and is pointing it toward the governor.

- Where's Clayton now?

- I don't know-- hasn't been home in days.

- Well, when he comes back, you call me, okay?

In the meantime, try not to worry, all right?

- With these new stab-proof vests,

the correctional officers here,

and across the state will have

the very best protection.

Their safety is paramount to me.

These are the men and women

who keep the forces of darkness at bay.

There are those who say, "No more prisons."

Well, I say, "No more crime."

- Fuck you!

- somebody get a doctor!

Get a medic! Get me some help!

Get some help!

Get a doctor!