Disclaimer: I don't own Prison Break, Buffy: the Vampire Slayer, or Angel. Nor do I profit from writing this. Please don't sue me. Most of the action and some of the lines are taken directly from Prison Break episode #6: "Riots, Drills, and the Devil (pt. 1)".

Sucre: "You wanna rile up the meat in concrete, turn up the heat."

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The inmates of Fox River were discovering a new love for concrete. It was marginally cooler than the air in the prison thanks to the blown AC. Everybody had something to fan themselves with. As Lindsey looked out across the cell block, he could see cons on their bellies on the cell floors, playing cards with the guys in the adjoining cell by sticking their arms through the bars. Personally, he had a Sports Illustrated that had somehow found its way into his cell and was alternating between flipping through it and using it as a fan. His back was pressed up against the cinder block wall, but that was fast loosing its cool as his body heat sucked it right out.

Scofield, however, didn't seem to be feeling the effects of his late night work. He sat at their desk, a piece of tissue paper taped over his arm, tracing a part of his tattoo.

"You were supposed to turn the AC off, not turn on the furnace," Lindsey griped.

Michael ignored him.

Across the cell block, he could see Abruzzi shifting restlessly in his cell. The middle-aged mobster did not look happy with his current situation. Lindsey wondered if Scofield had bothered to tell Abruzzi that the lack of AC was all part of the plan. The other prisoners weren't looking any happier. Even Geary, the guard, looked miserable in his navy uniform.

The sound of the buzzer to let them out was a relief. Maybe there was air flow out on the walkway that wasn't getting into this cell. Lindsey knew it was a pipe dream even as he stepped out onto the line that ran outside the cells, Michael coming out to stand next to him.

Down on the floor below, an inmate stepped out of line. It only took Lindsey a second to identify him as T-bag. Theodore Bagwell, a pedophile rapist and murderer from Alabama. Scuttlebutt in the yard claimed that the prosecutor had asked he be moved to an out-of-state prison to keep him from linking back up with his white supremacist buddies, the Alliance for Purity. Unfortunately, transferring Bagwell to Illinois only served to bring the Alliance north. He was a small, wiry little man with a cock's comb of dusty brown hair and a fondness for pretty men. He was also as tough as old boot leather. Lindsey didn't think he'd met a bigger monster inside the prison…except maybe Abruzzi.

"Why don't you transfer us all someplace cooler?" the supremacist demanded. "Like Africa." He slouched in the middle of the cell block, arms wide and posture defiant as hechallenged Geary. Most of the inmates chimed in their support for T-bag's request.

"Get your ass back on the line, convict," Geary said tersely. The man was sweating like a pig and probably had zero patience at this point, thanks to the soaring temperatures.

T-bag just smirked as some of his gang came sauntering out to back him up. Even a few of the black prisoners started drifting off the line and menacingly towards Geary. Lindsey leaned over the rail, watching. The CO with his little plastic cup of water was vastly out-numbered, but he wasn't going to drop the bullshit bravado act. At this point, it was all he had going for him.

"We'll move when the temperature situation is rectified." Amazing how some of the most uneducated people threw around the biggest words thinking it made them sound intelligent, when all it really did was highlight their street accents. Lindsey'd know men like T-bag, back in the day when his family wandered up and down California with the rest of the migrant workers, picking crops and living hand-to-mouth. Here in Fox River, he'd made himself king frog of the convict pond. Only Abruzzi was more powerful, but the mob boss wasn't interested in playing prisoner games. He had interests outside the walls that demanded most of his attention. The gang of African Americans might be able to stand up to T-bag and the Alliance, but they didn't have such a clear, charismatic leader. Here Bagwell was, trying to stir up trouble, and it was working.

Scofield shifted beside him as another CO came out of the guard room to back Geary up.

"Don't be a baby, T-bag. It ain't that hot," the stocky guard was telling the white supremacist. Lindsey almost groaned at the man's stupidity.

"Not that hot?" Bagwell squawked. He took a couple of steps forward and pointed to a nearby black prisoner. "When this guy woke up this morning, he was white!"

The disgruntled shouting increased all around them. "Clever," Lindsey muttered out of the side of his mouth to Scofield, "He's not playing the race card like you said he did last time. This time it's going to be prisoners against the COs."

"Just so long as it gets us locked down," Scofield murmured back.

"You wanna cool off?" Geary demanded, and then he chucked the contents of his cup into T-bag's face. This time Lindsey did groan. The man was an utter moron to be that fucking disrespectful to a con who currently had the entire support of A-wing when it was just him and one other guard surrounded by dozens of prisoners. The other guard wasn't impressing the former lawyer much either. He didn't look familiar and the tentative way he was telling the cons to step back made Lindsey suspect he was new.

T-bag was bristling. When he spoke, his voice was no longer that of a showman, trying to gather attention to himself, but of a very angry man. "We'll step back when we get some wind blowing in here."

"All right!" Geary bellowed, his face somehow flushing even more. "That's it! Lock down! Everyone back in your cells!"

Lindsey tried not to smile.