As long as you're burned, you're not going anywhere.
Just like me
Just…
Like…
Me.
Simon's words echoed in Michael's head. He didn't know where he was, only that they weren't government, obvious from the décor in the room. Before long, a pricy pair of shoes walked through the door.
"Michael Westen. In the flesh. It's an honor, truly." The man was large, dressed impeccably, and complete with a jackass grin on his face. Michael knew that first impressions were often more important that any information leading up to them. However, since he didn't actually have any information about these people…
He decided to start simple. "Where am I?"
The man walked to the minibar and poured himself a drink. God, Michael wanted a drink right now.
"Private holding facility, secret prison… officially it's listed as a document processing center. Take your pick."
So not the feds, but also not lacking in resources.
"Why am I here?" Michael asked. This man wasn't the type to trip up and reveal information by accident, but the more Michael got him to talk, the better.
"We have a lot to talk about." Said with utter confidence. "That business between Simon and Management, it's the tip of a very nasty iceberg."
Whoever these people were, they were informed, at least.
"I know you're upset that we burned you, at it's nice to know we can work together when it counts. Friends at last." Yeah right.
"I'm not your friend." Michael replied.
His new "friend" gave him a file, and some alone time to read it.
When Michael was done reading over the file, he thought it best to see if it was reliable. That conversation led Michael and his new friend into a jungle to talk to a gunrunner named Gregory Hart. Turns out, someone wanted Hart dead.
"We gotta go now!" Michael and Vaughn ran from the tent, but not fast enough. Vaughn was hit. Not badly, but it took him down.
"Okay Michael, are you in or out?"
For better or worse, he was in.