A big thanks to everyone that has reviewed and followed my story so far. Whenever I get writers block or not particularly feel like writing I come and read them for inspiration.

I hope you enjoy the next chapter of "Humanity Unhinged"; 'Family Business'.

Chapter 3 – Family Business

Unsure of where to go or what to do about his burn notice, Michael drove aimlessly. Throughout his career he had heard about spies being blacklisted for doing something illegal whilst on a mission or taking bribes, dumped back on home soil - if they were lucky - and completely disavowed before spies from a country they'd worked in came and disposed of them for good.

Michael had never betrayed his country but he had still been burned, making him question everything he had ever known. As much as he would have liked to do something about his burn notice, there was little he could do about it without finding who had issued it; and there was little chance in hell that he would ever find that out.

It didn't take long before the area Michael was driving in became familiar to him and he was motoring down roads he'd not driven since learning to drive twenty-four years earlier. He passed the homes of the few childhood friends he had had. A smile came to his face as he recalled all the things he had done with those friends with his younger brother, Nate, usually tagging along; things that his mother, Madeline, had told him would either kill him or put him in jail were what he had done on a daily basis as part of his job, or at least it had been until he'd gotten burned.

You can't take away a spy's skills or what's in his head but you can take away the resources that allow him to do it.

Bringing the borrowed car to a halt, Michael put it in park as he stared across the street at his childhood home. Memories of the seventeen years he'd spent under that roof before joining the army came easily to him and very few of them were pleasant memories. Usually the happy memories were just small wins over his alcoholic father, Frank, such as the time when Frank had forbidden him from seeing the first Star Wars movie at age six and so he'd broken out of his room to see it anyway.

Though, speak of the devil and the devil shall appear. Frank Westen stormed out of the rear of the home with a garbage bag in one hand and a beer bottle in the other. Michael instinctually ducked down in the seat of the car despite knowing full well his father wouldn't see him. The fear Frank Westen had instilled into his sons at an early age was still present despite Michael and Nate now being grown men.

Michael recalled one Christmas when he was a young teen and he and his father got into a fight because Frank was pushing Nate around, he copped a black eye but Frank backed down so he took it as a win. He also remembered how no one was talking to anyone so Madeline told them that she was going to throw the whole dinner down the garbage unless they stood there for a picture. Michael was sure that the photo resulting from that was still sitting on the mantle but he didn't know why she liked it considering she and Nate were the only ones smiling and Michael was sporting a black eye.

A knocking on the window of the car snapped Michael from his reverie and, cursing, his had moved automatically to his belt for his gun. How had the cops found him so quickly?

"That's no way to greet your mother," Madeline Westen's muffled voice came through the glass.

Michael turned to face his mother like a scolded child. She'd hardly changed since he last saw her eight years previously; her hair was still short and bleached blonde and she was still perpetually smoking a cigarette.

"Ma," Michael said jovially as he got out of the car, sounding as if he hadn't been away for almost a decade. "It's good to see you. How are you?"

Madeline ignored the question. "How long are back in town?" she countered.

The times Michael did spend State side before his burn notice were rarely spent visiting his parents, instead he opted to visit them during the last few days of his time off so that he always had the excuse that he had to leave at a moment's notice. Madeline always moaned that the people Michael worked for didn't give him enough time off but he had a feeling that she secretly knew the truth about his not wanting to come by.

Michael scratched his chin, weighing the pros and cons of telling his mother that he had effectively been fired. "Not long, I'm afraid." A small lie never hurt anyone. "A few days."

"Uh-huh," was all that Madeline would say before she turned back to her home and left her eldest son behind her.

Michael watched her go for a few moments before hiding his new gun in the glove box of the car and followed after her. He never had been able to tell her a lie without her realising it.

The mother and son entered their family home to find Frank Westen seated in front of the television with a beer bottle in his hand and at least three empty bottles scattered around him on the floor. "Tell 'em we don't want any," he barked, not bothering to look up from the football game he was watching.

"Frank, it's Michael," Madeline told her husband as she cleaned up around him. "He stopped by for a visit."

Frank levered himself out of his chair and went and stood in front of his eldest son. Despite them now being of a similar height, Michael still got the feeling his father was looking down on him and subconsciously stood up straighter and jutted his chin out so that he was that slight bit taller than the man who had tormented him most of his life.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Frank slurred.

"Hello, Dad," Michael said with a nod. He, at least, could be civil even if the older man could not.

