We all know the drill, this is a RP between me and Iconium and unless you're one of us, don't post here. But feel free to read along ^^

~Michael “Mickey” Pierce~

~Age~
26 y/o

~Gender~
Male

~Sexuality~
Pansexual

~Appearance~

(Credit to @Yukstone on Picrew)

Michael is a well-built man, standing at 6’0 with broad shoulders and muscles making up most of his body. He has naturally tan skin with scars littering it a little bit all over. The most noticeable of these scars being the one starting just a few centimeters above his left eye and going straight down over it. Luckily for him he didn't lose vision fully on that eye but his vision is a bit blurry on it and his eye was left slightly cloudy because of the injury, something most don't immediately notice until they have a closer look. Apart from that, a large portion of his back is covered in an old burn scar but he rarely lets anyone see it and any questions regarding it are shut down quickly.

When it comes to body modifications, Mickey has his left ear pierced, as well as two tattoos. One tattoo that you can clearly see upon first glance is the angel wings around his throat, he also has a second one going around his right upper arm, an ouroboros drawn in a realistic style.

Moving on to Mickey’s face, he has a strong jawline and he keeps his face clean-shaven most of the time. He has a pair of hooded eyes that carry a dark hazel color. Behind his thin and quite average lips, hides a pearly white grin, his canines being slightly more pointed than what would be considered normal. The man’s nose is pretty average in size and straight, or well, it was originally, due to an old injury it's now slightly crooked when you see it from the front.

The man’s scalp is covered in ashy brown locks in an overgrown crew cut. Naturally, his hair is actually a dirty blond color and occasionally you will notice it as his roots get lighter before he himself realizes and throws on some more color.

Lastly, clothing. Mickey doesn't really have any particular style, he wears whatever he finds comfortable and easy to move in, which usually ends up being some tank top or hoodie along with some cargo pants or just sweatpants. It's rare to see the man wearing anything with much color, pretty much all his clothing being greyscale. A lot of the time he can also be seen wearing a black baseball cap.

~Personality~
Mickey is a short-tempered person and he’s the type of guy who punches first, asks questions later. Just because he’s acting hostile doesn’t always mean that he’s angry though, when he’s scared, stressed, or sad he always masks it with anger, not wanting to appear vulnerable.

Many do make the mistake of being scared or intimidated by him when he acts angry but in reality, that's when he's the safest so to say. Mickey is by far the most predictable when he's riled up, sure, he fights like a wild animal but his actions become very predictable. The time when you should really be worried about him is when he's perfectly calm and collected in a situation where he'd normally get hostile, because that means he's got everything perfectly planned out.

Despite his tendency to solve everything with violence, he's actually quite smart and calculating, he just hasn't really gotten a grip on his anger issues yet.

He’s known to speak his mind and always voice his opinion, even if it’s not wanted or has the potential to hurt someone. He’s very honest, he may twist the truth to his favor but he’d never completely lie to you and calling him a liar is one of the worst insults that he could ever think of. What he hates just as much as being called dishonest, or maybe even more, is someone lying to him, if you plan on it you better pray he never finds out that it's actually a lie because he will hate you for it.

Despite being a rather hostile person, he’s pretty open to making new friends and he can be a rather nice and chatty person when in a good mood, or just drunk. There's nowhere he’ll go where he can't find at least one person to talk to and make friends with and while he may not strike you as the type, Micheal has friends in practically all places.

Even though he acts all tough, the male has a past that haunts him and while he does his best to act like it doesn’t affect him, there are days when it does and even if he won’t tell you, you’ll notice it.

To those he considers friends, he is as loyal as a dog and he would most likely give his life just to save them. Something Mickey would never do is go behind his friend’s backs and betray them. Once you have him on your side, you have someone who will be there for you through everything and will do anything in his power to help you.

