Took me awhile to finish this chapter, was busy with my other stories and had to watch Prison Break some more to re-familiarize myself to the series.
Eterna1Soldier – Don't worry, I will have some difference form the original Prison Break. I won't give away spoilers. Mainly the first few chapters have to have close relation to the original plot but much will change in later chapters. Very soon.
Also, just for those who don't know, there's a poll on my profile that needs more votes.
Having to strip down to you undergarments and take a shower under freezing cold water, all while being surrounded by other convicts of various species, was not only humiliating but also demeaning, exactly what many should feel when entering prison. Such forms of degradation would not break Michael. He had a goal; one that gave him an iron will.
Once Michael stepped out of the dressing room, wearing blue inmate clothing, he followed the line of inmates until he stood before a corrections officer who was holding a holopad and wore a name tag with the name 'Officer Bellick' printed on it.
"Name and identification code," asked Bellick in a bored tone as he looked down at the holopad.
"Scofield, Michael. HE5AR1-2157-29," Michael replied.
Each inmate received an identification code and no two codes were alike. The numbers and letters of the code were not random. Each one meant something. The first letter determined you species: H for human, T for turian, B for batarian, S for salarian, and so on. The second letter was for where you were born: E for Earth, S for Shanxi, H for Horizon, etc. However, it could mean something different if you were a different species. HS, meaning a human born on Shanxi was different from SS, meaning a salarian born on Sur'Kesh. The number following stood for how long you sentence was in terms of years. The next letters stated what crime you committed: AR for armed robbery, M for murder, R for rape, and a great many more. The number following determined how many times you committed a crime. The next four determined what year you were born. The final number stated where you were in line when you received you identification code. For Michael, he had been twenty-ninth in line to receive his code.
As Bellick put the code into the holopad he spoke to Michael in the same tone as before, not taking his eyes off the holo, "We have two rules here and only two. The first is you get nothing coming."
Silence followed before Michael asked, "What's the second rule?"
"See rule number one."
"Got you," replied Michael with a smile as he began looking around at the other inmates.
He must have said something to irritate Bellick for the corrections officer looked up at him with a cold stare, "You talking out the side of your neck?"
The tone of Bellick's voice was deadly serious and Michael looked back at him, "Come again?"
In a lower voice Bellick repeated, "I said, are you being a smart ass?"
Michael did not like how this corrections officer reacted, "Just trying to fly low and avoid the radar boss. Do my time and get out."
"There isn't any flying under my radar Scofield. I've dealt with numerous convicts of all types. Enough to keep an eye on everything going on here."
"Good to know," replied Michael, smiling slightly as he followed the other inmates towards their cells.
To say that cellblock B was noisy would be an understatement. The place was so loud that Michael doubted he would be able to think straight. Looking around the cellblock he saw that an alien prison, those built and maintained by alien species, were a lot different form human prisons, those built and maintained by humans. First were the occupants. While it was true that there were aliens in human prisons, they usually accounted for less that ten percent of the population. Here in Keltross Penitentiary, humans made up about a fifth of the prison's population.
Many would wonder why there was such a large mass of humans in this prison, considering humanity was still relatively new to the galactic community with a population smaller than other alien species. Most, mainly the council species, would say that humans are savages and criminals, no better than batarians or Krogan. The truth was that there was still a lot of discrimination against humans. Ever since the First Contact war, the council species have harbored a grudge against humanity, even though humanity had saved the council. In all, when it came to crime, humans were treated barely better than quarians.
As Michael looked around, he saw that this cellblock was three stories tall and probably contained about four hundred prisoners. Each cell was designed to hold three occupants. Only a limited few cells had less than three inmates in it, one of which was his. Currently, he had only one other cellmate, a human of Hispanic ethnicity, named Sucre.
While Michael was continuing his observation of the cellblock, Sucre spoke up, "Suggest you take a seat fish. Ain't nothing to do up in here but serve time and ain't nobody gonna serve it for you."
Michael nodded, more to himself than in acknowledgement to Sucre's statement, as he watched a line of inmates walk into the cellblock. There were only ten of them, mostly batarians and vorcha. A flash of movement caught his attention, drawing his view to the back of the line where he was able to watch as a batarian inmate, with a small blade of some kind, rushed forward and stab the salarian in front of him in the stomach. The salarian gave a cry of pain and fell to the floor as his assailant sidestepped into a cell. All the inmates began shouting even louder, some in excitement and others in shock, while a group of turian guards gathered around the injured salarian.
