Lucas' gaze stayed on the guard. The boy's lips twitched ever so slightly, eyes lighting up mischievously.

What better way to cause a bang than to make the one who shouldn't lose his cool attract the move?

He was aware of Jay peering at him only to follow the line of his gaze. Lucas didn't hide his target from him. In fact, he kept the guard in his sight for a moment longer.

Now, for a plan. He swept over the area, searching for anything that would assist him. The soap in the side of his shoe would only work if he found another component to go with it.

"Line up!" Several guards called, batons scraping against the fence as they got the attention of the prisoners.

Lucas couldn't help but smile inwardly at his continuous luck. The reason for his glee was the crate of water bottles the guards carried between them.

The rare act of giving the prisoners refreshments most likely didn't steam from the guards themselves but from the real heads of prison.

Lucas watched the high-profile men in the area send their lackeys to go pick up bottles. A line grew, and though dirty looks were exchanged between rivals, no one dared to make a move under the guards' careful observation.

"The same number of bottles handed out better be returned," a guard announced as he tapped his baton on his shoulder. His lips curled as he watched the prisoners take bottles. "Otherwise, you'll all be suffering the consequences."

Lucas headed for the line. Jay tried to grab his arm to stop him, but the boy dodged, not wavering from his goal. He was shot several looks from all around, including several warning ones. As he didn't belong to a group, him brazenly going for the refreshment was not a good idea.

Squeezing into line, Lucas ignored the way he was purposely jostled around to try discouraging him from being there. He stuck his chin out, letting a haughty look creep into his eyes. Jay watched from a safe distance.

The bottle supply dwindled rapidly, but Lucas' luck continued. He got one of the last five. Taking it, he stumbled from the line, a hefty push causing him to do so.

Lucas used the momentum to put on a great show of sprawling. He sent a glare back at the offender, muttering profanity. An ice-cold gaze met his own.

While the two exchanged the looks, Lucas' hands worked swiftly. In a smooth motion, he'd loosened the bottle cap, reached into the side of his shoe, and pulled forth the soap. It was crushed in his palm, slipped into the bottle and the cap was screwed closed, all in the moments he got back to his feet.

Tearing his eyes from the man who'd sent him to the ground, the ECHO operative limped back toward Jay. His unbalanced movement caused the bottle in his hand to shake more than usual, helping the soap to begin the process of dissolving.

When he reached Jay, Lucas shot a glance at the bottle. It had already begun to take on a somewhat murky appearance.

As a hand came into his vision, Lucas moved the bottle from reach. He looked up to find Jay scowling. The man made another attempt to snatch the bottle. Lucas dodged again, exaggerating the motion to give the bottle some good shakes.

"Share," Jay demanded.

"No," Lucas replied stubbornly. He dodged again, feeling pleased at the movement which aided his plan. At the same time, his eyes scanned the area, picking out his targets. A guard stood not far from the group of basketball players, baton handing from his hips as he watched the ongoing game with a blank expression.

A prisoner was carrying the last three bottles to the group, leaving behind a line of protesting prisoners.

Lucas moved without hesitation. To anyone watching, it looked like he'd simply had enough of Jay trying to steal his water and so was running away. However, Lucas had a very specific goal.

As hoped, Jay followed behind, whining the entire time.

Lucas picked up his pace, the addict followed his lead.

When the gap to the man carrying the bottles closed, Lucas chose the moment to look behind him.

"Stop following!" he told Jay.

Not even a moment later he collided with someone.

Water bottles flew, and curses erupted.

"Look where you're going!" the burly prisoner growled as he rushed to pick up the bottles.

"Not my fault," Lucas muttered in reply as he snatched a bottle and left his own behind.

Anger could be amazing when it clouded judgment. Thus, the man who picked up the bottles didn't even notice the difference in color of one of the bottles. As soon as he had his bottles, he hurried back to the group of ballplayers who'd stopped to glare at daggers at Lucas.

"You're so dead," Jay whispered as he shivered.

