The Ultimate Sacrifice

Title: The Ultimate Sacrifice
Author: Darkestangel
Summary: Michael’s first day at Fox River is not what he hoped for
Author’s Website: www.darknessprevails.com
Comments: darkestangel@darknessprevails.com
Archive: Yes, to Prison Break archive, yes to others with permission
Warnings: crude language, violence, non-con
Pairing: Michael/T-bag, Michael/OMC
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: The Pilot for now but could possibly be the entire first season if I am encouraged to continue on with this saga.
Disclaimer: Prison Break belongs to 20th Century Fox and Adelstein-Parouse Productions. I am only borrowing their characters for my own personal pleasure and no permanent harm will come to them.
Author’s Notes:
1. I tend to write dark slash stories and this one is no exception so consider this as a warning.
2. I have often wondered how the show would be different if Sucre was not Michael’s cellmate. This is totally A/U and will go against the canon of the show. This could possibly turn into a series that retells the first season and the changes that will take place due to Michael’s cellie if I am encouraged through feedback.


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Michael Scofield stepped off the last step of the bus onto the dusty grounds of Fox River Penitentiary and looked in interest at the design of the surrounding buildings appreciating their gothic-like lines and strong facades. Michael chose not to look at the fence or the men in prison attire who were locked up behind the steel mesh of the fence. Instead, Michael chose to think only of his elaborate plan, his need to find his brother, and his desire to free Lincoln from the fortified complex before he was executed for a crime he didn’t commit. Lincoln had practically raised Michael when their mother had died, and despite all of Lincoln’s mistakes and his tendencies to get in trouble with the law over drugs and petty crimes, Michael knew that his brother was incapable of murdering someone in cold blood, and thus; he was determined to break his brother out of jail before he was executed for a crime he was being framed for by unknown powerful forces..

Michael stayed in line with the other new prisoners trying to ignore the whistles and cat-calls directed their way by the other prisoners who had been hardened with their time spent in the notoriously difficult prison. Michael’s wrists were cuffed and he felt like a pig being led to the slaughter as he shuffled across the dirt and grass to the prison entrance. His always busy mind took in the details of the entry building including its wide-arched door, the dark grey gutters that clung to the side of the stone building, and the fresh layer of brown paint that had been recently applied to the building’s awning. Michael knew that the prison had been built in 1858 and was at one time the largest and most dangerous prison in the United States, and although it was no longer the most feared jail, Fox River still ranked high on the list of places Michael would have liked to have avoided.

The guards began to escort Michael and the other new prisoners down the dark and dreary hall of the processing building which Michael knew would lead them into a large inspection room where all prisoners would be stripped, probed for contraband, and issued standard-issued clothing with a number and necessary toiletries. Michael had planned for the very public inspection inwardly ahead of time and his mind dismissed the upcoming event as not important and as a necessary part of his intricate plan. Michael had spent months planning the escape; endless nights of research into the employees of Fox River Penitentiary and their regulations and procedures, the cons he would need to make a successful escape, and the design of the prison he would need tattooed onto his flesh. The tattoo had taken nearly two months to apply, and Michael had learned to live with the pain as the needle scarred his pale flesh with the prison plans woven into the ingenious design of Heaven and Hell fighting for the souls of Mankind. At first, Michael had been self-conscious of the tattoo that covered his entire torso and both arms, but he had learned to see the tattoo as his lifesaver. He knew that his escape depended on the plans hidden in the tattoo and Michael had learned to appreciate its complex design and dark imagery.

Michael and the other new prisoners were led into the inspection area of the prison which housed public showers, a uniform issue cage, and a station where the prisoner’s personal items were collected and catalogued for safekeeping. Taking a chance, Michael looked around the large space taking in the white paint, wooden benches, and numerous guards. Michael recognized one of the guards as Captain Bellick and winced inwardly. Michael’s research on Bellick had told of the guard’s impeccable work record at Fox River but also eluded to a man who believed in firm discipline and harsh punishment when prisoners got out of hand or who simply looked at him the wrong way. As far as Michael was concerned, Bellick was the leader of the guards and Michael wanted to stay out of the man’s way if at all possible.