~Affiliations~
Biological mother ~ Nathalie Davids
Status ~ Deceased

Biological father ~ Sebastian Davids
Status ~ Deceased

“Adoptive father” ~ Casimiro Sucranti
Status ~ Alive

“Adoptive brother"/Best friend ~ Ryder Sucranti
Status ~ Alive

~Backstory~
(Pretty brief, you’ll get more details and information in the RP)

Michael Pierce, originally Coby Davids, was born to two young parents, high school sweethearts who had married right after graduation.

Growing up, Michael’s home life was complicated to say the least, his parents would always be fighting and Mickey would be left to entertain himself most of the time.

The main cause of his parents fighting, among others, were his dad’s heavy gambling addiction, what no one knew though was the fact that he had borrowed large amounts of money from dangerous people. At fifteen, his parents were killed as a result of his father's debt and inability to pay it back. Staying hidden and unable to do anything to intervene, Mickey had to watch the gruesome scene before their house had been lit on fire in an attempt to hide any evidence. Thanks to someone seeing the fire and calling it in, Michael was saved from the fire as he got stuck trying to get out but as for his parents, there was never enough evidence to find their killers.

Michael was sent to live in a foster home but due to his unruly behavior and lack of control regarding his anger issues, he would bounce from home to home for a few years before he decided to run away. To get by and make some form of money, the boy got into street fighting which he was honestly very successful at, but it of course only led to more trouble for him.

At 18, he was approached by the man he now sees as his father, Casimiro Sucranti, the leader in one of the groups under the Italian American Mafia. Casimiro took him in as one of his own and got him back on his feet.

Now Mickey helps the gang and others associated with it when they need someone to get their hands dirty and “take care” of people.

~Other~
He’s got a playlist because why not? Mickey

The city was quiet, no sign of people, no birds or other wildlife, not even as much as a car driving by, which was quite understandable given that rain was pouring down and it was way past midnight. The only sound that could be heard apart from the hissing rain was the heavy breaths of a man as he limped up the dimly lit streets, occasionally stopping and leaning against a wall to catch his breath.

As he stood half hidden in an alleyway, leaning his side against the wall while doubling over, constantly watching over his shoulder as to not be taken by surprise by anyone, the sound of a phone ringing made itself heard and with shaky hands the man picked up, a faint, “Hello?” Escaping his lips.

“Mickey? How you holding up?” The voice on the other end asked, a hint of concern filling their voice.

“Fan-fucking-tastic Jas, you got an address for me or not?” The man coughed out, his voice not coming out nearly as tough as he had intended for as pain struck through his body with each cough.

“Hey I didn't shoot you so cut back on the attitude,” the other man grumbled, the previous concern in his voice immediately having disappeared, “Wouldn't even be a problem if you hadn't pissed off Doc,” he told the wounded man.

“Doc’s a blind old shithead, doesn't even know what the hell he's doing anymore, could've killed me,” the man called Mickey answered as he stood up slightly more straight, groaning in pain as his eyes still scanned the surroundings.

The man on the other end chuckled softly, “Think he would be doing us a favor if he did. Now how bad is it? We can't really send anyone to pick you up, you know, Casimiro sent everyone to make sure the Solidios don't try anything funny now after your hiccup.”

“Jesus Jasper, I don't need a damn lecture while bleeding out in a fucking alley,” the man growled, “You have an address or not?!”

“You’ve survived worse, quit whining. I'll send you the address, shouldn't be too far away. Now fucking stay low once you're patched back up, yeah? They will want your head for this. Good luck kid.”

And with that, the call ended, leaving a drenched and wounded Mickey standing in silence as the rain continued pouring down on him. Soon came a message with an address and a name “Dr. Ross”.

After a quick search, Michael knew where he was headed and with as much speed as he could muster, he began walking. The man's clothes were drenched from the heavy rain, weighing him down and cooling down his body rapidly, stealing more energy from the man than what he could actually afford to give in his current situation.

