Ethan lets out a quiet huff of air before he finally admits what's on his mind. "I got a message from somebody I haven't heard from in a while. The Feds raided this warehouse, a guy got shot. Bled out in the ambulance. Friend of mine. And now they want me to get revenge on the cartel that hired him in the first place, as twisted as that is. Like they're the problem. But...that's the thing. Isn't it both sides? The damn drugs, the damn cops...shit, bro, I..." He pauses, voice cracking. It's stress, exhaustion, and confusion as to what side to take. It's a lot to pile on one man, and from how Mick met him to the restaurant to this it's clear he plays a major role in many facets of the community.

Mick listens, dragging from his cigarette and letting Ethan get his story out. Mighty stressed about it, he is, and that makes him pay a little more attention.

"I'm sorry," he says it genuinely, knowing full well how shitty it felt to get caught in two different sides. Choices, he hated choices.. But when two different sides were pulling at you from all different ends...Well what the fuck were you supposed to do?

Mick didn't have any answers. The last time he had been caught in a choice like that...it didn't exactly end well for the sniper.

"That's a lot to deal with for one person, mate," he said, slightly hinting that if Ethan needed his help, he'd do what he could. But the choice of what to do was Ethan's alone. But at least the man had the Welshman's support.

"I...don't even know where to start, bro. I guess I need to check in with his wife. At least, he was married when I knew him on a day to day basis. They could have split. You know how things are, especially around here. But then I've gotta think about where we should take this. I don't want to start a war with the cops. I like my freedom. And there are a lot of corrupt pieces of shit on the force, but they aren't all. So...I need time to think, I guess. We aren't going to act on it tonight, anyway." He gives the faintest of smiles before he pockets his phone and stands there, looking rather deflated and lonely for a brief moment before he bows his head faintly and slips out the balcony door, where he swings up onto the railing, twists, and...climbs out of sight like there's no tomorrow.

He doesn't like stairs and he needs to think.

He can't help but smirk at the sight of Ethan scrambling outside but if he needed time, well, that meant Mick could catch up on sleep. His nerves were happily calmed by the sweet nicotine and he figured it best to let Ethan do his thing. Still, weirdo needed to learn that stairs were an option. There was no way Mick could get up there himself anyway.

Poor fuckin' sod.

Putting out his last cigarette in the sink, he shot one last look to the balcony to see if Ethan was coming down yet. When he saw nothing, he just sighed and made his way to the bedroom, hoping to high heaven that the bloke who owned the flat hadn't died in the bed. Least the comforter looked nice.

If Ethan needed him for anything he was sure the man would just wake him when the time came. if not, he was gonna sleep. The thought of another possible job, what Ethan's brought up, he did say we, so he figured he was in on this.

Honestly, he didn't mind one bit.

When Mick wakes up (whenever that may be) Ethan eventually ended up passing out sprawled across the foot of the bed like some folded up blanket. He's rather comfortable that way, sprawled flat on his back like a dead man. It's the only way that takes the strain off of him due to the weight of his cybernetics. He ditched his shirt and shoes, and his prone position reveals the heavy inkwork he bears in a way it hasn't been seen before. While eclectic and seeming to be without pattern, there's an undeniable beauty to it all. It suits him well.

He wakes when Mick moves, a foot tapping into him or at least blankets moving. With a quiet grumble he shifts and sits up with some effort, revealing at last the long and thin scars down both arms and across his shoulders. Those are definitely surgical.
"Morning."

He dreamt about Prophet again. That was the usual now. Dreaming about what he couldn't have. Mick wasn't prone to nightmares, it was just...sad. Made him ache in a way he hadn't felt in almost two years now. God, still not over it. He might never be.

He didn't remember falling asleep but the second he foot tapped something that felt solid he jumped, waking in an almost instant from the shock and looking down to see Ethan just sprawled there. If his body wasn't still asleep, he'd laugh.

"You okay mate?" he asked, not even noticing that he'd come in. He didn't really care either, not when he blindly slammed a hand on the nightstand to grab his pack and lighter for a morning smoke. He never had the chance to ask if Ethan had grabbed any coffee...

"Slept like a rock." Ethan gets up and looks for his shirt, apparently not having luck. He can't even remember how he fell asleep where he did. All in all, Mick's lucky he didn't wake up with Ethan basically spooning him with a leg over his own like some kind of cartoonish fanfiction scenario. At least it didn't come down to that, right? "I got coffee for you. You look like the type." He's not, though. Clean living, save for chocolate. Hey, he's allowed to have one weakness. If you give him the good stuff he'll do just about anything within reason for you. Many have found this out, and they've definitely used it to their advantage.