“Alright, listen up fish! You will undress, shower, submit to an anal probe,” Bellick paused smirking taking in the new prisoners, “Dress in your lovely spring outfits, and come back to me for a brief orientation.” Bellick loved this part of his job. He savored the look of fear on the youngest and prettiest of the cons knowing that they would be in for one hell of a time once they were put into general population while the more experienced cons, some of which who were frequent prison flyers, knew the routine and simply saw the inspection as the normalcy associated with being incarcerated.

Bellick watched as the prisoners were released from their cuffs and began stripping for their search and shower. There wasn’t much to look at in the new shipment of prisoners and he knew that his wallet wouldn’t be seeing much action once the other cons got a look at the new selection. Bellick frowned watching as the overweight, out of shape, mutt-faced prisoners made their way to the shower and grumbled, “Damn, what a piss-poor selection.”

“What’s wrong Brad? Worried you won’t make your monthly quota of victimization?”

Bellick smirked at his good friend Roy Geary, “I don’t see anything wrong with loaning some pretty boy faggot out to a prisoner in need of release.”

“They’re not all faggots Brad,” Roy corrected his commanding officer.

Bellick’s eyes wandered over the dismal crowd assembled in front of him and sighed in disgust, “They are once my customers are through with them.” Bellick looked down at his clipboard scoping out the names of the new prisoners and began assigning them cells, “I had hoped to make some money off some of the Purity gang this month.”

“Those cons keep going through young boys like they’re water. The last three have either killed themselves or been left bleeding to death,” Geary added watching as the first of the prisoners began going into the delousing booth before entering the showers.

“Well, they do pay good money for them. What they do to their merchandise is their own business,” Bellick grinned. “Besides, those boys lived longer with the Purity’s protection than they would have with the likes of Avocado or some other con who gets pleasure in splitting little boys in half with their dicks.”

Roy had seen what cons could do to fresh young twinks and he agreed that the Purity was a better fate, “That’s true.” Geary looked around towards the back of inspection area where all the shy newbies tended to hang out, “Will you take a look at that?”

Bellick looked up at his friend. “What?”

“In the back,” Roy nodded towards the rear of the room near the barred-up windows where one of the prisoners had his back turned to them while he undressed. The con was in the process of taking off his shirt revealing a back covered in ink, “Check out that tattoo.”

Bellick looked in his friend’s direction noting the impressive design on the slender prisoner. Bellick had seen his fair share of ink in prison but it was rare to see so much tack on one con, “That had to cost him a fortune.” They both continued to watch as the prisoner undressed observing that the tattoo covered his entire torso; front and back and both arms, and that he was lean and tall with an impressive swimmer’s build. Brad anxiously watched the younger man strip down to his underwear silently counting the money he could make on the man; especially once he saw the face of the prisoner. Brad noted the piercing blue eyes, the pink plump lips, and the small mole that adorned the prisoner’s left temple and slowly leered in excitement.

Geary watched Bellick’s reaction to the new prisoner and chuckled, “Looks like you have another victim after all.”

“Yeah, and I know just who to entice with that fine piece of merchandise,” Bellick hinted.

Michael felt Bellick staring but avoided the guard’s eyes as he folded up his expensive Armani black suit and placed it on the wooden bench for the time being. He joined the other prisoners in line as they were all deloused, led into the showers, and then to a body cavity search which Michael had mentally prepared for and had expected. Michael’s research on prison regulations and lingo had turned up a surprising amount of excuses for sticking one’s finger up the ass of a con; including conjugal visits, initial processing, and any suspicious behavior that the guards deemed required such a thorough inspection.

Michael avoided eye contact with the other prisoners and looked mostly at the tiled floor of the shower area where he was given a thin itchy towel and a grunt from a guard indicating which showerhead was Michael’s to use. Michael slipped off his white cotton boxers and stood underneath the showerhead which dowsed him in barely warm water for three minutes. He barely had enough time to rinse off before the water was cut off but he knew that he would eventually get use to the timed showers and wrapped the towel around his wet hips making his way over to the cavity search area.

Officer Kerry was use to the standard operating procedure of processing day and barely looked at any of the cons he inspected, but he couldn’t help but to be drawn to the ink-covered prisoner that sauntered over in his direction. “Are those your colors?”

“Excuse me?” Michael confusingly asked.

“Your gang’s insignia?” the guard explained.

Michael was amused that the man thought that he belonged to a gang. “No,” he smirked, “I did it on a dare.”

Kerry didn’t appreciate the con’s sardonic reply, “Well, I bet you won’t make it two days before someone in this place is going to want to take a closer look at those tattoos.”

