Investigators arrived at the car crash scene, examining the charred tires and vehicle wreckage. A medical examiner sighed emotionally, "This man risked his life to escape prison, only to die under a wheel shortly after getting out." Agent Mahone asked expressionlessly, "Which one of them was it?"
The scene flashed back to 12 hours earlier. Enlarged photos of the Fox River Penitentiary escapees were pinned to a wall. Agent Lang paced as he addressed the team: "We've set a tight net at all hospitals. If they dare show up asking for medicine, bandages, or antibiotics, we'll catch them for sure. We're also monitoring the fugitives' families, but so far, nothing."
Mahone nodded in agreement. "There are a few things in life that are inevitable: death, taxes, and all fugitives making a mistake within the first 72 hours of their run. To get further, they'll steal a car; for cash, they'll rob a store; needing help, they'll trust the wrong person. Any of these mistakes is like handing themselves back to prison in cuffs."
Nika, Michael's wife (note: often referred to as ex-wife or friend in the series), heard urgent knocking at her front door and hurried to open it. Michael stood there, supporting a weak, bleeding Lincoln. "You have to help me," Michael said, helping his brother inside. He instructed Nika to gather: "Black pepper, rubbing alcohol, towels, painkillers." "And some liquor," Lincoln added. Nika frantically searched the house.
Michael laid Lincoln's injured leg flat and began treating it. Lincoln flinched in pain, insisting, "We need to move." Michael replied, "If we don't stop the bleeding from this leg, we won't make it out of Illinois." He locked eyes with his brother, "You have to endure this," and poured the rubbing alcohol directly onto the gunshot wound. Lincoln groaned, nearly passing out, and took a swig of the vodka Nika brought. Michael then sprinkled black pepper onto the wound, explaining, "This will help reduce the swelling." The pain caused Lincoln to lose consciousness.
Nika scolded Michael for coming to her, revealing that the police had been watching her place for days, waiting to catch him. Michael insisted he had no other choice.
After bandaging Lincoln's leg, Michael asked Nika to watch over him while he went to retrieve their car. Lincoln weakly protested, "Forget that car, let's just steal another one." But Michael needed that specific car for the supplies crucial to their escape. He returned to the alley near the hardware store, but the car was gone. As Michael pondered what could have happened, he slowly knelt and picked up a piece of broken glass. His gaze fell on the tattoo on his wrist – a prison number: 38 312 1037.