"I figured out what we need to do...if you're game for a job, that is. You're gonna have to step into my world, though, and you might not like that given where you've come from." He's given fair warning, respecting Mick's past and the fact he might still know some of the very people they could run into.

That would be awkward.

"Coooffeeee," he mutters, rubbing at his face and scratching the growing scruff he'd neglected to shave just do to overall laziness. Plus he looked good with he, he thought. Might do a beard thing. He's Welsh, he can get away with it.

"I'm game for anythin'" he yawned. "Once I get coffee and finish my smoke."

Simple terms.

Though Mick can't help but be a little hung on the last bit. There was a reason he had a bitterness towards his former faction. Mostly, over the fact that his team has handled very poorly at it's end. And Prophet. There was that little bother. He'd made sure his employers had kept him far from that side of the past. But honestly, that rage just fueled him.

"Lemme get coffee, then we take, yeah?" he said as he already shuffled out the bedroom door. A little bit of banging around he managed to finally locate where Ethan had stashed the supplies and groaned as he attempted to figure out the coffee machine. Digital things with the little cups, it made no sense. but after finally fumbling with it and getting at least half a solo cup filled, before almost limping back to the doorway of the bedroom, just leaning against the frame.

"Right then. S'what's the plan?"

Ethan can't find a damn shirt. He's frustrated and he makes it clear. The man who lived here was a lot smaller than him, so that won't work. He gives up and just deals with it. There are worse fates. He'll pick something up as they go. For now, he settles on a hoodie that was already a bit too big for the man and stretches out the sleeves before sliding it on and zipping it partway up. That will do for now. He wanders out and leaves Mick to guess where he procured that from.

That's...a little bit disturbing. Oh, well. It isn't like he stripped a corpse or anything. Not literally, anyway.

"This gang- I know them pretty well. I just don't know who they're at war with right now. So I figure I'll show up on their turf, knock things up a bit, demand an audience with their leader like a dipshit. They know me, they know my name. They'll be scared as fuck if I show some muscle and force my way in. I offer my services and they'll accept. Everybody around here wants me on their leash. And then? From inside, I figure out what the fuck is going on. The question is...do you really want to follow me into this?"

We murdered a celebrity and have come this far," he smirked, savoring the taste of his coffee, as terrible as it was, it was still good enough to wake him up. "Don't see why I'd back out now."

Plus he liked a little adventure. Made him excited. Tingly, even.

"Whatever you're planning, I've got fire power but I doubt that'll keep me from getting killed right off the bat. You'll probably 'ave to convince 'em to let me work it. I doubt they'd be openly accepting of the Welshman with a coffee addiction and funny accent on my appearance alone."

True, he didn't exactly have the words "accept me now im totally gang material" tattooed on his forehead.

He finished the rest of his coffee and just dropped the cup on the floor, not even caring at the moment. "Right. Well, I'm game when you are."

"Hey, bro, look at me. I can get what I want. I tell 'em you're some specialist and I won't work without you? You're in. Trust me on that. Just...act along. Improvise. You can do that, right?" He seems to trust Mick enough to be able to think on his feet. It isn't like he's throwing the sniper into the lion's den alone. He'll be there, too, and he's positive he can get them out alive. If he weren't, he'd never have suggested this in the first place.

"We figure out what their beef is from the inside and that's when I get to work to shape the conflict and push it where it needs to go. And once I've done that and started infighting, I slip up some info to the 'feds. They come knocking and everyone turns on each other. We slip out and let it begin, hands clean and money in pocket. Thoughts, concerns, additions? Let me tell you, the thing that always works with people like this and like me is curiosity. It won't fail now, either."

"I've been undercover before, E. It's nothin' new for me."

Plus he'd worked in undercover situations before and knew his way of passing himself off as something he wasn't. He just hoped Ethan was as scary and authoritative to these people as he let on to be. Because if not well, he'd be one dead Brit.

"Seems good enough for me. I can 'elp you with the fed thing. I've still got a few contacts we can hit up. Ones I wouldn't mind seeing thrown in the fire if y'know what I mean."

Good plan, good execution. Nice follow through. Plus Mick gets to shoot stuff. That's always an exciting bonus.