“Whatever you say Boss,” Michael responded not realizing that he had already pissed off his first Fox River employee.

Kerry slipped on a latex glove noting that the new prisoner didn’t react to the slap of the glove going onto his hand, “Well obviously Princess you’ve done this before so go ahead and bend over for me.” Kerry watched as the smartass con bent over the table and lifted his towel. “I hope you’re comfortable,” the guard began as he shoved his index finger inside Michael’s rectum feeling around for contraband. “I’m sure you’ll be in this position throughout most of your tour in our illustrious prison.”

Michael barely winced as the finger invaded his most private of places, “If you say so Boss.”

Kerry pulled his finger out of Michael’s body satisfied that the inmate had not slipped in any illegal items, “I do say so fish! Now, get your ass over to the uniform pit and get the hell out of my sight!”

Michael softly grinned, “Yes Sir Boss.”

Kerry watched as Scofield walked on to the next stop, tore off the used glove, grabbed a clean glove, and prepared for his next inspection, “He ain’t going to last a week.”

Michael did as the guard instructed and walked over towards the uniform cage. He watched as an apathetic prisoner placed a beige plastic crate on the counter that housed a selection of prison clothing, a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, mouth wash, a razor, and a brush, “You’ll get a new set of clothes twice a week 94941 so try to keep them clean as much as possible.”

“Thanks,” Michael replied grabbing his newly issued gear. He walked back to the wooden bench where his suit still sat and began getting dressed. He placed the plastic crate on the bench, opened it up, inspected his clothing choices, and reached for a pair of prison issued underwear. He quickly got dressed in navy-blue pants, a grey long-sleeved shirt which he layered with a button-up light blue short-sleeved shirt, and sat down to pull on white socks and black work boots. Usually, Michael’s skin would have crawled having polyester so close to his body, but he knew that he wouldn’t have to wear the dreadful clothing for long. Lincoln only had a little over a month before he was sent to the electric chair and Michael planned to have them both out of Fox River before that day came.

Michael watched as the other cons walked over to another line to fill out the necessary informational and medical form and joined them leaving his belongings on the bench once again. Michael knew that the informational form was a crucial part of his escape plan, so he took his time filling in the obligatory information; such as name, birth date, real-world occupation, and medical history. He clearly printed in large text ‘Type I Diabetes’ in the known medical condition box and took the form over to Captain Bellick for his brief orientation.

As Michael approached the guard, he saw Bellick and his clipboard orientating another prisoner. Michael knew from his research that Bellick was corrupt and abusive; although none of the accusations had been proven, and he hoped to stay off of Bellick’s radar. Michael wanted nothing to get in the way of his plan and staying on Bellick’s good side was in his best interest.

Bellick noticed the pretty new prisoner approaching and mentally calculated the amount of cash he would earn off the new fish, “Name and back number.”

“Scofield, Michael. 94941,” the younger man quickly responded handing Bellick his processing form.

Bellick placed Scofield’s form onto his clipboard and scribbled the number down, “You a religious man, Scofield?”

“Never really thought about it,” Michael honestly answered. His mother died when he was only eleven and he couldn’t remember her being very religious, and his brother was still a kid himself when he began to raise Michael and God, and religion just never became a topic of choice among the brothers. Both brothers knew the customary prayers that all supposed Christians knew, but he never had considered himself a religious or devoted person.

“Good cause the ten commandments don't mean a box of piss in here. We got two commandments and two only. The first commandment is you got nothing coming,” Bellick informed the soon to be used and abused inmate.

Michael arched his brow, “What's the second commandment?”

Bellick stared intently at the new con, “See commandment number one.”

Michael smiled softly looking around at the other prisoners. “Gotcha.”

Bellick heard the sarcasm practically dripping from the younger man’s mouth, “You talking out the side of your neck?”

“Come again?” Michael absently asked.

“I said are you being a smart ass?” Bellick reiterated.

“I'm just trying to fly low; avoid the radar Boss. Do my time and get out,” Michael casually responded.

Bellick sneered, “There isn't any flying under my radar.”

“Good to know,” Michael responded inwardly hating that his first encounter with Bellick had not been exactly smooth.

