Marvel's FBI?

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Fox River.

Literally translated: Fox River.

Located in Joliet, Illinois, this prison had been operational since the last century.

The local government sold it off for an eye-watering price to a wholly-owned private enterprise.

Just like that, the facility transitioned from a public to a private prison, but the original inmates continued serving their sentences right there.

Now, as everyone knows hospitals and schools tend to function "better" when they're privatized.

So naturally, prisons follow the same magical logic.

After all, look at Arkham Asylum and Belle Reve.

The former? Gotham's elite talent incubator.

The latter? Amanda Waller's recruitment center for the Suicide Squad.

It's like private prisons have to stir up trouble just to justify their existence.

Fox River was no exception. It had already booted four FBI agents straight back out—empty-handed and memory-wiped.

Dante had re-interviewed them himself. And the accounts were terrifyingly consistent: the moment they stepped through Fox River's gates… was also the moment they were somehow outside again.

That sense of space-time dislocation still had them too rattled for fieldwork.

Now Dante stood outside, eyeing the Victorian-style structure. Aside from the usual decrepitude of old architecture, there wasn't anything obviously wrong.

But he didn't have much time to gawk.

Moments later, Dante—dressed in a prison jumpsuit—was led into Fox River under guard escort.

He glanced back at the slowly closing gate and gave a subtle nod.

No weird distortions. No reality-warping feelings.

So it probably wasn't one of those kinds of anomalies.

The hallway was dusty, the floors worn.

To his left, just past two sets of towering steel fences, was the inmates' exercise yard.

And with his vision?

Yeah, he locked onto two familiar faces almost immediately.

Wentworth Miller.

Dominic Purcell.

Correction: Michael Scofield and Lincoln Burrows—the prison break duo themselves.

"Damn. Miller's face really is way too good-looking."

Dante muttered to himself.

He figured once he got inside, he'd try to get close to the leads. Something definitely wasn't right here...

Because this universe?

This universe was sick.

Whoever created it? Probably needed therapy.

After clearing the corridor, Dante arrived at the registration gate outside the cell block.

"Prisoner name."

"Dante Alighieri."

"What crime did you commit?"

"Isn't that already in the file?"

"Hmph! You're a prisoner! You answer when I ask! What crime did you commit!"

"I shot a green-haired clown with white face paint—right between the eyebrows—and stole his female subordinate," Dante replied casually, counting on his fingers. "Oh, and I later crushed the skull of some sunglasses-wearing wannabe philosopher."

As he recounted his highlight reel, Dante inwardly cursed Ingrid.

She totally sabotaged his profile out of spite. She was probably still salty from that morning argument.

The woman was vindictive.

Still, for him, identity fabrication wasn't exactly difficult—mostly because everything in the file was technically true.

He had killed those people. The information was real. And if it came from the FBI's records, the U.S. government would treat it as gospel.

The prison clerk stiffened, then sat up straighter.

"This one's a serious case. Shouldn't he be in… wait, what? Only five years? General Population, Block A, Cell 40?"

He gave Dante a few extra glances.

Two murders and the guy only gets five years? Doesn't even get transferred to max security?

How much did this dude's family bribe the prison execs?

Still, he kept his expression poker-flat.

"Alright, you're inmate number 114514. Starting today, you'll serve your sentence here in Fox River Prison."

"Good behavior may reduce your sentence, in accordance with federal law."

With that, the cell block door opened, and Dante stepped into the real mission zone.

The inmates were currently outside for rec time, so the interior cells were empty as he passed through.

Honestly? The general population cells here were pretty decent.

Other than that, no paranormal signs yet.

"You've arrived. Cell 40. Get in."

As the guard opened the door, he gave Dante a shove.

Bit aggressive.

Which only made what happened next that much funnier.

The guard stumbled and landed on his ass.

Meanwhile, Dante just stepped in like nothing happened and calmly closed the door behind him.

The guard blinked up at the closed bars, dazed.

Inside the cell were two beds.

Dante picked the one that hadn't been used yet and sat down, taking in the layout.

Truthfully? He'd lived two full lives and had never even gotten a parking ticket—let alone been tossed in jail.