Lucas simply responded by handing him the bottle.

"Drink," he commanded, making sure to stay not too far from the players.

Jay grabbed the bottle, as though scared that the young man would change his mind any moment. Lucas didn't even give him a glance.

Water bottles were delivered to the group playing ball and the game resumed. No one drank a drop – Lucas was patient.

He grabbed his bottle back from Jay before the man could finish the contents. Screwing the cap back on, he smacked the other man over the head as punishment for getting too greedy.

Jay rubbed the spot while complaining loudly.

The two stayed in the area, watching the game while looking like they were trying to stay out of the claimed territories by different gangs. They were a pitiful pair. One shivered nonstop as he clung to the arm of the other. Lucas looked as though he was trying to keep on a brave face while avoiding the dirty looks from all around.

Unfortunately, he caught the attention of a certain someone.

He noticed the man who'd catcalled him before swaggering over way before he showed it.

Jay detached himself from Lucas' arm immediately.

"Hello there, honey."

An arm snaked around his shoulder and warm air was blown way too close to his neck.

Though three different ways to kill the offender flashed through the young operative's mind, he simply responded by trying to shrug out from the grip. He was unsuccessful.

"How's prison life treating you?" the man continued to breathe way to close. His buddies watched from the distance, grinning and joking amongst themselves. Cigarettes stealthily passed between them as bets were placed.

"It's fine," Lucas muttered, making sure to let his voice quiver somewhat to make it appear as if his confident mask was slipping. At the same time, his noted the players taking a break. They went straight for the bottles their buddy handed them.

"Well," the voice whispered into the young boy's ear. "I could make it even better." A finger traced down Lucas' cheek. Jay licked his cracked lips, as though debating on if he should step in.

"No thank you," Lucas replied politely.

A muscular man unscrewed the altered water bottle.

"Oh, come on honey."

The bottle lifted.

"Don't be like that," Lucas barely paid the words any attention.

Pft.

Soapy water sprayed into the face of another prisoner.

The man who'd take a gulp bellowed curses before breaking into coughing fits.

The man who'd had the water sprayed at him joined in spewing colorful language while furiously rubbing at his eyes. The cursing turned to yells of "it burns!"

The guard who stood nearby straightened and the man beside Lucas also paused to turn his attention in the direction.

The bottle dropped to the ground as the coughing man grabbed the one who'd delivered the drinks.

"What's the meaning of this?" he demanded with a red face.

The poor prisoner stuttered as he tried to figure out what he'd done to cause offense. The fellow with burning eyes stumbled around, shoving off another who'd come to check what was up.

The guard continued to watch, but he made no move.

Guess he needs more encouragement.

Lucas took advantage of the attention that was turned to the unfolding. With almost no eyes on him, he ducked out from the unwanted hand. With a shove, he sent the unsuspecting man stumbling toward the group.

The flirtatious prisoner tried to stop himself. Unfortunately, he landed right the arms of the one who'd taken a gulp of soapy water. With the worst possible timing to run into him, the man tried to apologize, but it was too late.

A fist flew. At once, prisoners all around headed over, some to observe and others to join sides. The flirtatious man's group rushed to his defense while the basketballers easily stood up to them. The man with burning eyes bellowed in rage and swung fists at anyone within his vicinity, even hitting his own comrades.

Lazily, the guard began to make his way over. This was Luas' signal.

Leaving a gaping Jay behind, the young agent threw himself into the chaos. He dodged blows, blocking a few before he found what he was looking for. In a smooth motion, he picked up the discarded bottle. He was pleased to see some liquid remained inside.

Pressing his palm on top to stop the rest from spilling, he made his way through the crowd and toward the guard. He approached the man from his blind spot. The unsuspecting guard twirled his baton, in no hurry to break the scuffle up quite yet. His backup took their own sweet time, content to let the prisoners beat the snot out of each other.

Let's change that.