After what should have been a 5 minute walk but that took way longer, the wounded man reached the house that matched the address. Panting heavily, he approached the door, pounding his fist against the door before gripping onto the door frame for balance. He was exhausted beyond belief and was also starting to feel quite lightheaded from the blood loss, he just prayed that this Ross guy would open the door, and that he wasn't some complete idiot of course.

When the door didn't open quick enough for the man, he let go of the door frame before pounding once more, hoping to wake up the doctor that supposedly lived here, if he didn't, there would soon not be much hope for him he feared.

It was nearly four in the morning by the time Kennedy had finished her shift, and she was relying on caffeine and the false security the various weapons in her backpack gave her to take the trek home as opposed to staying another sleepless night in her place of employment. She had moved to California alone, and she hadn’t done much to remedy the loneliness and fear that sometimes created a nagging feeling from somewhere within her on nights such as this one. Having just been home to Massachusetts to visit her family over Thanksgiving, any negative feelings she had toward herself had been exacerbated by her mother’s lack of approval of her spinster lifestyle. She’d once thought that becoming a doctor would finally quell any feelings of disappointment that her family felt toward her, but she’d realized almost as soon as she got her medical license that she was completely and utterly mistaken.

Fortunately for her, this was also how she knew that, even if she fulfilled her parents’ requirement of finding a rich, successful, perfect, fictitious man to marry, she’d then be barraged with another expectation that would lead to a lingering sense of resentment on both sides that would contribute a few more inches to the widening chasm between Kennedy and her family. Therefore, she’d sworn off caring about what they thought forever, and had pledged to focus solely on her own desires and dreams. However, on nights such as this one, it could sometimes be difficult to find the line between her parents’ disapproval and her own.

It was an unusually rainy evening in San Francisco, and the thunder and lightning had contributed to a looming sense of discomfort that went beyond the physical sensation. It was colder than usual for a California December, and it was reminiscent of the Irish weather that she’d moved to the West Coast to escape. Kennedy never checked the weather despite her unhealthy levels of organization in other areas, primarily because she had a lack of trust for those who tried to predict it. On this particular day, that was unfortunate because she had not thought to bring an umbrella to work. In addition, she was too stingy and practical to take a taxi when she was a ten minute walk from the hospital, and only a two minute drive. Therefore, she was simply bearing the elements for all they had to offer, and was only partially grateful when there seemed to be a break in the torrential rain as she approached her home. It was only drizzling when she reached the street she lived on which allowed her to get a clearer view of the suspicious-looking man that was lingering on her porch.

It wasn’t uncommon for Kennedy to find strangers loitering around her home, so she didn’t think much of anything. She lived extremely close to the hospital as well as a variety of buildings that were frequented at all hours of the day and night. In addition, she lived in a bit of a rough area of the city, and had only chosen the home she did because she got it for a cheap price and wanted to fix up the inside of it herself. She had always had a strong passion for interior design, which was something she likely would have followed if her parents had not been so disapproving of it when she was younger. As it was, she’d chosen to study English Literature at Harvard in order to spite them, but that was something she knew for a fact she could sustain herself on. She had always felt at home in academia, and couldn’t say the same about interior design, something she’d never tried. Although Kennedy was very gifted in many different areas, she often lacked the enthusiasm to put herself out there and take risks. This home had been a small risk that had certainly paid off, except for the amount of drug dealers and homeless individuals who confused her house for another each week and at every hour.

Having an established sense of familiarity with the process, Kennedy retrieved a taser and her house key out of her bag, the latter of which was equipped with a small vessel filled with pepper spray. She stood a safe distance from the young man who stood at her door, phone in hand. “Sir, I’m going to ask you nicely to get off my porch before I remove you myself. I have a taser in my hand and a gun in my backpack, and I can have the police here within a matter of minutes. If you don’t mind, I’d much prefer to spend the rest of the evening asleep rather than talking to the police about whatever did or did not occur here tonight.” Standing with her arms crossed, the blonde studied the unfamiliar figure with an aura of confidence, awaiting his response. Because of the shadow her porch light cast on him, she hadn’t yet noticed the blood mixing with rain water, dripping down and puddling at his feet.