"Hmph. There are three roll calls a day—morning, noon, and evening. Exact times get announced by broadcast. Typically 6 AM, 12 PM, and 7 PM," the guard grunted as he stood up, clearly winded by his own weight. "Meals come after roll call. Work shifts start at 7 AM and 2 PM. Everyone back in their cells by 9 PM."

"Lights out at 10. After that, any disturbances get ignored."

Dante leaned against the bars and raised an eyebrow.

"So what you're saying is… weird stuff happens after 10 PM?"

"Cough, cough—I didn't say that."

The guard realized too late he'd said too much. He adjusted his cap like it could erase the slip, and walked off, baton in hand.

But from his reaction, it was clear—something was going on.

Dante couldn't help but feel a little worried for the brothers and their prison break plan.

Could they actually make it out in one piece?

After confirming the guard was out of earshot, Dante casually reached up and tapped his ear.

Hidden deep in his canal was a nearly invisible comm device from the FBI.

"Yo. Ingrid. Skye. I'm in."

"Ingrid here. Received."

"Skye online… so, how's that fake charge look?"

The smugness in Skye's voice made Dante's eyebrow twitch.

Ah. It was you. You little menace.

"Anyway, I'm in Cell 40." Dante walked over to the single table in the cell, flipped open one of the books, and scanned the notes scribbled inside.

"Confirmed. This is Michael Scofield's cell."

He wasn't here for the scenery.

Preliminary investigation had shown that supernatural activity in Fox River didn't start until after Michael and Lincoln arrived.

So Dante wasn't interested in them just because they were the leads of Prison Break.

They were also the most suspicious leads in the actual case file.

Back at HQ, Skye started hammering away at her keyboard.

After a few moments, she sounded perplexed.

"Dante, these two brothers… there's definitely something off."

"How so?"

"Michael Scofield and Lincoln Burrows—yeah, they exist in the federal database. Files look totally normal, nothing's been tampered with…"

"But?"

"But they've got zero digital footprint. Nothing. No online history. No personal records outside official ones."

"That's strange? What if they just don't use the internet?"

Dante scratched his head.

You want virology breakdowns? Biological theory? He was your guy. He'd inherited Spencer's whole suite of biochemical knowledge.

But the internet?

Eh.

"Not possible!" Skye snapped. "In this era, unless they live in a cave in the Himalayas, people always leave digital footprints."

"If those traces are gone, it's either a deliberate wipe for smuggling purposes—or someone's preparing to vanish and live under an alias."

Her tone was dead serious.

And kinda proud.

Which made sense. This was her turf. Back when she was with Rising Tide, she used to do this exact kind of data scrubbing.

Certified pro.

"I hear pride in your analysis. What's going on here…" Dante said, leaning back against the table. "So what's your read on the brothers?"

"Replacement. Identity replacement," Ingrid cut in. "Even though supernatural rumors only started after the brothers got here, I ran the full intel sweep on local reports."

"And?"

"A year ago, there were scattered reports of 'divine revelation and a divine vessel descending from the sky' at Fox River."

"And right after that…" Skye picked up, "Rogues Group bought the prison from the Illinois government."

Dante's eyes narrowed.

That timing was way too perfect.

But the part that really caught his attention?

The "divine vessel from the sky."

In most universes, a law enforcement agency following up on something like that would be laughed out of the room.

Here?

That was probably the most legit lead they had.

The mission brief itself had mentioned something about "traces of God" in the prison's deepest levels.

If anything, the divine vessel theory might be the core of the whole anomaly.

"I guess I'm gonna need to explore all of Fox River tonight."

"I've already hacked into their full surveillance system," Skye said. "I can take over any time—but the feed only covers up to max security. The death row block has no surveillance… Wait! Yard time just ended!"

"Alright. Cutting comms for now."

Dante shut off the mic, then casually picked the book back up.

Three pages in, he felt someone stop outside his cell.

"…Who are you?"

"I'm your new roommate. Dante Alighieri. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Michael Scofield."

Dante closed the book and nodded.

"The Interpretation of Dreams really is a good read."

"I didn't expect a structural engineer to be this into psychology texts."

(To be continued.)

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