Hello friends! In this chapter we have the big take down and in the next we have a little wrap-up chapter to tie up the loose ends. In other words, there are only two chapters left, including this one. :( I'm kind of sad to see this end; I worked so hard on it! But I'm glad to see it was appreciated! Your reviews made me very, very happy. Thank you so much and enjoy this one!

Thirteen

Clearwater, Florida is sandwiched in between two separate bodies of water, the Gulf of Mexico and Tampa Bay, and isn't exactly easily accessible. They're sure Edison planned it this way; it would make it incredibly difficult for the authorities to reach him and by the time they eventually did, he would be halfway to Mexico. Fortunately, Kellerman and Alex had already alerted the authorities, giving themselves a head start. The drive to Clearwater is a slow and quiet one; tensions are running higher than ever as they prepare for their final battle against The Company. Plans in mind, they wait in an anxious silence for their time to come, for their destination to yield the results they're expecting.

They find Edison's mansion almost instantaneously; it's the only one secluded from the rest at the end of a long, winding street. Parking the car a good five miles away, the group, guns at the ready, begins the trek towards his mansion, stepping carefully and keeping an eye out for trip wires. It isn't long before they've found one; a mile or so in, a long piece of copper wiring is embedded in the sandy road. As they all step carefully over it, Kellerman makes the note that if they had decided to drive any further, they would've exploded into a million pieces of automobile and body parts. The thought isn't reassuring to anyone, but they soldier on.

Edison's mansion is undoubtedly the largest on the street. It has a large, rounded circular driveway- empty, they notice, but that's no indication of the house- and ornate marble staircases leading up to the giant oak door. It's at least three stories- that they can tell from the lavish exterior- and off to the left side is a guesthouse, larger than most people's actual home. They can hear the crashing waves of the ocean against the shore and the cry of few dozen seagulls and assume, correctly, that Edison's backyard is the salty sea. It's an absolutely stunning home; one to retire in, one to praise and show off, one to be endlessly proud of. They're unsure why Edison is willing to sacrifice such a beautiful property or why he would fill it with such useless dangers.

"Gretchen wasn't kidding, huh?" Sucre murmurs to Sara. "This place is huge."

"Huge is an understatement," Sara agrees.

"Alright, listen up," Kellerman pulls rank. "We've only got one shot at this, so do not fail me now. Everything we've done these last two weeks has led to this moment."

"We're running low on time, so I'll cut to the chase," Alex says. "We are dealing with three very dangerous Company operatives today. If you get them in your sights, you take them down."

"Right," Kellerman nods. "We only need to keep one of them alive, so if you have a clean shot, take it. They won't hesitate, so you better not, either."

"Let's hope it doesn't have to come to that." Alex says uneasily. "Try to keep them alive, if possible."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that?" Kellerman repeats in questioning. "Are you serious?"

"Am I serious about not having anymore blood on our hands?" Alex asks sarcastically. "Yeah, I think that would be the best possible outcome."

"The best possible outcome is any outcome where these bastards aren't in power," Lincoln cuts in. "Now are we going to do this or are we going to sit around and talk about it?"

"Testy," Kellerman smirks. "Alright, you know the drill. We scan the perimeter. I have the Coast Guard on alert if they should try to sneak out by water, the south side. They're not going anywhere that way. Sucre, Sara, you two take the east wing. Lincoln, Michael, you'll take the north. Alex and I will take the west wing. If anything should go wrong, and I mean anything, get the hell out of there. We're not losing people if we don't have to; at least, not our people."

"Must be a great job, Paul," Michael says sardonically. "Deciding whose lives are expendable and whose aren't."

"Michael, I've been dealing with these people for over fifteen years," Kellerman deadpans. "Trust me, they certainly have no regard for human life."

"Can we just get this over with?" Sara asks. "The sooner we're finished, the sooner I can go home to my kids."

Michael nods in agreement. Alex says, "Alright, good luck, everyone. Let's take these bastards down."

They separate and Kellerman and Alex head towards the west wing of the mansion. Creeping around the exterior perimeter, they find there are nothing more than a few outer traps that they easily avoid. They pass by an open window; Alex peers in and notices shards of broken glass awaiting anyone that tries to enter. It seems harmless enough; he reaches in to clear the area, but Kellerman stops him almost immediately. Moving the glass requires moving the ornate curtains covering the window and, as they've just come to notice, there's a giant cinder block attached to the loose curtain rod, ready to crush an unsuspecting skull. Instead, Alex yanks on the curtain, pulling his arm back in time to watch the cinder block fall and crush the shards of glass into even tinier pieces.

