Night has fallen over Sona, and the prison is quiet. I bet it would be -- all it takes is Lechero or Sammy having a poor night's sleep because someone can't keep the snoring down, and someone wakes up to the sensation of a chicken foot being crammed down his throat. Or perhaps some of the bad-asses tried sleep-killing and that's put the fear into any insomniacs.
Amend that: all the insomniacs but one. Michael been tossing bits of chocolate into no-man's land, leading the world's most adorable rat further into a lighted patch on the ground. We get a minute to marvel at the winsome vermin -- its fur so clean and shiny! Its little pink nose wriggling in delight as it holds the chocolate in its wee tidy hands! Its shoe-button black eyes positively sparkling in a way that suggests it's but a moment away from introducing itself as Papillion, The Rat Who Befriends Prisoners...and then we see its little red insides as the guards spy it and shoot it for sport.
Michael looks appalled. I would like to think that's because he shares my unfortunate habit of anthropomorphizing anything, but I suspect it's because he's like, Crap. I will not get two feet into that yard before I'm taken out. Anyway, let's pause and give Scofield big ups for devising a low-cost assessment test in admittedly tough field conditions.
Day breaks over Sona, and we see inmates going about their business and providing handy foreshadowing for later: one guy snoozes next to a pair of binoculars, another heats something up in his microwave, more dudes play cards. As the guards open the gate, a lone paper cup comes fluttering in on the wind. Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it. Mahone comes over and picks up the cup. He looks like hell -- you're telling me there's no way the man's managed to find a comb in Sona? Come on, throw us a bone here! And not because Mahone tying one in his hair is the next quarter-turn on his downward spiral.
Mahone heads over to the brooding Michael and says, "J.P. Morgan had a formula for success: rise early, work hard...strike oil." Michael rolls his eyes. He sighs that he's just trying to get some water. Mahone dryly notes, "As a devoted student of your work and skills, I really looked forward to progress on your plan, Michael." Scofield snaps, "I'm looking forward to you getting off my back." Before this can deteriorate into outright hair-pulling, the two are distracted by the arrival of a new inmate. He is dressed like something out of the J. Crew catalog. Eh, that's only a temporary state.