Bellick gave a nod with his head signaling for the new prisoner to go onto to the next checkpoint. Bellick was fuming from the con’s snobby attitude and felt even better about his plans for Scofield. The guard looked at Scofield’s processing paper noting that the prisoner had written down Type I Diabetes which meant multiple weekly insulin shots in the infirmary. Brad sighed in frustration knowing that frequent trips to the infirmary would cause Scofield’s new cellmate to have limitations on the amount of abuse he could administer. “Fuck…that’s going to cut into my profit.”

Michael walked over towards the collection booth, placed his belongings on the counter, and watched as the guard wrote down his name and inventoried his belongings.

“One black suit,” the guard began placing the suit into a brown paper bag. “One pair of black shoes, a pair of socks, a tape recorder,” the guard announced in curiosity placing the shoes, socks, and taping device into the bag. “One gold watch,” he finished slipping the watch into a small yellow envelope and placing it into the bag as well noting the obvious expense of the timepiece and made mental note of the bag number and prisoner name for future reference, “Step over to the other prisoners and prepare for transport to the cellblock.”

Michael watched as the guard placed the brown bag into a box with this name and number on the outside and made his way over towards the other prisoners. The plan was going exactly as planned, and Michael felt confident that his thorough preparations and planning would lead to a quick escape for himself and Lincoln, and he had no worries as he was escorted to the cellblock.


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Michael and the other inmates were led to Cellblock A by Bellick and several other guards and Michael mentally prepared himself for the barrage of sounds and smell to come from the three-tiered cellblock. He had stared at the blueprints for the prison for days on end noting the size of the cells, the number of cells in each row, the number of bars on each cell, and the best locations if he wanted his escape kept hidden from wandering eyes. He hoped and prayed for a cell on the second or third floor so that he could not been seen easily by the guards. Michael’s plan depended on getting a cell in a good location and getting a cellmate that could easily be persuaded to go along with the escape plan. Michael had no way of predicting who his cellmate would be and he felt an involuntary tightening of his stomach as Bellick ordered another guard to open the bars that led to the cellblock.

Bellick escorted the prisoners who each carried their plastic crates into the cellblock grinning as the customary catcalls and lewd comments were handed out by the veteran prisoners, “Welcome to your new home Ladies.” Bellick watched as a few streamers of toilet paper were released from the upper tiers and the cries of “fresh meat” and “here fishy fishy” were yelled at the new arrivals.

“Rochester, you can go ahead and take your group to the upper-tier. I’m not quite finished with the cell assignments for the middle and lower tiers,” Bellick announced as he looked over the cell options for the new arrivals. The truth was that he had everyone’s cell assigned but Scofield’s, but he needed to advertise the new fish to the other prisoners before he assigned the inmate his lodgings. “Ramsey, Rodriguez, Hogan, and Scofield step out of the line and approach my position.”

Michael did as Bellick requested and walked over along with the other three prisoners to Bellick’s position in the center of the cellblock. Michael ignored the heated stares and crude comments coming from the other prisoners determined to let nothing; including fear get in the way of the plan.

Bellick watched as the four prisoners formed a line facing him, “Did I tell you cons to look at me! Turn the fuck away from me and look out front and center!” Bellick looked at the cells directly in front of the four prisoners noting that the Purity gang members were taking interest in the new prisoners, and he wasn’t surprised that most of the attention was being directed at Scofield. Brad and the leader of the gang exchanged knowing glances that made it clear to Bellick that they were interested in the new fish. Bellick watched in silent understanding as the leader nodded his head upwards and looked across to the opposite side of the cellblock towards the middle-tier level.

Brad needed no verbal agreement with the Purity leader. The exchange of money for the possession of a new pretty prisoner was a common occurrence, and Bellick simply made a few changes to the cell assignments pleased that his little sale went so quickly, “Alright, you four follow me. The rest of you wait here.” Bellick escorted the four inmates towards the middle-tier, up a flight of metal stairs, and down the catwalk opposite the Purity leader’s cell giving him a good eyeful of his new merchandise, “Open up thirty-five, thirty-eight, forty, and forty-one.” Bellick watched as the bars on the four cells slid open and began walking the prisoners to their cells stopping in front of thirty-five. Bellick gave the acne scarred brunette prisoner a hard stare and smirked, “Ramsey, you got lucky. Old Diamondback here is a real sweetheart. Just watch out because he likes to spit on guys.”