Kellerman's staring at him in disbelief. "Why would go and do that?

Alex says, "Trust me. I've got a plan. Enter in through the veranda."

"The what?"

"Just go!"

He takes off toward the side porch just as there's a male voice from inside. "I think we got one!"

Heath comes into view a moment later and Alex stands to his full height, brandishing his gun at Heath's chest. "Freeze! Don't move!"

But as per expected, Heath panics and takes off down the hall. Alex propels himself through the window, wary of the broken glass and any other danger that might befall him. He can hear heavy footsteps on the hardwood floors and scans the room quickly- there's a propane tank in the corner, but it seems to be hooked up to the trip wire on the other end of the room, so Alex makes a mental note not to go that way. Instead, he army crawls into the formal living room, avoiding the motion sensor attached to a blow torch, and finds Heath writhing on the floor under Kellerman's foot. Alex stands, adjusts his clothing, and remarks, "These bastards are prepared."

"Well that's what your friend said, didn't she? She warned us."

"I'd hardly call Gretchen my friend."

"Gretchen?" Heath spits, disgusted. "That bitch! I told Edison to kill her while he had the chance, but no! He had to keep her alive; he was convinced he could change her, make her work with us. I knew it wouldn't work; the bitch has to die. You know how easy it is to kill someone in prison?"

"Something tells me you'll be finding out real soon," Alex retorts. "Now where are your friends?"

Heath chuckles. "What makes you think I'll tell you that? I ain't saying nothing."

Kellerman smashes the barrel of his gun against Heath's temple. "Unless you want a bullet in your brain, I suggest you start talking."

"I'm not talking," Heath insists. "It'll be fun to watch you struggle through our little fun house trying to find them."

"We're not alone, you know," Kellerman states, removing the gun and pulling Heath to his feet, slamming him against the wall to cuff him. "Sooner or later we're going to find your friends and when we do, you best believe we'll be charging you with hindering a federal investigation. Which, considering the circumstances, will be the least of your worries."

"Ooh, I'm shaking," Heath feigns fright and then laughs. "What do you have your panties in a knot over, anyway? We're not the bad guys, here. Hell, you two worked for us once. You know what we can do."

Kellerman goes to respond, but Alex cuts him off. "You're not the bad guys here? Really? You expect me to believe that people who have booby-trapped a house with mines, fire and explosions are not bad guys? You want me to think that people who kidnap children and keep them in closets or kill people just for fun are the good guys? You think that running a country absent of ethics and morals is the work of some upstanding, do-no-harm citizens?"

Alex leans in closer, forces Heath to meet his eye. "You people killed my son. You murdered him in front of my ex-wife; shot him in the stomach and waited a full five minutes before putting him out of his misery. He suffered; we've suffered these past seven years trying to move on. But you can't move on; Cameron… Cameron doesn't get to move on. He would've been twelve this year, you know that? He would've been in seventh grade, maybe played a few sports, had a few crushes. But this will never happen because you took him away. You people, these people you think aren't the bad guys, took a five-year-old's life. Trust me, I know what you can do."

Heath doesn't respond. Alex asks, "Nothing to say? Nothing to defend yourself with?"

"Not so mouthy when things get personal, are you?" Kellerman adds. "Come on, wise guy."

They lead him back out through the veranda, heading towards the front of the house with their prisoner in tow like the fresh catch of the day. Meanwhile, on the other side of the house, Sucre and Sara have just entered the east wing, having first navigated through a field of homemade land mines and a bed of rusty nails disguised beneath a Persian rug (as if they'd ever fall for that one). They studiously avoid the kitchen, where the carving knives are set to fall from the ceiling and impale on impact, and the dining room, which looks too pristine and perfect to be trusted. Instead, they move into the sitting room, a giant room with a few dozen windows, guns drawn and ready to fire.

Sucre grins at Sara and says, "I missed this. You and I, taking down the bad guys together. Just like old times."

She grins back. "Yeah. Sucre and Sara- the Dream Team."

He laughs but before he can respond, a bullet whizzes in between the two and crashes through one of the many windows. They leap out of the way, shielding themselves behind an old bookcase as Sucre says, "And then of course, something like this always happens. Just like old times."

