"Yeah, I guess. I dunno why I'm suddenly some kinda messenger boy just cuz I'm immune," said Mike honestly, furrowing his brow. "Seems like I barely got time to just settle 'fore they started tellin' me what to do, you know? Plus I was lookin' for my... For someone."
As if he had suddenly forgotten the animosity he'd accidentally been creating between the two of them, Mike leaned forward, tone almost friendly. "Wanted to know cuz maybe you could give this to some of 'em for me. I don't feel like "reportin' in" or whatever. Also, if you were army that'd be pretty bad maybe. Considerin'."
Mike hadn't really forgotten how he'd put himself across a moment ago, but he didn't actually like fighting. He liked riling people up and making them want to fight, and for some reason being immune had made his left hook pretty good -- he definitely had a talent for punching people in the face -- but he didn't really enjoy scrapping for the hell of it. Even Mike knew that was a waste of energy most of the time.
This man was like an irritable robot, though. The smarter choice was usually not to provoke someone who gave you that impression.
"Y'know, it takes some balls to go on sayin' you're better trained than the army," Michael told him, amused. "Maybe you ain't so bad even if you step in front of people like you don't see 'em. Anyway, I'm Mike. Nice to meet you."