Michael knew that Bellick was pulling out all of the stops trying to intimidate the new prisoners and he found it quite amusing. He couldn’t wait to see what tactics the guard would use on him when introducing him to his new cellmate.

Bellick went down three cells and introduced the tall thin Mexican Rodriguez to his new cellie, “Rodriguez, you get the soft-spoken geriatric O’Conner for your cellmate. I warn you that he occasionally wets the cot at night, and as you can see, he likes the top bunk.”

Michael hoped that Bellick was lying for the Latino’s sake. Who the hell wanted to be woken up in the middle of the night with a face full of piss?

Bellick confidently walked to forty and looked at the muscular and formidable blonde prisoner, “Hogan, this here is Sucre. Nothing wrong with him as long as you can ignore that he’s a spic from San Juan.”

Michael took note of the Puerto Rican who held his tongue and didn’t respond to Bellick’s insult. Michael hoped that he could learn such control over the next month.

Bellick took a few more steps and stopped in front of cell forty-one and smiled wickedly at the new prisoner who had made him enough money to finally buy the large screen television he had been wanting, “Scofield, this here is Ripper.” Bellick watched as the tall bulky Purity member jumped off the top bunk to greet his new cellie, “I’m sure he’ll have fun teaching you why he’s called that particular name.”

Ripper didn’t make room for Michael when he stepped inside the tiny cell, and Scofield was forced to squeeze past the hulk of a man so he could unpack his crate, “Excuse me.”

Ripper smiled in amusement as the fragile looking man maneuvered past him towards the sink, “Boss, I sure do appreciate the early Christmas gift.”

Bellick could practically see Scofield trembling in fear, “It’s my pleasure Rip.”

Michael swallowed in dread at Bellick’s statement wondering if the guard had set him up, “When will I get to go to the infirmary Boss?”

“When I decide its time Scofield,” Bellick hotly answered. The more Scofield talked the more Bellick wanted to see the pretty new fish turned out by the Purity gang and was more than happy to play a part in the younger man’s prison initiation. “I realize that you’re probably used to having everything given to you in the real world, but in my world, you get nothing unless I say its okay.”

Michael smartly kept his mouth shut as Bellick turned to leave and he watched as the bars slid into place locking him inside with a man who easily out-weighed him by fifty pounds. Michael looked around the cramped cell spotting a few inches near the sink where he could place his toiletries and other necessities and silently placed his plastic crate on the concrete floor. He bent over, opened the container, and began grabbing the miniature soap, mouth wash, and powder hoping that his cellie wouldn’t give him a hard time about moving in on his territory.

For his part, Ripper simply watched as Michael unpacked his gear and stowed it away. He took in the lean body and imagined what the boy would feel like on his rough hands and licked his lips, “What you in for fish?”

Michael placed the final item on the counter and turned to face his bunkmate thinking about the crime he had been forced to commit so he could get locked up in Fox River with Lincoln, “Armed bank robbery.”

Ripper arched a brow in surprise, “Really? You don’t exactly look like the type to go around wielding a gun.”

“Looks can be deceiving I guess,” Michael responded pushing his plastic crate underneath the bottom bunk. “I mean, you don’t exactly look like the type who would know what the word wielding means, and yet; here you are using it in a sentence.”

Ripper took a step closer to Michael, “You got a smart mouth on you boy and believe me when I say that it would be to your benefit to learn how to control it.”

Michael had to look up slightly to make eye contact with his cellie noting the man’s goatee and thick neck. “So why they call you Ripper?”

Ripper placed his large imposing hand on Michael’s shoulder, “You’ll be finding out soon enough but first I want to show you off to my friend T.”

“Who’s T?” Michael asked feeling the weight on his shoulder wishing that the man with a tattoo of a small swastika on his neck would back up.

“T is in charge of our gang,” Ripper began.

“Our gang,” Michael interrupted.

Ripper squeezed Michael’s shoulder harder, “Yes, or gang. You’re my cellie so that makes you part of the family.”

Michael nervously grinded his teeth together for a few moments before responding, “And the name of this family would be?”

“Purity,” Ripper replied removing his hand from the fish’s shoulder. “We will protect you from the blacks and the Hispanics and all you have to do is sit there and look pretty.”

“And why would I need protection from the other inmates?” Michael naively asked trying to ignore Ripper’s derogatory comment.

“Go out into the yard alone this afternoon and you’ll find out why,” Ripper warned smiling down at Michael.

