Out in the Lushly Sodded Exercise Yard, Michael gets the brush-off from a prickly Sucre, who really isn't living up to his name. It's the kind of satisfying irony you can also find in strippers named Chastity. As Michael's gaze follows his ex-cellie out of the yard, he picks up his new cellie, whose bug eyes are actually outside the sphere of his head as he stares intently back. That was...unsubtle. Michael turns away from this freakazoid and obliges the audience with a peek at this week's relevant piece of tattoo. On the inside of his left forearm, there's what looks like a jug pouring out liquid. The jug is labeled "Cute Poison."
Flashback! A pre-prison Michael is hard at work. His Great Escape Wall is adorned with photos and clippings and plans. In particular, we're led to a chemical formula that been posted. The formula, which before-Michael helpfully labels "Cute Poison," is intended to yield H3PO4, which is phosphoric acid. Some other chemical symbol refers to copper sulfate (CuO4S). Thanks, pause button! Michael's science-nerd reverie is interrupted by Abruzzi, whose hair, by the way, could use a little chemical formula known as VO5, but I digress. Abruzzi seems to think there's a hitch in the escape plan, a notion he gathered by observing Michael's middle-distance stare-a-thon from across the yard. See, Michael? That look is going to get you into trouble. Prodded, Michael alludes to a still bug-eyed, still staring Haywire as his new cellmate. "That's a problem," says an exasperated Abruzzi. Michael: "He doesn't sleep." Abruzzi: "So when do you dig?" Michael: "I don't." Michael says this last bit with a "them's the breaks" attitude entirely unbefitting a guy with eight toes. Abruzzi tells him to get his shit together, lest he have to make good on a threat to "gut" him. Michael at least has the grace to look mildly concerned, and as he watches Abruzzi exit, he finds that his precious middle distance is still being occupied by Bugfuck McTwitch. He's taken Michael's eye line. Now, it's personal.
Credits. Who exactly did Dominic Purcell have to blow to get top billing over Wentworth Miller? Unless, maybe the higher ups at FOX had seen John Doe and Blade Trinity, decided he'd done enough blowing for one lifetime, and took pity on the guy?
Back from the break, we find ourselves in Warden Pope's office, where we get a good look at the Taj Mahal Popsicle Stick Diorama. Oh, how I've missed you, you ludicrous plot contrivance. Michael and the Pope are making progress all right, although Michael notes the still-unfinished "interior alcoves and pilasters," like, calm down, architect boy. Your jargon has no effect on me. It seems to have an effect on Pope, though, as he gets all mealy-mouthed with the thank-yous. "I wish there was some way I could, you know, pay you, or something." Jeez, Pope, you sure you're not the one mesmerized by Michael's tattoos? Of course, they're all covered up here, so maybe Pope is just dazzled by the teeny tiny widow's peak on Michael's hairline. It's the most inscrutable and focus-pulling bit of hair since The Beard That Ate Jack Bristow. Anyway. Michael suggests maybe Pope could help him out with his little roommate sitch. "Officer Bellick is in charge of cell transfers," Pope counters, "you're gonna have to talk to him about that." Michael says he has, and Bellick "seems to think we're a good match." "Has he threatened you?" Pope asks. "Haywire or Bellick?" Michael responds. Pope informs our guy that, short of violence or sexual predation, the prison really isn't interested in the roommate shuffle game. Which I think was pretty much the rule during my first month at college. Ahhh, the housing freeze. Keeping freshman psychopaths in the same dorm rooms for thirty action-packed days.