"Where do you think they're coming from?" Sara asks as another bullet flies past and lodges itself in the wall before them.

He tentatively peers out at the staircase, gun drawn, and sees the barrel of a pistol being drawn back slightly. Hearing a bunch of clicking, he turns back to whisper, "The landing on the staircase. She's reloading."

"She?"

"I saw a bunch of red hair," Sucre explains. "Unless it's Bozo the Clown, up there."

They inch away from the bookcase, guns pointed at the wall where the staircase disappears and wait for her to emerge. She doesn't; her gun does instead and, without being able to see, she aims blindly and begins shooting without searching for a target. Bullets soar through the air, clipping statues and cracking picture frames, the gunpowder making the entire room cloudy. They try to avoid her gunfire as best as possible, but after one comes dangerously close to taking Sara's life, they realize they are dealing with someone much more skilled than they had previously assumed. Sucre yells for Sara to get down and, in doing so, in that split second's hesitation, a bullet claims his left leg as its new home. He cries out in pain and Sara's at his side in a moment, eyes widening in horror.

"Fernando," She breathes. "Oh my God."

"I'm fine, Doc," He hisses as she touches his thigh. "I'm fine. Let me at her."

"You need to sit down," She instructs, guiding him down the wall and leaning him against it. There's a lot of blood but she can see the silver bullet lodged beneath his skin. "It doesn't look like it's hit the femoral artery, but we need something to make a tourniquet out of and I don't have anything."

"I'll be alright," Sucre insists again. "You go get the bitch."

"You're not alright. You need immediate medical attention and I don't have the proper facilities to treat you right now."

In all the confusion, they hadn't even noticed the bullets have stopped trying to take them out. But they notice a moment later when Stacy, standing at the bottom of the stairs, says, "Well if it isn't my resident escapee. How're you doing, Sara?"

Sara's turned around and pointing her own gun at Stacy in one fluid motion. Stacy, holding Sara at gunpoint just the same, says, "You know I had that order to kill you. I might not have gotten a chance to do it before, but you better believe I'll do it now."

"You ain't killing her," Sucre says weakly, lifting his own gun, and Stacy laughs.

"Oh, are you going to stop me?" She sneers. "I'd like to see you try, gimpy. By the way, I lost one of my bullets. I think your leg found it."

Sucre glares at her and Sara says, "Let me tell you how this is going to work, Stacy. You're going to lower your gun, disarm the main door and follow us to our car where you'll be promptly arrested."

"Oh yeah? Is that so?" She smirks. "And if I don't oblige?"

"If you don't, we have no problem knocking you out and dragging your sorry ass out of here by your hair," Sucre fills in.

"Why don't you tell us where your friends are, Stacy?" Sara then asks. "Heath and Norton?"

"Heath could be anywhere," Stacy says nonchalantly. "And Norton, I'm guessing, is scattered across the continent, rotting in unmarked graves."

Sara implores, "Why?"

"He couldn't follow orders," Stacy says matter-of-factly. "He had one job- to keep an eye on the little brats and he let them get away."

"My children, you mean," Sara corrects. "You killed him for letting them get away."

"Well I didn't kill him; for that, you'll have to talk to Heath. But that's it in a nutshell, yeah."

"I ought to kill you just for that."

"Aw, Mama Bear protecting her cubs. How adorable."

"But my days of killing people are over," Sara continues, ignoring Stacy's previous statement. "We're going to settle this like the mature adults that we are."

"Are we?" Stacy sneers. "You're telling me how things are going to go down, now?"

"Seems that way."

"Let me tell you how I see it going down," Stacy says, cocking her gun and stepping closer to Sara. "I'm going to finish the job I was asked to do. I'm going to shoot you, in the kneecap or maybe in the stomach; somewhere you can feel it, somewhere that'll make you suffer. And then, when you just can't take it anymore, I'm going to blow your pretty little brains out all over the room."

"No. You're not."

At the sound of another voice, Stacy turns away from Sara, just in time to receive a bullet to her left shoulder, her gun clattering to the floor. Lincoln and Michael are standing at the door and it's the latter's gun smoking; Sucre and Sara hadn't even known they'd been in the room. Michael picks up her gun, hands it to Lincoln, and says, to a gasping, writhing Stacy, "That will be the last time you'll ever threaten my wife."

Sara turns to him in disbelief, asking, "How…?"