"Welcome to Keltross fish," said Sucre who had come to stand next to him to get a good look at the scene below. With those words, Sucre turning to return to the top bunk, Michael began to wonder if he had made a mistake in getting himself sent to prison.
The prison yard was possibly one of the greatest places in Keltross, mainly because inmates could get out of their small cells and into a large open area. It was a small taste of freedom that helped to keep the population calm. Another thing about the yard was that it actually had growing green grass and the sky above, though it looked realistic, was just an illusion that was apart of the Citadel, almost like what one would find in the Presidium.
Sucre took it upon himself to educate Michael about Keltross. "Ok fish. It's time you learn one of the few basics about prison. Now Keltross is an alien prison and they're completely different form human prisons like you'd find on Earth or Terra Nova."
"How so?" Michael asked as he began scanning the grounds of the yard.
"The fact that you stick with your own kind. It's no more blacks in this group, whites in that group, and hispanics in the other. In here, the groups separated by species. Turians, batarians, salarians, humans, vorcha, we all stick to our own species."
"But don't they interact with each other."
"Well yeah fish. We're all prisoners. Just don't expect any help from the aliens if a species riot goes off. You're either loyal to you own or you're all alone. That goes for the guards to. However they're the dirtiest of us all."
"What do you mean?"
"They're just like us, except the only thing that separates them from us is the badge and uniform. Corrupt C-Sec, mercenaries, ex-military. You'll find them all amongst most of the guards."
Something caught Michael's eye and looking over, he saw an older man, about in his late fifties or early sixties, sitting at a table and petting a house cat that was lying on his lap. "Who's the pet lover?"
"He won't admit it but he's C.J. Collins. Man made a fortune by robbing several Alliance banks near the end of the First Contact War, as well as some turians ones shortly afterwards."
Michael was about to ask Sucre for more information but a salarian, accompanied by two others of his kind, walked up to them and began talking to Sucre. "Hell Sucre. You looking forward to your visitation?"
Sucre smiled, "Can't wait. My girl will be waiting. She said she had something to tell me."
The salarian nodded and looked over at Michael with interest, "Why are you associating with this new human?"
"This is my new cellie, Michael Scofield." Exclaimed Sucre, patting Michael on the back.
"Ah yes, the human who robbed the bank and was apprehended during the commission of the crime." Muttered the salarian.
"Trazzin here knows all about what's going on in the outside, as well as the only inmate who can get you anything you want." Sucre explained.
"Speaking of which Sucre, you still owe me for allowing you extra access to the phones. I had to pull some strings to get the guards to agree."
"Oh come on man," exclaimed Sucre in a defensive tone, "I gave you a fair exchange with that red sand deal."
Michael ignored the rest of the conversation, instead focusing on the grounds of the yard until his eyes met the sight of a water drain, designed almost like a storm drain. However it did not collect storm water, since it did not storm on the citadel, but regular water from the irrigation systems that watered the grass of the yard. When he approached the drain, Michael crouched down and, pulling a magazine form under his coat, dropped it down between the openings of the drain. He stayed there, crouched over the drain, and watched as the magazine hit the bottom of the pipes below before standing up, "Do any of you guys know Lincoln Burrows?"
"Linc the Sink?" Asked one of Tazzin's salarian friends.
"Is that what they're calling him now?" Michael asked with a grin.
"As in he'll come after you with everything but the kitchen, primate," replied the salarian.
"Where can I find him?"
"The man killed the vice ambassador's brother. In a month he's getting the chair which means there is no one more dangerous up in this part of the ward but him 'cause he's got nothing to lose now. What are they gonna do, kill him twice?"
Michael and Sucre were leaning against a fence, looking across at a separate section of the yard that was also fenced in with only a single inmate in it; a man whom Michael immediately recognized.
"Any way I can get to him?" Questioned Michael, not taking his gaze away from Lincoln Burrows.
"No. Only time they get out is during chapel or P.I."
"What's P.I.?"
"Prison Industry. You know, roofing, yard work, cleaning, that stuff." Sucre glanced over at Michael, "Forget it fish. You're sniffing none of P.I."
"Why is that?"
"Cause John Abruzzi runs it."
"John Abruzzi, John Abruzzi?" Michael asked knowingly.
"John Abruzzi, John Abruzzi." Confirmed Sucre.
Michael knew the name. John Abruzzi was connected to the mafia, an organization that still remained active to this day.
"Why are you so interested in meeting Burrows?"
There was silence before Michael replied, "Because he's my brother." Then, pushing away from the fence, he turned and walked back towards the yard, Sucre watching him with disbelief.