Lucas used another prisoner's body as cover. He removed his palm and swung the bottle. The liquid flew true and straight. With a splash, it landed right on the officer's face.

The guard blinked, hand going to wipe it away. As a searing pain took over he let out a yell. Clutching his face, he stumbled back. The unknown of what burning substance had been tossed in his face was more terrifying than the pain itself.

Though they had been satisfied with watching before, having one of their own attacked changed everything for the prison guards. They lurched forward as one, threats sounding as several pulled their 'injured' companion to safety.

Whistles sounded, and the prisoners not involved were quickly separated while the fighting group were pulled apart and hit with batons. Snipers turned in the direction, keeping men in their scopes as they waited for orders. Dogs growled and barked, spit flying as they bashed against the fences and pulled on their leashes. The guards holding them didn't discourage the behavior.

Crack.

Lucas felt the throbbing pain from the baton that smashed against his back. The boy threw himself to the ground and covered his head, as though a cowering prisoner whose fighting spirit had left him.

It was the most effective way to go from the offender to victim. Guards passed over him, going for the men whose fists were still flying. Leaving all evidence behind, Lucas crawled army style from the mess.

He broke free, stood, dusted himself off, and went to join Jay.

The addict was pressed into a corner, watching the whole scene with wide eyes. When Lucas reaching him, the man opened and closed his mouth several times.

"Y-you," he finally stuttered.

Lucas' lips curled into a smile, eyes glittering. "Fun, isn't it?"

He was conscious of the other prisoners near him that had their ears open.

"What a bunch of sheep." Lucas kept his tone loud enough for the prisoners to hear but the guards to not. "All they need is a shepherd and they're so obedient." He pointed a finger, pushing his thumb down as though shooting. "Bang." His hand raised, and he blew the finger. "Too easy."

Though ears heard, no mouths opened to say a word. If anyone had anything to say against him, they didn't dare voice it with the guards on such high alert and gun barrels pointed all around the area. But one thing was clear, those that heard knew who was to blame for the chaos.

Lucas leaned his weight on one foot, watching as the guards finally succeeded in tearing the men apart. Dozens of trampled water bottles helped hide the one that was the culprit.

And now, Lucas felt quite relaxed, I wait.

For the second time that day, prisoners were lead to confinement, the true offender not among them.

All men returned to their cells, the guards stripping them of the rest of their break time.

Back in the safety of his jail cell, Lucas simply went to his bed and lay down. He closed his eyes, not showing any reaction when the others came back. He stayed silent most of the day, looking as though lost in his own thoughts all throughout dinner. However, he took note of the whispers and glances sent his way.

The murderous looks had increased tenfold as the followers of those who'd been locked up learned of the true culprit through the grapevine. They wouldn't let it slip to the guards, not if they wanted to punish the boy themselves.

Eating the lumpy soup served, Lucas was far from worried. If news spread this fast, he was sure he would be summoned soon. His cellmates didn't seem aware of the situation surrounding their newest companion. They ate and chatted as usual.

And so, the day passed by without further incident.

Prisoners returned to their cells, roll call was taken, and the lights dimmed.

Lucas lay on his bunk. Though his eyes were closed and his breathing steady, he didn't drift off for two reasons. First, he wasn't in the mood to face the nightmares quite yet, and second, unless he had severely miscalculated, a move was about to be made.

Thus, when the cell opened, and footsteps padded toward his bunk, Lucas was well aware. The boy didn't move, letting his ears capture and calculate the distance of each step.

Three people, his sharp senses picked up. One on the heavier size. Three meters and counting.

"Wh–" Harvey's protest cut off before it could even be fully voiced. The way his voice trailed told a story of him not being forced silent, rather choosing to do so. This could only mean one thing. The people who had entered the cell not only had enough power to move around, but also authority over other prisoners.

Finally. A spark of triumph flashed through Lucas.

When the hand pressed mover his mouth and a cloth covered his eyes, he put up the right amount of groggy struggle a sleeping victim would.

