Evening descended upon Fox River.
The cafeteria had been turned upside down. A grim collection of shivs, contraband, and irregular chemicals were laid out before Warden Pope, but the "invisible poison" remained a ghost. No direct link to the three deaths was found during the strip searches of the staff.
The lockdown in Area A had lasted nearly twenty-four hours. Frustration had reached a boiling point; the prisoners' earlier pleas for protective custody had morphed into a volatile, suffocating rage.
Warden Pope stood in his office, staring out at the darkening yard. He faced a jagged choice. If he lifted the lockdown, the "Ghost Killer" might strike again in the yard. If he kept them caged, a full-scale riot was inevitable. For a man weeks away from retirement, a riot was the ultimate stain on a clean legacy.
Ultimately, self-preservation won.
"Let them out for a breather!" a guard barked.
With the rhythmic hiss of hydraulic locks, the cell doors slid open. A torrent of irritable prisoners emerged, shouting and jostling as they were herded toward the exercise yard. The fear of death had faded, replaced by the grim fatalism of men who had decided that if they were going to die, they might as well do it under the open sky.
Michael Scofield's face, usually a mask of brooding calculation, showed a flicker of relief. Every hour of lockdown was an hour lost on his meticulous schedule. Lee Sin felt the same—being trapped in that four-meter box with nothing but his thoughts had been a test of patience.
In the yard, the hierarchy immediately resumed.
C-Note didn't waste a second. He signaled his crew to stay back and approached Lee Sin alone. He sat down beside the seated youth, his eyes darting toward the guard towers. Without a word, he pulled two packs of cigarettes and several boxes of matches from his pocket, shoving them into Lee Sin's jacket.
"Brother... what else do you want?" C-Note whispered, his voice trembling with apprehension.
Lee Sin smiled, patting the pocket. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. It's what I should do," C-Note said, almost pleadingly. "I'm sorry about yesterday. I was stupid. I didn't understand the situation."
"It's okay," Lee Sin replied smoothly. "I'm not one to hold grudges."
C-Note let out a long, shaky breath. "So... am I alright now?"
Lee Sin lit a cigarette, the smoke curling into the evening air. "How would I know? This is prison. But I have a smoke now, so I probably won't bother you for a while."
C-Note relaxed visibly. "Don't worry about the supply, brother. I'll make sure you never run out."
After C-Note scuttled away, Westmoreland approached. He squatted next to Lee Sin, his tabby cat Marilyn tucked under one arm. "Lee. I made the calls. Everything you said about my daughter... it was true."
"And?"
"I only want one million for her care," Westmoreland whispered. "The rest is yours. But I want out. I want to see her."
Lee Sin looked at the old man. "If you break out, the FBI will hunt you to her doorstep. You'll be bringing a storm to her deathbed. I have a better idea."
Westmoreland listened as Lee Sin offered a deal: stay in prison, and Lee Sin would use the money to move the daughter to a top-tier hospital in Chicago, providing her with the best care and regular visits to the prison.
"You'd do that? Without being hunted yourself?" Westmoreland asked, stunned.
Lee Sin gestured toward John Abruzzi, who was currently receiving a "message" from Captain Bellick near the wire fence. "I'll have a new identity. Abruzzi will help. He doesn't know it yet, but he will."
Westmoreland was speechless. A few seconds passed. "Let me think about it, Lee. How much time do we have?"
"A few days. No rush."
Across the yard, Michael Scofield's attempt to unscrew the long bolt from the bleachers was abruptly thwarted by T-Bag and his crew. Michael retreated in frustration, only to be intercepted by a grim-looking Abruzzi.
Lee Sin watched the exchange from afar. "My roommate is very interested in you, Charles," he told Westmoreland. "He's a genius. He's already figured out you're D.B. Cooper."
"He's going to try to recruit me?" Westmoreland asked.
"Probably. But remember," Lee Sin turned, his eyes piercing. "Our conversation stays between us. Understand?"
"Understood," Westmoreland replied, his voice barely a whisper.
Lee Sin understood the value of an insurance policy. In a place like Fox River, a "ghost" like himself needed a "shield."
Charles Westmoreland was that shield. Because of his impeccable decades-long record, Charles was the only inmate granted a level of trust by the guards that bordered on camaraderie. He could move through halls and offices that were strictly off-limits to others. By tethering the old man to his side, Lee Sin wasn't just buying information; he was buying a VIP pass to the prison's blind spots.
