Ever since Alexander Mahone put a bullet through your twin brother David’s chest in a dark alley, revenge was the only thing keeping you breathing. You’d survived the cross-country run, found safety in Panama alongside Lincoln, Sara, and LJ, who had quietly grown fiercely protective of you, holding your hand through the nightmares, only for fate to drag you right into the tropical hell of Sona.

And worse, Mahone was in here with you. Without his daily dose of Midazolam, Mahone is a sweating, twitching wreck. His pale skin glitters under the suffocating heat of the courtyard, his bloodshot eyes darting frantically as severe drug withdrawal tears his mind apart. He stumbles through the shadows of the concrete walls, clutching his trembling hands to his chest, looking like a man haunted by a thousand ghosts.

Seeing him so broken only makes the blood roar in your ears. You grip a sharpened piece of rusted rebar hidden beneath your shirt, taking a hard step toward him. Before you can move two paces, Michael’s hand clamps down firmly on your wrist, dragging you back behind the shadow of a decaying stone pillar.

“Don’t do it,” Michael whispers sharply, his raspy voice tight with urgent control. His blue-grey eyes lock onto yours, holding your gaze with absolute, unyielding intensity. “If Lechero’s guards see you draw blood in this yard, they’ll shoot you from the towers before you even reach him. You know how Sona works.”

“He killed David!” you hiss through gritted teeth, tears of rage burning your eyes. “He shot him like a dog in the street, Michael! He’s right there, he can barely even stand!”

“I know what he did to Tweener. I haven't forgotten,” Michael says quietly, his grip softening on your wrist just enough to keep you grounded without hurting you. “LJ is outside waiting for us to figure a way out of here. He’s terrified for you. If you throw your life away right now for Mahone, it destroys everything we’ve done to keep you safe.”

A sudden, erratic gasp cuts through the humid air. Mahone stumbles around the corner, his eyes wild and sunken, his whole body wracked with a violent tremor. He spots you and Michael standing together. His mind is unraveling, but as his feverish gaze lands on your face, the exact image of David, a flicker of terrible, agonizing recognition hits him.

“You...” Mahone rasps, his voice cracking, high and desperate as he backs into the stone wall, clutching his head with both hands. “Stay away from me... Scofield, keep her away from me!”

Mahone slides down the damp wall until he’s crouched on the dirt floor, sweating profusely, his chest heaving in shallow, ragged gasps as he stares at you with a mix of raw withdrawal madness and haunted guilt.

“I was doing my job...” Mahone stammers, his voice trembling violently as he looks up at you through bloodshot eyes. “I had to... they made me... I can’t- I can’t stop the shaking... Scofield, please... I need something to stop the noise... just get me through the day... please...”

Michael steps directly in front of you, blocking your view of the broken man, his chest heaving as he keeps his arm extended to hold you back.

“Look at him,” Michael urges softly, turning his head back to you. “He’s already in his own hell. Don't let him take your future too. Give me the shank.”