Chapter 56: Rogue Gang (BONUS)
Bonus for 200 PS, next bonus at 400 PS. Thanks for the PS, guys, keep it coming xD.
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"Motherf**ker! What the hell do you want?!"
Lincoln Burrows had finally had enough.
Ignoring Michael Scofield's warning glare, he shoved away Dante's hand—specifically, the one that was once again caressing his bald head like it was a magic lamp.
He instinctively reached for his waist.
Then, realizing something was missing, he adjusted course and threw a punch instead.
But Dante, acting after and arriving first, smacked him clean in the jaw.
The hit was perfectly calculated—just enough to knock Lincoln out cold with a minor concussion. No permanent damage. Just a solid "go to sleep" tap.
The guards, who had been casually watching the drama unfold from a distance like it was lunch theater, finally decided to stroll over and check on things once a body hit the ground.
"Still breathing? If he's still alive, toss both troublemakers into solitary!"
The head guard—same guy who'd processed Dante's intake—squinted at him again.
This "murderer"... better not actually murder Lincoln in solitary. Sure, the guy was on death row, but not here. Not in Fox River Prison.
"Don't forget to separate them!"
Dante made no move to resist.
In fact, the guards were more nervous than he was. They basically escorted him like he was royalty. No one wanted to find out what happened if this guy got annoyed.
As he passed by Michael, Dante casually pointed two fingers at his own eyes… then gave a slow, deliberate nod.
I'm watching you.
Michael understood instantly.
This lunatic was serious.
But honestly, that was the least of his problems.
Lincoln was going to solitary, which meant he wouldn't be released for at least three days.
Their plan for tonight?
Dead in the water.
And if they didn't act tonight, then the thing on Michael's back.
It would be too late.
Just like he thought earlier: every bit of unexpected resistance multiplied the cost of success.
So tonight…
He had to risk it.
---
Fox River's solitary cells weren't rooms so much as sealed voids. No light. No bed. Just black walls, steel, and the whisper of existential dread.
The only opening was a tiny peephole that could be opened—from the outside.
Your average corporate CEO tossed in here would die of stomach ulcers and claustrophobia before dawn.
But Dante? He sat on the floor like he was meditating in a spa retreat.
The pitch-black silence actually helped him think more clearly.
Back in the yard, when he'd intentionally provoked Lincoln, he'd noticed that weird gesture—reaching for his waist like he was drawing a sidearm.
That wasn't acting. That was instinct.
And Lincoln Burrows, in the original Prison Break, was a brute. Not exactly tactical material.
And Michael?
He didn't feel like an architect genius trying to bust out his brother.
He felt like an actual, calculated criminal.
"Smart… dangerous... You're not who you say you are."
Whoever these two were, they weren't Michael and Lincoln.
No chance.
"Ingrid to Captain! Ingrid to Captain! Come in!"
"I'm listening."
"Captain, we've finished the background sweep on the Roggers Group—the one that bought out Fox River. Every department, every company, all managed by hired executives. Shareholders are all proxies. Every name on paper is a stand-in."
"So it's a shell company? Front operation?"
"Exactly," Skye jumped in, clearly riding high on the win. "At first I thought we'd hit a dead end. But Coulson and... uh... Steve said we were overthinking it. Sometimes, the trick is hiding in plain sight."
"Hiding in plain sight... Wait. Who's Steve? You mean Captain America's fully online now?"
"You're so unromantic," Skye pouted. "Don't change the subject! Think, what else does 'Roggers' sound like?"
"…Roggers… Rogues... The Rogues!?"
Dante smacked his forehead.
Finally—everything clicked.
"Skye, you're my Big Guy!"
Skye blinked and looked over at Coulson, confused.
"Big Guy… Is that a compliment?"
"Probably...? I think so?"
---
10:00 PM.
Time of death for normalcy inside Fox River.
Solitary was a vacuum chamber. Lincoln and Dante were cut off from everything—and everyone.
No windows. No clock. No sensory input.
If you wanted to know the time, you had to count your pulse or whisper numbers in your head like a crazy monk.
Dante didn't have to.
He had Skye and Ingrid feeding him minute-by-minute updates through his ear mic.
"Captain, it's officially ten o'clock," Skye reported.
Her fingers danced across the keyboard, seizing control of every camera still online inside the prison.
Meanwhile, the guards—following the golden rule of never patrolling after 10 PM—had all retreated to their comfy little lounge outside the blocks.
That was normal.
That was protocol.
Nothing strange ever happened. And if it did?
They didn't see it.
"Have the mice come out yet?" Dante asked.
"Hold on... not yet. Wait. He's pulling something out of the mattress—oh my God. A gun? Two guns?!"
"Heh. Knew it," Dante smirked. "Keep comms open."
"Got it."
With Skye monitoring, Dante leaned back against the door.
Even with the solitary block separated from Block A, his heightened senses picked up the vibrations—light, cautious footsteps.
Getting closer.
Then they stopped. Right outside.
Dante opened his eyes and placed one hand on the door like he was gently caressing it.
Then his hand morphed into diamond.
With a motion smoother than peeling a banana, he ripped the door open like cheap wrapping paper.
Honestly? That was cathartic.
Neck crack. Stretch. Step out.
And right there in the hall—
Michael Scofield and Lincoln Burrows.
Only, not them.
Michael—no, Leonard Snart—had just vaporized his cell door into icy shards with a cold gun.
Lincoln—Mick Rory—was shouldering a heat gun and snarling like a flamethrower in a vest.
The infamous duo.
Captain Cold and Heat Wave.
Founding members of the Rogues.
Flash's least subtle nemesis crew…
And the most dedicated fanboys.
Skye had been right. The real Michael and Lincoln did exist—but they'd been replaced.
Two super-criminals wearing their faces.
Dante gave them a friendly wave.
"Yo! Fancy running into you two Rogues. What, you also breakin' out tonight?"
Their answer?
Two beams of energy—one ice-blue, one blazing red—slammed into him.
Fire and frost enveloped Dante in the hallway.
(To be continued.)
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