[Six Months Later | In the Car – Michael & Baines]
The quiet hum of the engine filled the car as it rolled through the afternoon traffic. Michael leaned back in the passenger seat, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the faded tip of black ink on one forearm.
Baines glanced over. "This is your third tattoo. Hasn't even been five months since the last one."
Michael replied without looking at him. "Six months."
Baines huffed, amused. "Right. First one was the wing. Second one… that date on your other hand. December 8th. The night your parents…what will it be now" He trailed off.
Michael looked out the window. "It's a surprise."
That was enough to shut down any more questions.
[Tattoo Workshop – A Few Minutes Later]
The smell of ink and disinfectant clung to the air. Music played faintly from a dusty speaker in the corner. Michael sat shirtless, his lean frame stretched across the padded bench, back exposed.
The artist, a tall woman with tattoos all over her neck, ran a gloved hand along his spine, visualizing the placement. "Angel slaying a demon, huh? That's gonna take hours."
"I don't mind," Michael said.
Baines raised an eyebrow. "You sure about this?"
Michael nodded. "I'll call when I'm done. You don't have to wait."
Baines sighed and checked the time. "Alright. Just don't pass out in there."
Michael gave a half-smile. "I've survived worse."
[Later That Evening – Driving Home]
The sky was smeared with orange and gray as Baines drove them back. Michael sat in silence, his back sore but his mind distant.
"You've given this any thought?" Baines asked suddenly.
Michael turned to him. "Thought to what?"
"Your future," Baines said. "You'll be done with high school in a couple months. Not many kids figure it out by then, but… you're not like most kids."
Michael leaned his head against the window. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I'm curious. And you don't talk much unless it's about tattoos or video games ."
There was a pause.
Then Michael said, "I'll do your job."
Baines blinked. "Cop?"
Michael looked at him with a shadow of a smirk. "No."
[Flashback – December 8th, Five Years Ago]
He was back in the closet "hiding" , barely breathing, listening to footsteps move from room to room.
And then the door opened.
The man standing there wasn't dressed like a beat cop. He wore body armor, sleek and dark, reinforced with materials Michael didn't recognize. His pistol wasn't standard issue, and the way he moved… too precise.
Even then, Michael had noticed.
Even then, he had wondered: What kind of officer is this?
Now, five years later, he still didn't know the answer.
But he intended to find out.