How damn heavy could one sleep? With clumsy hands and frozen fingers, the brown-haired man had found a doorbell, pressing his finger against it harshly, although in a neighborhood like this he would not be surprised if it didn't work so when ringing the doorbell a couple of times didn't work, he took to banging on the door once more.

“These fucking shit doctors…” he grumbled under his breath as he fished his phone out of his pocket, starting to look for Jasper’s contact, intending to give the man a piece of his mind regarding the doctor who had yet to even meet.

The sudden sound of a voice made Mickey spin around much faster than he should have, phone in one hand as the other went for the gun tucked in his waistband behind his back.

However when he was met with the sight of a pretty woman, his guard dropped rather quickly, leaning back against the wall with a soft thud as he grimaced in pain slightly while listening to the woman speak.

Had it not been for his current situation, he would have been rather amused by her threats but he was far too exhausted and in pain to toy with her, instead he just got straight to the point.

“Yeah yeah,” he spoke dismissively, waving his hand slightly at her, “Look, as much as I love talking to pretty girls like yourself, I don't got time for this,” he continued, “I’m looking for Dr. Ross, so if you could get his ass out of bed that would be fantastic, otherwise your conversation with the pigs is gonna be why you’ve got a dead man on your porch, alright sweetheart?”

Mickey looked at the woman through half lidded eyes, exhaustion clear on his face as he tried his best to remain upright despite his legs starting to give out at this point.

At this point, he had slipped his phone back into his pocket and was using that hand to put some pressure on the wound, not that it was doing much in his opinion, other than coating his hand in blood. The hand that had gone for the gun now hung loosely along his side.

“Oh I forgot, pretty please?” The man grumbled after a moment of silence, a hint of annoyance poking out past the exhausted tone he otherwise spoke with. He just wanted this girl to hurry up and get him that damn excuse for a doctor.

Mickey was a dangerous man, there was no denying that, but he sure didn't look the part right now, clutching his stomach while soaked in a mix of rain and blood, his entire body reading of exhaustion and barely being able to stand any longer if not for the support of the wall, he looked weak, pathetic even, or at least he felt that way and he hated it.

Studying the man before her with a bemused expression on her face, Kennedy crossed her arms, unwilling to rid herself of the weapon until the man was off her porch. Judging by the way he’d immediately began treating her combined with the comment he’d made regarding the police, the young woman was absolutely convinced that he was no good. Although she wasn’t sure exactly what kind of trouble he was in, she didn’t care to find out. As an ethical perfectionist with little regard for the wilder side of life, Kennedy preferred to have a dead man on her porch than to get involved in something that was beyond her control.

“Well, sweetheart, I’d love to go in and get him for you, but I’m afraid I haven’t found a male doctor willing to take my last name yet. Maybe if I show you just how sweet I can be you’d do me the honor.”

Studying his expression with a gleaming expression in her pale green eyes, she stepped forward. Her movements increased in speed and fluidity as he began to wobble, drawing her gaze toward the blood moving down his dark clothing and onto the beige concrete. Getting near to him, she applied pressure to the wound without giving him a warning regarding the pain he would feel, nor removing his clothing due to lack of time and commitment. As she felt him wince and groan slightly, she spat back, “well, since you said please.”

Since she didn’t have any medical equipment in her home, and the hospital was only two minutes away by ambulance or car, Kennedy moved her free hand toward the pager that was in her pocket. “Verenici?”

“Ross? Is that you? What are you doing on, I thought I just saw you leav-”

“Listen, I have a guy on my porch with a gun shot wound to the abdomen. Is Doctor James there?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right over,” Milo Verenici replied. He was an ambulance driver who frequently saw Kennedy both inside and outside of the hospital due to the number of calls he received in the area. Having just seen him at the hospital as she’d left, Kennedy knew he’d be within a moment or two away from arriving to assist her with this man.