"Understood, and I'm throwing a few specific guys into the pit myself. Consider it a deal. I don't know the payload but I'll split it even with you. That sound fair?" Ethan has his own reasons for wanting whatever cash they can get, after all, whatever they may be. He studies Mick's expression to check if there's anything the sniper doesn't agree with before he finally nods once all is set.

"Figure we could get started today, if you're up for it. But, first? We should probably check on the situation with what happened last night. See if payment's coming, check the news for any of it and make sure we didn't fuck ourselves over. We could go to some coffee shop where the TV would be on, or an internet cafe or something." Ethan runs a hand through his rumpled hair, spiking it back to where it was before.

Mick nods before smacking his sides, trying to feel for his phone. If anything, his contact should have called him, either with praise or heated anger at the supposed fuck up. Still was weird,the entire hit was supposed to go without a hitch. He just hoped there was no evidence to point to either of them for the murder. Then again, he was a professional.

When he finally was able to pry his phone out of his jeans he frowned, nothing but a text from his sister and another job opportunity. He should probably call her at some point. But nothing from his fast contact. Maybe the news hadn't spread yet. He did just take off when they realized their mistake.

"We should also think about transportation, in case we run into trouble we can't get out of on foot, yeah? Rental place around 'ere, maybe? Or I could ah, steal one. Last choice is faster and 'onestly, easier," He was completely game for what Ethan proposed. And he couldn't help but wonder how many times Ethan had been in a similar situation as this. "An' I could go for some breakfast."

Clapping his hands together and moving away from the doorway to gather up his gear, the Welshman cracked his neck and stretched. "I'm ready to leave when you are, mate."

"Didn't you...come in a car?" Ethan offers it with a faint frown as he attempts to remember it. "Well...I didn't see it, but I assumed. We can definitely go pick it up." If it's still there overnight. Welcome to Detroit, right? "There's definitely no rental car places anywhere near here. If we leave the 'hood and head towards the airport, though, on the other side of the city, there will be more. But I'd need to change clothes. I'd draw too much attention and nobody would rent me one, 'cause they think I'd be using it for a crime. Well, they ain't wrong." He huffs in laughter at the thought. "But you look pretty Kosher. I'll take you where you need to go and leave you to it. Deal? I know a good cafe with internet close by that doesn't monitor usage and where there are three at the back no camera watches. And yes, that's on purpose. So what do you say- down for some coffee?" He won't be drinking any, but he'll fuel other's addictions shamelessly.

Their trip downtown isn't too long, thanks to Ethan calling in a favor and getting a ride from a friend. The Pontiac is questionable and smells of something more than cigarette smoke and it's likely wise to not take a blacklight to the area inside. The engine has character and there are several odd little squeaks, but despite a bit of off-color driving they make it in-tact and safe.

"I left my car outside of the city, came in on transit the rest of the way. Didn't wanna risk vandalism or whatever else, y'know? Plus I still 'ave equipment in there i didn't need to bring." Good point. Last time he left his car out in the open, ended up with two broken windows and a pack of cigs stolen. Good news was they didn't notice his rifle case. But he didn't want to lose what other equipment he had. Honestly, all he had was that car.

"Always down for coffee. Almost offended you even 'ad to ask."

The smoke smell of the car, now, Mick didn't mind. Both the other smell, oh yeah. He didn't like dead bodies. Didn't like the smell either. Funny, a man who killed people and generally had to deal with death and decayed bodies, it still made him squeamish.

But the arrival at the coffee shop was a relief. Armed with both his phone and laptop from his shoulder bag, he scoured the internet for anything related to their kill from the night before. It was still early, too, and because of the area he doubted major news networks would be all over it until his name was released. Which wasn't exactly a bad thing, but out of fear of killing the wrong target he hadn't made contact with his client either.

Sloppy. Bloody sloppy.

Least he had coffee.

"Still think we're clear for now, mate. Maybe for another day 'er two. Enough time to do your little plan? I doubt I'm gettin' paid for this," shame, really. It was such a beautiful shot. "Whatever. I'll live."

Wow, that was a little apathetic. Maybe because the idea of this job Ethan's brought down seems to be a lot more interesting than murdering Danny Devito.

Ethan is situated at a computer in the back corner, at the odd angle it isn't being recorded just like he said it wouldn't. Smart man, knowing things like that. But would Mick have ever thought otherwise? Likely not. After all, how could he have made it this far if he wasn't? He's a top-notch traceur and a careful and old hand at his career, trained in a family legacy but not in the fashion one would expect from movies. His father encouraged him to find his own path, and so he did. Parkour has been that outlet for him, and it has propelled him to new heights for the modern world and an urban setting. Times have changed, and so the hitman has changed with them.

