A week later, at the Safehouse in Germany

Michael sat idle, staring at the point where the workbench touched the wall. His Glock 20 sat next to his hands, which lay over each other. Though he drew slow breaths as he sat, his body didn’t move the way a living breathing person would. He sat still with not a blink or a hint of any life shown.

Lani moved around the kitchen, quietly making various foods. As she steamed some pork potstickers and scrambled a mixture of eggs, a rice cooker proceeded to heat up rice as it vented the evaporated water inside. She stirred the eggs and ramen noodles together as she waited for the pork in the oven to finish.

William sat on his bed, reading articles that had been published about Enhanced Individuals of Power, as written from the perspective of the public who were only recently discovering their existence.

John continued to scrub away at his clean service pistol. He hadn’t had anything to fire it at for a while, but he was insistent on cleaning it every few days to keep himself occupied. He also did it to distract himself from thinking about her.

After some time had gone by, Lani had finished setting the table and placed finishing touches on the meal that had been made. She set the food in the middle of the table and went to let the others know that the food was ready. Once John and William were made aware, they both went to the table and sat down to begin eating. Michael, on the other hand, didn’t move. He sat still while the others went to the table. Lani sat beside him and looked at him calmly.

“Hey,” she said softly, “food?” After a moment of waiting, she watched Michael slowly turn to her.

“Yeah,” he said calmly, “Can’t break from acting like a person, right?”

“You’re still a person,” Lani interjected, “You never stopped being a person, you got medical treatment and got uninjured.”

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“I know,” he muttered quietly, “I just don’t like being told by people who don’t do what I do, how to do what I do.”

During that moment, John walked by the doorway with a phone in his hand. “We get to go back to the states,” he said softly, “Apparently you have to go talk someone down from some shit.”

Michael turned his head and looked at John with a blank face. Though he showed no real emotion, he was genuinely confused. He was never flown across an ocean to talk to someone. Any time he was called to go somewhere, it was to kill them. With that in mind, he felt it was only right to ask; “is ‘talk down,’ a new age word for shooting someone in the face?”

John shook his head. “Fyre just stabbed her way out of the psych ward,” John said as he rolled his eyes, “screaming something about seeing what people want.”

Lani became noticeably irritated. She did not want to deal with this person, and she especially didn’t feel like helping her. “I’m really hoping that shooting her in the face happens,” she said with a low growl, “She’s unnatural and-”

“Stop that shit,” Michael said interrupting Lani, “she doesn’t have the ability to portal me into hell anymore, and if she has to be terminated then it’s only right that I do it.” He saw Lani about to say something else and grabbed her hand. “You of all people should know better.”

Lani couldn’t think of what to say. Though she hated the girl that had overpowered her and took Michael from him, or maybe worse that she felt she didn’t understand enough about what happened on the other end. But more importantly, she wasn’t so used to Michael disapproving of something like this. Though it bothered her greatly, she had no choice deep down but to accept Michael’s guidance on this.

“Lani,” Michael said as he watched Lani seem to zone out, “Let’s bring the food to go and see about getting where we’re needed.” Lani nodded before walking quickly to the kitchen and grabbing the bento containers and dividing the food between them. While she worked on that, Michael stood up and grabbed his travel bag. It held a M4 with a ten inch barrel and a holographic sight. With it was his 1911, his full powered fuck you. He kept it in the case and grabbed the Glock 20 from his table, shoving it into the holster that sat in his waist. Double checking that he had his magazines still on his belt, that his knives were still in place, and that he had his identification to get him through the airport.

We’re back to work.