or_mikey (or_mikey) wrote in omega_reality, @ 2010-11-04 20:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | *complete, 2010 11, dead: henrietta lange, dead: leon vance, dead: michael westen |
RP: Michael
Who: Michael Westen
Where: Miami
When: late night Nov 4, 2010; Nov 5
Summary: Michael arrives in Omega.
The night had been a restless one. There was a lot on Michael's mind. Sarah, the kidnapped daughter of Miami's greatest defense attorney, had to be rescued in the morning. Barrett had to be taken down while preserving Simon's Bible. Jesse, Jesse, Jesse. It wasn't clear if the man was going to kill Michael (well, try to at least) or help him. And then there was Fi. She and Jesse had made a connection, not the kind that Mikey wanted.
He beat the punching bag until his knuckles bled. It wasn't the best idea for the night before a major mission. But he needed to get some steam off and the body's physiological response to pain would actually help. Maybe he was a bit of a masochist.
Michael sunk down the nearby wall and rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted.
Shit. Was that a search light?
There had been a light and now the room was utterly dark. Michael slowly rose feeling the wall for support. But there wasn't a wall. He took a deep breath and kept from calling out. He crawled on the floor until he found something hard. Was it a table leg? It was definitely a table leg. The bump on his head from hitting the tabletop proved that.
He found the light switch and it was not what he was expecting. Compared to his loft which was dark, dreary, and quaint, this was palatial.
"Where the hell am I?" He started slowly creeping around. He found a drawer of knives and took the sharpest one he could find. He checked his phone.
No signal. But the time and date were right.
As he came out into a room with a TV on but sound muted, his jaw dropped. The screen was emblazoned with video of him and Sarah Palin, their hands held high, and the screen read: Congressman Westen wins fifth term.
This was either Sam's most elaborate practical joke ever or something was deeply and dangerously wrong.
Michael exited the building and the fresh air and palm trees immediately confirmed that he was still in Miami. But where his loft and the neighboring night club used to be stood a massive house. The whole area did not look the least bit run down.
This was no practical joke.
As he was escaping the grounds, he managed to trip a motion sensor but he was able to avoid detection.
By the time he made it to a more business-district-esque area of town, it had been nearly an hour. Nothing was clearer. Every possible answer only led to more questions.
As he walked by a newspaper stand, he saw his photo, again emblazoned on the front page. What was with that ridiculous grin? It was so fake.
Fumbling around for change, he found none, so he broke the stand's lock and took the paper. He was a Congressman? And sat on the Intelligence Committee? What was going on?
Glancing up to the night sky, he took some solace in the same stars he was used to seeing were still present.
A trip to Fi's proved fruitless. It wasn't that she wasn't home, it's that clearly she didn't live there. He would never have gotten inside her place so easily.
Finally, he decided the only thing he could do: Call Management and ask what the hell was going on. He walked the streets until he had found enough loose change to make a phone call. By that time, the sun had risen. Ah, Miami sun rises. He did love them.
He dialed Management's number. But it wasn't in service.
So, he stormed off down the street. He didn't remember the rest. The next thing he knew there was a pompous asshole looking at him.