As the rain resumed its torrential nature, the young woman moved the patient toward the wall a few inches in from where the rain was falling into the covered area of the porch in order to prevent the wetness from making him colder, thus buying her a bit more time until he went into shock. Although rather weary from sleep, Kennedy was more bewildered than anything regarding how an individual with a gun and a gunshot wound had found her house, correctly identified her last name, and knew to come looking for her due to her status as a trauma surgeon. While it wasn’t like she could remember every single patient she had ever cared for, she certainly would have remembered being treated the way he’d treated her, or being looked at the way he’d looked at her. The whole situation was a bit odd, as if they’d met before, or he knew someone very dear to her.

As the ambulance sirens became audible in the distance, Kennedy found her dull, sleepless gaze studying the street she’d just come from for signs of the flashing lights that she’d anticipated would be there any moment. Because he seemed to be just barely hanging onto his own life, she hadn’t bothered to take the gun from his hands, nor move the tazer or keychain from their respective stances beside her, far from his reach. She didn’t feel as though he was an immediate threat, though she assumed that he’d come to her to try to avoid the hospital.

“So, did my house look like a hospital to you, or do you just make a habit out of getting shot and walking around in the middle of the night hoping to find someone named Dr. Ross inside?”

Studying his features with a lingering gaze, perhaps in order to commit his face to her memory for safety reasons, Kennedy gazed into his eyes with raised eyebrows, hoping for a truthful answer but expecting all lies.

“Well, sweetheart, I’d love to go in and get him for you, but I’m afraid I haven’t found a male doctor willing to take my last name yet. Maybe if I show you just how sweet I can be you’d do me the honor.”

Mickey gave a weak grin at that. He had been stupid enough to think that Ross was the first name of some middle aged doctor on their payroll, it was what made the most sense in his head but clearly, he had been wrong, instead it was the last name of this beautiful blonde.

“Sounds tempting Doc,” he mumbled with a soft wink, “Let’s get this bullet out first and then we can start planning the wedding darling,” he continued with a grin.

The man groaned as the woman suddenly put pressure on his wound, the pain becoming almost unbearable for a second and his whole body tensed up and he drew in a sharp breath to try and steady himself, for such a small and pretty woman, she sure was rough.

“Argh fucking hell..!” He growled between clenched teeth, having to force himself not to pull the woman’s hand away to escape the pain.

Seeing her pull out a pager and speaking to someone, he glared at her slightly, he had come here to avoid the hospital, he could have just as easily gone there if he wanted to but it was way too risky, he would be much easier to find in a hospital, and an even easier victim if he laid hooked up to tubes and shit in a bed.

But he was far more annoyed with Jasper than the woman in front of him. You would think that he would have sent him to some doctor they knew, that was already on their payroll and knew to not get other people involved but no, instead he had sent him to this chick who had just called in more people from the hospital, perfect…

Mickey didn't protest when the woman moved him out of the rain, staying put and not saying anything more yet. Even if he didn't want other people involved or to have to go to the hospital, if he did comply and act peacefully, then hopefully the cops wouldn't be alerted, if he was lucky.

Soon he heard the sirens and for a second his body tensed once more and he became instantly alert, his head peeking up as he looked around before realizing that it was the sirens of an ambulance and not a cop car.

“I ain't going to the hospital,” Mickey mumbled as he leaned his head back against the cold wall, closing his eyes as he continued the fight with his own exhausted body to stay upright.

“So, did my house look like a hospital to you, or do you just make a habit out of getting shot and walking around in the middle of the night hoping to find someone named Dr. Ross inside?”

Mickey opened one eye slightly to glance down at the woman, “Sure, something like that,” he answered before shutting his eye again. “No hospital, and no pigs. Promise that and then maybe I’ll consider telling you,” he told her.