"We heard commotion," Michael states simply. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," She affirms, but motions towards Sucre. "She shot him. I don't have anything to treat it with."

"Will this do?" Lincoln asks, producing a handkerchief from the underside of the bookcase. "Looks like they were trying to cover their tracks. They failed."

"That's perfect, actually, thanks," Sara replies, taking it from him and immediately tearing it in half to make a tourniquet. Lincoln and Michael wait for Sucre's wound to be dressed before turning to ascend the stairs.

"We'll find Edison," Michael says. "You think you can handle her?"

Sara glances at Stacy, still gasping in pain. "I can manage. Good luck."

He places a hand on her arm. "Thanks."

Sara turns to drag Stacy outside, Sucre limping after her, as Lincoln and Michael head upstairs toward Edison's conference room. It's the last room at the end of a long, darkened hallway according to Gretchen's directions. When they find it, they do a quick search of the corridor to be sure it isn't laden with traps and, surprisingly, it's clean. The French doors at the end of the hall leading into the conference room are wide open, which seems incredibly suspicious to the brothers, who approach the room cautiously. There, just as Gretchen described, is Nathaniel Edison, standing at the opposite side of the room, his back to the door. He's peering out the great glass window, watching the waves lap against the shore of the beach, and Lincoln raises his gun- a clear shot.

Just as he's about to take it, Edison says, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Michael and Lincoln pause, stepping into the room, the doors closing behind them. Edison turns and meets them face-to-face. "You shoot me and all three of us blow to hell."

He motions towards the edge of the room where a bomb's been rigged to blow, the timer ticking down second by second. They've got two and a half minutes left, according to the glowing red numbers; Edison says, "Well, I guess you can shoot if you want. It'll be over sooner. The waiting is the worst part, really; all the anxiety. Either way- wait or don't- we're all going down."

"Fine," Lincoln decides, turning toward the door. "Then we'll leave you to it. Our work here's done."

Michael looks skeptical, but follows his brother anyway. Lincoln tugs on the doors, but they won't budge. He pushes; still nothing. It's as if the doors are locked from the outside. Edison smirks, "Seems like we're doomed either way, huh? You lost your lives the moment you let those doors close behind you."

Lincoln, in a fury, crosses the room and brandishes his gun against Edison's temple, shouting obscenities and empty threats that are doing nothing to stop the man from taking all of their lives. Michael, on the other hand, says nothing; he merely crosses to same side of the room Edison's on and peers out the very same window. He's trying not to think that this might be the last two minutes of his life; that the mere passing moment on the stairs with Sara was the last time he'd ever speak to her and that the Disney World trip he'd promised his kids would never come to be. But as he continues to stare at the ocean, at the sandy surf, he realizes it doesn't have to be this way. He can still make things right.

After all, not everything is as it seems.

"You don't know how long I've waited to meet you two," Edison says, Lincoln's gun still pressed flush against his temple. "Your father always spoke very highly of you both. It's how we knew so much about you; how we framed you for Steadman's murder. You were just too easy a subject. Your mother said a lot, too, but not all of it was positive and most of it was about Michael. Guess she didn't like you too much, huh Lincoln?"

"Well we had something in common then," Lincoln growls. "I hated that psychotic bitch."

"We did too, believe me," Edison smirks, nodding towards Michael. "If we get out of here, remind me to thank Sara."

"Why are you ruining your life like this?" Michael asks in honesty. "It was over all those years ago and no one knew where you were. You could've lived your life in seclusion, like Lisa. Why go through all this trouble?"

"Psh, Lisa. She's a coward. Ran away when the going got tough because she couldn't handle it," Edison scowls. "And I did all this to finish what they couldn't! I did this to finally get to you. Burrows and Scofield. We've wanted you dead for years and now I'm finally going to do it. I'm going to succeed."

"What do you need us to be dead for?" Lincoln asks. "What good'll that do you?"

"You two ruined my life!" Edison shouts. "You were out of prison, you were free and cleared, but that wasn't enough for you! No, you had to be noble and fight the conspiracy and stick it to the man! You got Scylla without us even knowing you were around; do you have any idea how incompetent that made me look to The General? He lost control; he lost everything. And by extension, so did I!"

"I lost my home," Edison lists. "I lost my kids; The Company killed them in retaliation for not doing my job. Before, they never would've gotten away with it, not with Tuxhorn on them. But he was long gone by then. So of course my wife blamed me for their deaths and she left me. I lost everything I'd ever had all because two ex-cons decided to be Dudley Do-Right for a day!"

