Thank Staff for the title. Fourth season continuity.

opposite of redemption


Life in EmCity is too complex.

It can't really be explained in terms we can understand and react on. But there's a lot to be said for the ultimate balance of the universe. Oz, like most cages and aquariums and terrariums, is a universe in and of itself. It has it's own rules, it's own system of checks and balances.

Being sorry just doesn't weigh into the equation.


"Keller, he's sorry."

I don't believe my fucking eyes. He has to be talking about my nearest and dearest, but like I give a fuck.

"Why do you care? It was your suggestion to help the fuck in the first place."

He lowered his eyes. "To self-destruct is worse than to simply sin. I don't want Beecher to end like this."

"You'd better get out of my way."

Said is pushing a thin line here, and he knows it. That goddamned stoic face doesn't move. "Why?"

"Because I've had a rough fucking day, and I can't think of one good reason not to off you right now." Take a breath, Keller baby. You'll do just fine against this fuck, he's not really worth it.

"Because it will just make it worse." The people sitting at the tables all around aren't paying much attention to us -- only Ryan's even noticed my entrance.

"Yeah, well, the bitch and I are through, so why do I care?"

"Because Beecher won't forgive you."

The nigger's a bastard, all right. Right for the heart. "Maybe I don't forgive him. Maybe I'd love to rip your head off because between you and Vern boy, you took the only thing I cared about at all away."

"Then do it."

I go into the gym, and work off all that tension. Oh baby, is that gonna hurt come morning.

But I'm not gonna touch him. Said and I don't have any debts left.


So, you go into a bank, and kill some tellers, and take the money and run. Technically, you owe God two souls, and the Farmer's Bank of Iowa three grand. Who pays off those debts? Who tells God, 'Oh, sorry, I got bored'?

You can't die twice, so what do you have to give up?


"Vern, I don't give a shit about what happens between us anymore."

It's surprising, coming from Tob-- Beecher. Never thought he'd purposefully go up to Vern, or have such a flat tone. Vern looks pretty surprised too. "What, fuckwad?"

Beecher has no one behind him, no one covering his back. "I don't have a son, you don't have a son. I don't fucking care, you don't fucking care."

"Fuck off."

And Beecher does. I stop myself from following, because, oh look! There's Said, of course, going to comfort his buddy. Good luck, oh religious one. Doubt there's much you can do. No one knows how to get through to him except me, and I'm not allowed in anymore.

He gave me up, alright.


So, there you are, facing your judgment, and who's tallying the score, and against what rate scale? I killed two guys, but I felt real sorry for it afterwards. He doesn't feel sorry, but he didn't kill anyone.

They both slept around, and no one cares anymore. See what I mean?


"I know you're angry, Beecher. I know he's angry. But you have to let it go--"

"That's just it. I'm not angry. Not at Vern, or..." I notice that he doesn't finish that sentence, whether or not he notices. "I should be, right?"

Said is ever a peaceful Zen-master. "No, you shouldn't. You should ask for forgiveness, and give it in turn."

Beecher actually laughs. Has Tinkerbell finally got it? He must have, sucking that gangsta's cock across the way from me. He's finally, fucking, got it.

Little late, though. I should be sad, or angry, or something, right now, because now I know that whatever little love we actually got in two weeks of lockdown, there's no going back.

"You know what, Said? I'm so fucking sorry for everything that's happened, but I finally get it." He runs a hand over his face, and he's probably crying, the--

No, he's not. "Being sorry doesn't count. I've got no debts left to anyone."


And then, after God's taken your tally, and you're waiting for whichever authority figure is coming to take you home, then what? Cause you've lied to try and get into heaven, or you've lied to try and get parole, but they know. They can see through it.

So then what?




Just that. No. Well, fuck you too.

Oh, and god I wish. That word 'fuck' haunts everything we fucking do.


It's not our business to judge the affairs of the living or the dead. But that's what prison's all about -- the scales of the law versus the scales of survival. The only way to be free anymore is to balance them out, and realize it.

But then what? Nothing. There isn't any way to take away insults and injury from the scales... just let nature heap'em on until they're even again, and hope to God that nothing shakes the balance.


"I couldn't get them to stop it, Said. They're gonna kill him. What the hell am I gonna do?"


Beecher put his face in his hands, and whispered, "I don't remember God."


Karma is a tricky thing. In the end, you can make anything add up, if you want it to.

Even suicide.


"I'm sorry, Keller."

That flash of contrition, that hope that he wasn't a piece of shit, that was way out of place. I crushed it -- Mukada was shit, too. "Yeah?"

"... yes. It has to start somewhere, Keller. And I'm sorry." He sounded upset.

But you know what? I don't care. "Fuck your sorry, Father, alright? And fuck his, too."

I leave the place. Father Ray watches me go. I'm not absolved of killing those boys? Well fuck, Father. You're not getting absolved of little Gary. Not from me. What Beech does is his business, what I do is mine, and no one apologizes anymore, so why should I?

Beech, work your magic on Father Ray and we'll talk... but you're too busy sucking dicks to think about that, heading for the self-destruct. I might have been able to help you, but that's long over, and you chose it. There hasn't been anyone to ignore me in a while, Beech -- you know how much it hurts? But no, redemption isn't what prison's all about.

We're all too busy fucking and fucking over to forgive.


So God disapproves of your actions. So God turns his back on you. So what? He's an insubstantial force. He can't be looked in the eyes each morning, not by the majority of the scum in Oz.

The people you gotta look in the face, they tip your balances. They tally it up, and send it back to you, each and every day. And guess what? There's just too much pain for anyone. That's the motto here.