Michael had been hoping for a cellie who could help keep watch and help in the escape, but Bellick had up and changed his plans and he hadn’t even been in Fox River for an hour. Michael had expected his plan to be changed by other people’s actions, but he hadn’t expected to be put in a cell with a man named Ripper who was trying to initiate him into a white supremacy group rather than introducing him to the key players he would need to hook up with if he wanted his escape plan to work.

When Ripper got no response from the suddenly quiet con he continued, “Like I said, you better stay close to me if you want to survive. Someone like you won’t make it two days without protection, and T-Bag and I will be more than happy to take you under our wings.”

Michael couldn’t help but to smirk at the absurd nickname, “T-Bag, are you kidding me?”

Rip placed his index finger on Michael’s chest and pressed him towards the cot, “I think its best that you sit your ass down and close your mouth fish before you say something else that disrespects my friend.”

Michael reluctantly sat down on the bottom bunk and closed his mouth while Ripper stood with his crotch facing towards Michael. He couldn’t believe his bad luck with cell assignments. Somehow, he didn’t see Ripper being the type to take no for an answer, and he wouldn’t have time to dig any holes or implement his escape plan if he was too busy fending off sexual advances.

Ripper suggestively pumped his hips back and forth trying to intimidate Scofield, “That’s more like it fish. It’s best that you stay like that until I tell you to talk.” Rip could sense that the boy would be resistant to his dominance, and he wanted nothing more than to shove his fat cock down the pretty boy’s throat and choke him on his milky cum, but Rip knew that T-Bag had arranged for Scofield’s cell assignment, and he knew better than to touch anything that was T’Bag’s property without permission.

Michael turned his head to the side looking out across the cellblock trying to ignore his cellmate’s lewd gesture. He knew that he had to stay focus on the plan and not let the Purity or anyone else get in the way. He had a time schedule to adhere to and the idea of being derailed by sexual assault had honestly never entered his mind when planning the escape. He had expected conflicts, heated bargaining, and deceit, but for some reason, he had never thought about the realistic chance that he would be targeted by other inmates as a possible girlfriend. He hoped that his naivety about prison life would not cost him the plan and cost Lincoln his life.

Suddenly, Michael heard a man moaning in pain and the other inmates seemed to get riled up over something on the main floor. Ripper stepped back from the cot allowing Michael to stand up and look out the bars. He saw a black male lying on the ground bleeding from the stomach while the guards tried to help him to the infirmary. It was obvious that another prisoner had stabbed the other inmate with a shank in the gut. Michael had never experienced unsolicited violence in his life and he couldn’t understand what would motivate another man to kill another human being for no apparent reason.

“Welcome to Prisoneyland fish,” the inmate in cell forty said to his new cellie.

Michael overheard the comment coming from the other cell liking the sound of the Puerto Rican’s voice. Michael wasn’t sure but he had a sneaky feeling that Sucre was originally meant to be his cellmate, but Bellick had obviously struck up some deal with the Purity and instead he found himself caged up with a man named Ripper; a name alone that caused Michael to shiver in dread at the visions his mind concocted.

“What you thinking about fish?” Rip asked amused at the boy’s obvious discomfort.

“Just wondering if you snore,” Michael lied trying to sound aloof.

Ripper stepped up close to Michael who was leaning against the bars. He placed his chest on Michael’s back and leaned inwards placing his mouth up close to Michael’s ear, “No…, but I have been known to jerk off and shoot my load on my cellmates’ faces.” Rip smiled when the boy tried to buck him off, “Settle down fish.”

“Get off me,” Michael demanded between clenched teeth.

Rip licked Michael’s earlobe, “Sure thing baby.” Ripper stepped back pleased with his progress thus far, “There will be plenty of time for loving once we get the meet and greet out of the way.” Rip jumped up onto his top bunk and placed his legs over the edge, “T is going to love you.”

Michael continued staring out across the cellblock refusing to look back at the other inmate. He had only been at Fox River for an hour but was already filled with doubt. He thought of all the sacrifices he had made to get his brother out of prison; the tattoo which would forever cover his body, the tarnished record, the loss of his job and loft, the loss of his expensive clothes and car, and the loss of respect in the engineering field. He knew that his sacrifices would ultimately be worth the cost of his brother’s life, but he sure as hell hoped that he didn’t have to add forced sodomy to the list of sacrifices.


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