Something that smelt suspiciously like a sock was stuffed into his mouth. It tasted even worse than it smelled.

He felt the blow coming and did nothing to defend himself.

Crack.

It was so strong his blindfolded eyes saw stars.

With a throbbing head, Lucas felt himself get dragged from the bed. His attackers weren't about to let him walk on his own, moving briskly as though on a time crunch. Somehow, the people holding Lucas between them seemed a bit directionally challenged. Thus, his feet painfully whacked against something.

Clang.

"Keep it down," a voice hissed.

A click sounded as the cell door closed behind them.

At first, Lucas's feet dragged on the ground, but then he was lifted so they didn't cause a soft rattle on the gridded flooring of the upper floor.

Though his head swam, he kept track of every turn while counting the seconds in his mind. The entire time, the route they took began to take a visual form in his mind. If he had to escape at any point, the operative would find his way back to his cell as easily as if he wasn't blindfolded.

Even at a fast pace, it took them a good five minutes to reach their target.

When they finally arrived, Lucas heard the grating of a heavy door being pushed. A few moments later he was shoved forward and forced to his knees.

The blindfold was torn from his eyes.

Lucas squinted his eyes at the sudden light, spitting out the sock. The hands on him disappeared, but he felt the presence of the people stay.

Coughing from the disgusting taste left in his mouth, Lucas let his eyes widen to show fear mixed wi a spark of defiance. He looked around wildly.

They were in what was the prison greenhouse. Before him, a man was seated on a comfortable couch which had been dragged between a row of growing tomatoes and carrots.

Small, greying hair and a short beard, the man looked more like a nice old grandfather than a convicted felon. Unlike the other prisoners, no tattoo was visible to boast of his status. His shrewd eyes shone with an intelligence that was rare behind the bars of a place such as this. And while anyone would brush this man off as a poor prisoner who would be picked on, one thing everyone had learned in this jail was that looks were very much deceiving.

The old man's eyes were currently focused on Lucas with such an intensity that would any average person shrink in fear.

"I heard you've been causing an uproar in my kingdom," the man spoke, his voice surprisingly soft.

Lucas' licked his lips. Eyes darting to the burly men that stood near the old man.

"I was just playing," he spoke, letting his voice shake somewhat.

The man raised his eyebrows. "Are people so bored they have to play games now?" he asked.

A man behind him grunted.

"If you need something to do, I can very much have something arranged to keep you busy."

Lucas knew the words weren't friendly, nor did they refer to anything that would keep him from being bored. No. He was being given a clear warning.

"I-I needed to get someone's attention," Lucas stuttered, eyes flittering to the men standing guard.

"Oh?" The grandfather leaned forward. "And whose attention exactly, were you seeking?"

Lucas sat back on his hunches, eyes focusing solely on the man. He let all traces of his mask slip away as he turned on a cold atmosphere equal to the man's own.

"Yours."

The moment the word left his mouth the prisoners all around made a move.

The old man's hand lifted stopped them in their tracks. He got to his feet, intrigue flashing through his eyes.

"Well, you have it." He walked closer, eyes narrowing. "Why do you need it?"

Lucas relaxed, not showing a single ounce of fear. "I have a message."

The old man motioned for him to go on.

Lucas' eyes flittered over the men in the room.

"They're trustworthy," his target told him.

If that's what was said, Lucas would choose to believe it. He opened his mouth, "I'm here to get you out."

Silence.

"Get me out?" The old man began to laugh. "You?"

The other prisoners joined in.

Lucas didn't budge.

Wiping a non-existent tear, the old man leaned closer. "Just how old are you?" he teased. "Because you look quite green behind your ears."

Lucas cocked his head, one side of his lip twitching into a smile. "And you look quite old to still successfully running the biggest drug business from behind bars. Careful, or someone younger might take it from you."

The laughter stopped.

The old man's hand shot out, grabbing a firm hold of Lucas' throat. The grip was a lot stronger than one would think such an old man capable of.

