You know, FOX is like the network that cried "wolf." A few more of these "graphic scenes" warnings and I'm just going to shrug. We open on Chicago's Navy Pier, where the usual family-friendly theme park activities are taking place. A heavily tattooed fortysomething guy is picking up tickets from the vendor and handing them to his squealing children. "Just a few more rides," he warns. He kisses one boy on the top of the head and the children galumph off-screen.
The guy turns around and -- aiiieee! It's Agent Kellerman. He's stealthy is what he is. With that sharklike grin we -- okay, fine, I -- have come to know and love, Kellerman remarks, "Boy, Adam's getting bigger. What is he, ten?" The guy snaps, "Not here." Kellerman says they need a favor, and the guy says, "I've been out of the life for years. You know that." Kellerman nods and says, "Problem is, Diamond, nobody's going to believe that if I take the heroin out of my pocket and put it in the glove box of the reasonably-priced minivan you have parked over there. I will cuff you, I will drag you out of here in front of everyone." Diamond cocks an eyebrow, and they begin to do business.
As we keep panning over the lovely Chicago skyline, we hear someone carrying on about how we need to reduce our crippling dependence on fossil fuels. Yeah, good luck with that. It turns out to be a tape of the guy Lincoln's accused of killing, and Veronica's watching it. Her phone rings, and she lets the machine get it. Wendy the assistant's calling to let Veronica know that Nick the Legal Beagle has left no fewer than six messages for Veronica. She dives for the phone, asking breathlessly, "Did he ask about me? Did he say I'm pretty? Did he cop to being part of a massive conspiracy?" Or something along those lines. She tells Wendy to run phone interference on Nick the Legal Beagle tomorrow, since her law office's entire operations budget was eaten up by wood-paneling expenses and they can't afford call blocking.
Back at the prison, Michael's bunk is shaking as he sharpens his tool. I swear that's not a euphemism for anything. The camera zooms in to the part of the tattoo inked on the inside of his left arm: it's a rather traditional and scary picture of a devil's head. We soon establish that this is a different tool from the Philips-head screwdriver, although that soon makes an appearance as Michael pops the sink off the wall and crawls out of the cell. We see him wandering around, looking very photogenically sweaty in his gray t-shirt. Once he gets to a certain part of the prison, he stops and paces forward very deliberately from some yellow, light-bedecked scaffolding to the wall. After some more very precise pacing and measuring, Michael stops by a yellow beam, raises his shirt sleeve, and finds a specific mark on his left deltoid. He uses it as a measure for marking the beam, and then proceeds to set up what looks like a tripod. It is to Wentworth Miller's immense credit (and great bone structure) that he manages to make surveying look like foreplay.