Michael walks up the stairs to the loft with a goofy smile on his face. More "connecting" tonight. Oh yeah, he can get behind that.
Pearce is in the loft, and with that a sense of foreboding begins. This can't be good. But he puts his game face on, just because it's not good doesn't mean it might be personally bad for him.
Or it could be very, very bad.
His blood froze when he saw the charger on the screen. Everything in the world just went wrong.
Later, in the backseat of the armored SUV, feeling utterly deflated, wondering how today could get any worse, a thought hits. When he gets to wherever they're taking him, they're going to go through his pockets and find a semen-soaked sock.
It's official; things are now worse. He debates trying to sneak his hand into his pocket and shove the sock between the car seat cushions, but Pearce is glaring at him, and has been the entire ride.
He hears car engines revving, and catches a small flash of blue out of the corner of his eyes.
Maybe things are about to get better.