"Hopefully you do. If not? Whatever. This will get it good, promise." He's checking his email and doing so quickly, deleting a lot before he even reads them. He's a popular guy, from the looks of it. It's a shame none of that seems to translate to friends in real life, though, that he can reach out to. They're just contacts and nothing more. He gets work and he moves on, never putting down roots. Mick would understand just how tiring that can get.

Eventually, he's sent out about four or five before he loads a public records database and pops up the info on several gangsters in different tabs. Time to do a mini briefing. Even this business requires it, sometimes. He doesn't have a file, after all, to go on.

"Alright. This is Rodrigo Torres. Big hot shot, thinks he's hot shit. Really just some low-level drug pusher, but I digress. He's who I'm going to directly. This guy here is his lieutenant, and this is the other guy you'll see a lot. These three men are dangerous. Everyone else is expendable, but these three? They aren't going down easily. And if you ever find yourself alone with them, you'd better be fucking sure you can maintain cover."

"Right," he says it like Ethan's showing him decorative plates on E-Bay instead of dangerous gang-lords. "So these wankers are priority number one, eh?"

Simple enough, really. "Doubt they'll be that big of a deal, mate. I've dealt with a lot worse."

Still, he made a note to memorize their names and faces. If the time came, he'd be able to kill at least one in a scuffle and probably snipe the rest given the chance, limiting anyone else from being harmed. It was always important to have a face to the man you were going to kill.

"Right, yeah, so what next? Stroll in, demand our places, start an inner war?"

This whole gang thing was so new to Mick. It would be exciting, if there was a chance of him being found out and blood dead. But Ethan had promised safety with him, and he hasn't lied to Mick yet.

"That's the thing about gangland, bro. It ain't easy. They fight dirty, and they fight so hard you won't believe it. You won't find anybody quite like me, but you're going to find people extremely talented in their own ways. Rodrigo here's got a bit of a "The Most Dangerous Game" complex going on. I'm assuming you've read that short story." And if Mick hasn't? Well, he can just look it up, now can't he? They ARE at an internet cafe, after all. Ethan doesn't wait for questions, either.

"But, yeah. We're going to stroll in and I'm not taking shit. That's the first thing I'm making clear. I'm offering my services because it benefits me, and they'll understand it immediately. They know my connection with the dead guy, so I'll make it clear I want revenge. Not on them, of course, but they'll suspect it. So I build from there."

Alright, good plan, good plan. Mick can't see any holes in it.

He expected Ethan to be good at improv. Mick could probably get away with staying quiet and just blending in. Let him do the talking and let Mick use his tall frame and big gun to intimidate anyone who questioned why they were there. Plus Mick's always wanted to play the silent type. Good.

"Now that that's all on the table," the Welshman starts, downing the rest of his coffee and rolling his shoulders back in a stretch. "When do we begin, General? 'Cause 'onestly I'm itchin' to get this started."

"Simple. We get a ride straight to their turf and we make some noise. Finish that coffee and let's go." Ethan stands and logs out, clearing the browser's history. He pats Mick on the shoulder and drops the napkin he had from the muffin he ate in the trash before heading for the door. It opens with a faint jingle as the chime goes off, and it will repeat when Mick follows. It's time to get rolling.

It isn't far from Ethan's place, actually, and chances are they can hole up in the Night Market for anonymity and safety and then head back to Ethan's for a more open place of residence should they need to let themselves be seen and found. The dead man's apartment is something of a secret base, some kind of batcave, or a secret club. At least, that's how Ethan will spin it. Safehouse would be the proper word, but he isn't the most formal of men.

The neighborhood they approach is a heavy mix of ethnicities, and one thing is strikingly clear almost immediately- Mick doesn't belong. At all. Ethan, however, has the ink and the bearing, and initial questioning glances are written off. If he's good enough for Ethan then he must have something going for him, right?

Ethan leads the way to a building with a parking lot with grass growing between the cracks of the cement and broken curb stoppers at the fronts of the spaces, lights that flicker on dimly if at all at nigh to illuminate it from city power. The building is faded and so is the bright sign that reads BINGO! to explain what the space once was. It's a safe bet no old ladies come here on Friday nights anymore, though.

Last chance to back out.