"You think you know our story?" Lincoln implores. "You have no idea what we went through! We never did anything wrong; on the contrary, we were trying to make everything right and you know what happened instead? Everyone close to us got burned. The Company killed my son's mother, Sara's dad, Mahone's son… The list goes on and on. You people were ruthless and unforgiving so why do you think we should forgive you, huh? Why do you think we should pay for your mistakes?"

"You said we ruined your lives," Michael adds. "I fail to see how that's true. If you're committing crimes and finally getting caught, I call that justice. Now what you're doing here, this is ruining lives. Not ours, but our families'. I have two kids, Lincoln has a son; if you kill us, you're taking these kids' parents away. I know you know what it's like to be a parent, but I bet you don't know what it's like to lose one. Ask us; we lost them both- twice."

Edison stares at them before grinning maniacally. "All the more reason to do it."

Lincoln is seething; Michael sighs and says, "Okay. Then I guess we're going to have to do this the hard way."

"The hard way? What are you talking abo-?"

Before he can finish his sentence, Michael leans forward and uses all his force to push Edison out of the window, the glass breaking around his body as he shouts in terror and collides with the sandy earth, rolling a little and groaning on impact. He's okay; they can tell by the way he sits, disoriented, and brushes some sand off his suit. Michael turns to his brother and asks, "You ready? Because we're next."

"Never jumped out a window before," Lincoln clears his throat, stepping onto the windowsill. "This'll be a first."

"We've got forty-five seconds before this house goes up in flames," Michael says, glancing back at the clock. "It's a homemade bomb so I'm guessing it won't do much, but we're still not going to want to be around for the detonation."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

The two jump from the window, roll out of it, and each grab hold of Edison. He's protesting, but he's still in pain (he hadn't landed on his feet, after all) so he isn't moving too much. Lincoln and Michael are sprinting towards the deck on the other end of the house, pulling themselves underneath it just in time for the west wing of the house to go up in flames. Windows burst open, glass shatters down like a hailstorm, and the fire produces a great black billowing smoke. They wait underneath the safety of the deck for a bit as the debris continues to fall before dragging themselves out, Edison between them, and heading to the front of the house. He's still groaning between them, but Lincoln and Michael aren't paying him any mind.

Sirens wail in the distance and grow closer and closer as Lincoln tells Edison, "Just think- you would've gotten away with it, too, if it wasn't for us meddling kids."

Michael laughs. "Scooby Doo? Interesting reference point."

"This is what your kids force me to watch, man," Lincoln defends. "I'm working with what I've got."

They're walking down the road, now, watching as firemen flee towards the house to put out the blaze and cops ask witnesses and neighbors for their points of view. Off to the right, they see Sara and Sucre, the latter propped in an ambulance, bullet removed and properly bandaged, the former watching him like a hawk to be sure he's alright. To the left, Alex is observing two squad cars, one holding Stacy, the other holding Heath. And up ahead, waiting with open arms for the prisoner they've been hunting down for so long, is Kellerman, a swarm of policemen behind him. Edison begins to slow his steps even as Lincoln and Michael propel him forward.

"No. Don't turn me in. I'll make it worth your while. We can work out a deal."

"Nah, we're done taking orders from you," Lincoln tells him. "It's time you start doing things our way."

They shove him towards Kellerman and Michael says, "He's all yours, Paul."

Kellerman looks almost gleeful at this prospect, handcuffing him and reading his Miranda rights as if he's just told someone they'd won the lottery. When he's finished, he shoves Edison, head first, into an awaiting squad car. Michael watches with satisfaction, eyes leaving the scene only for a moment when Sara appears by his side. He turns and engulfs her in his arms, telling her it's over, it's finally over. She grins and tells him it better be, because she isn't doing this ever again. They turn to go, prepared to leave the scene immediately, when they hear Edison's voice, once again, calling from the back of the police car. When Michael turns to face him, Edison is no longer wearing the apprehensive look, but a menacing, unwavering one instead.

"You may have taken me down today, but if you think there won't be a new Company someday, think again," Edison states adamantly. "Someone's always going to want the power. Someone's always going to want to take over the world."

"Maybe you're right, Nathaniel. But there will always be someone to fight you," Michael replies truthfully. "Someone will always want to change the world. Someone will always be there to save it."