"You better watch your mouth, boy," the man growled.

Lucas calmly stared him straight in the eye, barely showing any concern for his windpipe that was slowly being crushed.

Seeming to see something in his eyes, the old man let go. "You're here to get me out?" he asked, scorn in his voice. He turned, calmly walking away. He lifted a hand and made a motion. "Prove it."

All around, men stepped forward.

Lucas hid the sigh. "Clean or messy?" he asked politely.

The old man turned his head, eyebrows raised.

"Do you have a preference?" Lucas asked.

He simply received a smile before he felt the movement behind. Lucas did two things at once. He rolled on his back and kicked out, catching the would-be attacker right in the stomach.

As the sound of air rushing from lungs sounded, Lucas had already twisted his legs and used the momentum to jump to his feet. He dodged the knife aimer for his head, smoothly capturing the arm and twisting it in his own grasp. He applied pressure.

Crack.

A yell of pain filled the air.

The young man already turned to face the metal pipe swinging for him. He caught it, twisted, and wrenched it free.

"I'll do you a favor and do clean." He blocked the next weapon with the pipe, twisting to avoid another knife and sending the man stumbling. "That way, you'll have less explaining to do when morning comes." The pipe was thrown at the next man. As predicted, the man dodged it. Lucas was by him before he even had time to recover.

Another body fell, the man not yet aware of the broken limb as it happened so fast.

A knife swished by Lucas' neck all too close.

He whirled, smacking his hand against the man's throat. While he gasped for air, Lucas grabbed the knife.

He tapped it to his temple. "The neck will cause too much bleeding," he lectured. "As we want to keep the area clean," he traced the knife over his heart, "you should aim somewhere else." He turned, throwing the knife through the air. It caught the next attacker right in the shoulder.

The man crashed to his knees, hand reaching for the knife lodged deep.

"Ah ah ah." Lucas caught the hand. "If it hit an artery you'd bleed to death," he explained.

The man stared at him in fear.

"I'd let an expert remove it." Lucas' lips stretched. In a smooth motion, he grasped the handle and pulled the blade free.

The man screamed. His mouth was shut when Lucas knocked him out with a round kick. He neatly whipped the blade on some lettuce leaves, stood, and walked toward the watching old man.

A muscular man stepped into his path.

"Dominix," the old man warned.

Lucas' path cleared. He walked to the old man, spun the knife, and offered it hilt first.

"Clean?" The man sent a glance at the convict who'd been stabbed.

"He won't bleed too much," Lucas answered the unspoken question. "I aimed."

With a slight nod, the old man made a motion.

The muscular guy hurriedly stepped in and took the knife.

"Hello, Sylar," Lucas spoke. "Like I said. I'm here to get you out."

The man motioned again and the men all around helped each other up. He injured were lead away while those with bruised egos grudgingly followed. Even the muscular man was sent from the room.

Once it was just Sylar and Lucas, the old man gave him his full attention.

"Who sent you?"

Lucas shrugged. He walked to the patch of tomatoes and plucked a ripe one. "I get the money, I do the job." He popped the tomato in, savoring the sweet taste for a moment. "Whoever it is, they want you out."

Sylar seemed to consider this. "You have a plan?"

Lucas was sure this wasn't the time to reveal his love for improvising. "Yes," he replied as he leaned all his weight on one foot.

"When?"

Lucas eyed his target. He didn't want to stay longer than necessary. Ideally, he would set the escape for the next day, get out, and get this job done. However, he also wanted to dig for his own information.

If anyone knows anything, wouldn't Sylar? The thought flashed through his mind. The old man did, after all, run a crime ring which was well informed of the underworld.

He considered his options.

Options:

a) Plan the escape for the next day but tell Sylar he'll only help him out if he gives him information on Null in exchange. Risk him exposing this to ECHO after their escape.

b) Set the escape closer to his deadline, use the extra time to dig around among other prisoners. What they tell him in prison is most likely not going to get out, unless ECHO has other operatives planted.