The similarities between the two were uncanny. They both shared dark hair and piercing blue eyes but where Frank's body had gone to fat, Michael had stayed muscular. The stark difference between the twos facial features were the scars Michael bore as a reminder of his seventeen years at home.

"What brings you here, boy?" Frank asked as he returned to his game. It wasn't much fun trying to intimidate your kid if he wasn't going to show any fear.

"I was in town and thought I would come and visit." It was all the explanation Frank was going to get.

"So," Madeline said as she returned from the kitchen. "Where were you this time, Michael?"

He tried not to show anyway frustration, he'd forgotten how many times he'd told his mother that what he did was classified and so couldn't be shared; not even over her attempts at meat loaf. "You know I can't tell you that, Ma."

"He was probably in one of them Muslim countries killing innocent people," Frank inserted for him.

It wasn't that Frank cared about the countless women and children that were murdered due to insurgents or during American military action, he just didn't understand what his eldest son did for a living and so thought he was a hired gun for the government.

Michael sighed. "No, I was actually trying to stop bad people from killing those innocent people."

"Yeah, right," Frank said disbelievingly.

"At least I'm doing something," Michael snapped losing his cool. Frank had always had that effect on him.

"I provided for this family for thirty fucking years, boy!" Frank shouted back.

Michael scoffed. "Yeah, you were such a great provider for this family. You made me fake a seizure inside a Mr. Goodwrench store so you could steal some goddamn spark plugs!"

"You looking for a beating, boy? Don't think I won't take my belt to you," Frank pitched forward in his chair, threatening to get to his feet and make good on his word.

"I'm not thirteen anymore, Dad," sarcasm entered Michael's voice. "Don't you see I'm not afraid? I'm not afraid anymore. I'm not afraid of you. I'm not afraid of anything."

Frank glared at Michael, his fist white knuckled around his beer bottle.

"Besides," Michael added. "I'd just end up kicking your ass like I did when I was sixteen anyway."

"Why you little-"

Frank didn't finish what he was going to call Michael before bolting out of his chair and lunging drunkenly at him. Not wanting to cause his father any serious harm, Michael side stepped and used Frank's own momentum to send him crashing into a side table.

"Just stop," Michael shouted over the grunts coming from Frank as he tried to disentangle himself from the destroyed side table and the crushed photo frames and trinkets that had been knocked to the floor.

Frank was beyond listening and charged again. Despite his being severely intoxicated he was still able to amend his course when Michael again went to step from his path and, catching his son in a bear-hug, sent them both crashing into the television.

Michael was trained in close hand-to-hand combat in numerous styles of martial arts but it was difficult to defend yourself against an assailant when that assailant had crash landed on top of you and was using twice your body weight to pin you down. Out of options, Michael shot his hand out to the right and felt for anything that might give him an upper hand. He gripped something solid and without looking at it brought it down on Frank's head.

The knock sent Frank reeling backwards but before he could come at Michael again Madeline had stepped in between them, shielding them from each other.

"Stop it!" she croaked, her voice sounding as if she had been screaming those words repeatedly.

Panting, Michael lifted himself from the floor and swept away the glass from the television from his clothes. He eyed his father warily but the other man seemed content just to glare at him. He barely registered that Madeline was tugging on his now ruined suit jacket before he stormed out of the back of the house to avoid the wreckage blocking the front door.

"I'll see you in hell, boy," Frank shouted at Michael's back before he could slam the door shut behind him.

He retreated to the garage and perched on the hood of Frank's black, 1973 Dodge Charger. He remembered the summers he and Nate had spent working on it but they could never get it running. He doubted it ran now considering the thick layer of dust resting on it. Secretly, he had always hoped to be given the car but knew it was a pipe dream as long as Frank was around.

A soft knock came from the door leading back to the house and Michael turned to see his mother standing there. "Hi," was all she said.

He sighed. "Sorry, Ma." It didn't feel like he'd said enough but he wasn't sure what else to say. Frank had always known how to push his buttons and he'd allowed his emotions to get the better of him once again.

Without saying a word, Madeline came and leant next to Michael before handing him a small wad of cash.

"Ma, I don't need this," he said as he tried to put it back in her hand. In truth he did but he didn't want to have to owe his mother.

Madeline just shook her head and refused to take the money back. "I know there's something you're not telling me but I'm not going to ask what it is because if you wanted to tell me I know you would," they both knew it was a lie but neither of them pointed it out. "So, just take it and let's never speak of it again."

Michael smiled softly. "Thanks, Ma," was all he was able to rasp out.

Then Madeline was all business again. "Now, I think it's best if you go in case your father is looking to start round two."