If a guard like Bellick decided to play dirty, Westmoreland's word carried weight. If a door needed to be left unlocked, Westmoreland was the one who could nudge it. Lee Sin's earlier intimidation of C-Note followed the same cold logic: scare the supply man so he remains a loyal servant when the "Ghost" needs something done outside his own reach.
As Lee Sin watched Westmoreland walk away, he felt the familiar itch of a smoker. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette.
Nearby, the drama he had been anticipating began to unfold.
John Abruzzi had finally cornered Michael Scofield. Michael, standing his ground with a calm that bordered on arrogance, looked the mob boss in the eye. "If you hire me, this will be very easy," Michael offered.
"What do you want?" Abruzzi growled.
"If someone can get you away from these high walls, do you have the ability to make that person disappear?" Michael's hypothetical question hung in the air like a dare.
Abruzzi wasn't interested in riddles. "Where is Fibonacci?"
"That's not how it's done," Michael countered.
The response was a silent signal. Abruzzi stepped back, and his thugs moved in. Michael didn't flinch. "Abruzzi, if they touch me, I'll touch you!"
CRACK.
A fist buried itself in Michael's stomach. Michael buckled, but instead of folding, he roared and lunged at Abruzzi, landing a solid punch on the don's face. The yard erupted as the henchmen swarmed Michael, dragging him to the pavement.
Lee Sin watched from the sidelines, chuckling to himself. 'Comrade Abruzzi, what a nightmare of a day. First your man foams at the mouth, now a college boy punches you in the nose. Tough break.'
The fight was short-lived. A sharpshooter in the tower fired two warning shots into the dirt. The sirens wailed, and guards swarmed the yard, pinning Michael and the thugs to the ground. Abruzzi, however, just adjusted his collar. A few words from the guards, a warning, and he was left alone. In Fox River, capital and connections were the ultimate "get out of jail free" cards.
As the guards dragged Michael away toward the "hole," the yard returned to its dull, rhythmic normalcy. Abruzzi sat on a bench, a rare shadow of melancholy crossing his weathered features.
Lee Sin took his cue. He stood up, crossed the yard, and sat down right next to the most dangerous man in the prison.
Abruzzi didn't even turn his head. "Newbie... do you want to die?"
"No," Lee Sin said, pulling out a cigarette and offering the pack. "Want a smoke?"
"You have one second to get out of my sight," Abruzzi threatened, his voice a low, vibrating growl.
Lee Sin lit his own cigarette, the flame of the match steady. "John... let me ask you: which is more important? Your life, or a dead-end revenge mission against Fibonacci?"
Abruzzi snapped. To be addressed by his first name by a 'fresh fish' was the final insult of a terrible day. He bolted upright, fists clenched, ready to break Lee Sin's jaw.
But Lee Sin didn't move. He leaned in and whispered, "John... do you want to keep up with Quinn?"
The silence that followed was deafening. Abruzzi froze. The name of his dead cellmate acted like a bucket of ice water. He stared at Lee Sin, the gears in his mobster brain turning at high speed. He looked at the calm, handsome face of the youth and saw something terrifying.
"You?" Abruzzi whispered, breathless.
Lee Sin just blew a ring of smoke.
Abruzzi sat back down, a dark smile slowly spreading across his face. "Interesting. Very interesting. Give me that cigarette."
Lee Sin handed it over, his respect for Abruzzi growing. A real leader knows when the winds have changed.
Abruzzi took a long drag. "Are you in cahoots with the tattoo boy?"
"No," Lee Sin said.
"Even better. What do you want?"
"That depends on your answer," Lee Sin said. "If you could leave in a few days, but had to leave Fibonacci in the past and look forward... could you do it?"
Abruzzi stared at the dirt for a long time. "Extremely difficult. That traitor took my life. Who can forget that?"
"But you didn't say 'impossible,'" Lee Sin noted with a grin.
"Enough games," Abruzzi snapped. "What do you want from me?"
"A new identity. Real, verifiable, and clean."
"And what can a 'ghost' offer a man like me?"
Lee Sin leaned back, looking at the setting sun. "I'll take you out of here. And then, if you're willing to serve me, I'll give you a future brighter than anything the Mafia could ever offer."
Abruzzi burst into a carefree laugh. "You? Give me a future? Kid, do you even know who I am?"
Lee Sin didn't laugh. He leaned in closer, his voice cold as the grave. "I not only know who you are, John... I know your wife, Silvia. I know your son, John Jr., and I know your daughter, Nicole."
Abruzzi's laughter died instantly. His face went pale, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and lethal intent.