He didn't trust this woman one bit, he had just met her and she clearly had no idea of who he was or why he had come to her instead of going to a hospital which meant she was nothing but a normal civilian, but unfortunately she was his only hope right now, he wouldn't be able to make it elsewhere, not if he wanted to stay alive at least. All this because Jasper was such an idiot, it shouldn't take a genius to realize that you couldn't just show up to any random doctor’s house with a gunshot wound and expect there to be no questions. Oh he would kill that idiot the next time he saw him.

Kennedy found herself amused by this particular man’s mannerisms, although she had not ceased to call to mind the slew of annoying qualities he had already demonstrated, starting with the irritating habit he had of throwing in some sort of pet name far too often in his regular speech. In doing so, he sort of reminded her of her grandfather and the men of their generation–men who treated women in a way that made her soul writhe beneath her perfectly composed demeanor. He had a terrible temper and a drinking problem that only became more problematic when the discussion of Kennedy’s chosen career came to light, although he’d actually been one of her biggest advocates when she’d studied literature. He’d not agreed with her decision to be a lawyer, either, but often supported her more flighty endeavors.

Narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms, she replied, “I don’t make promises,” raising her eyes to the road as the ambulance came onto the scene. Immediately, a dark-haired gentleman rushed onto the scene, two other men behind him with a stretcher. The young man’s eyes studied Kennedy with a sense of urgency and an unprofessional sense of concern which seemed to be directed toward her rather than the patient he’d come to assist with. An aura of longing shrouded him, but ceased to protect him from the rain which he had clearly been exposed to for an extended period of time. Still, he didn’t seem to pay it much mind in the moment as he rushed toward both figures.

“Kennedy, are you alright?”

“Yes, thanks for coming. He’s lost quite a bit of blood, but it’s hard to tell how much with the rain. Let’s get him on the stretcher.” As she said this, she directly glanced in his direction, gauging whether or not he was going to give her a difficult time as he had verbally threatened to in no uncertain terms. However, when she searched his expression for any sign of danger, she saw that he seemed quite a bit less reactive than before, not quite at the point of unresponsiveness but certainly not in any position to put up a fight.

“Hang in there,” she said gently as she assisted Milo and his team with getting the mysterious man onto the stretcher, working with them to get him into the ambulance despite the battle against the elements that had continued for as long as the rain had been pouring down. As her friend started the engine, she climbed in as well, helping to stabilize their patient on the brief ride to the hospital.

“Stay with me, what’s your name?” Any indication from the moment prior that she had been inconvenienced or interacted with him on a personal level was gone, replaced with an aura of professionalism and a facade that kept her personal thoughts and feelings a million miles away. Despite that, the pale green of her eyes was clothed in some kind of exhaustion that was undeniable–she’d been doing exactly this for much longer than she would have preferred, and still, there was no end in sight. Well, there had been, until he’d been put in her path.

The flurry of activity going on around her only increased as they arrived at the hospital, a team of medical professionals rushing out to take over. With her hand still putting pressure on the wound, she was hesitant to let go and turn the life that was in her hands into someone else’s. She liked to be in control because she knew she could trust herself–and only herself–James was a good doctor, but he had been arrogant to a fault on far too many occasions. He’d made a lot of mistakes at the expense of his patients, and he and Kennedy had gotten into a lot of battles over ethics over the years. He demonstrated a very public suspicion of her capability to be a good doctor because of her young age, and she was one of the only doctors willing to go into battle with him over the things she saw and deemed unethical. Still, she was far too exhausted to go into surgery with this patient at this time, and she’d seen that his schedule had cleared for a few hours.

Finally transitioning the patient into the hands of one of the nurses, Kennedy watched with a distant look on her face as he was whisked away down one of the corridors, only becoming more conscious as she felt Milo’s presence beside her.

“How’d all of that go down?” He studied her face gently, a bit concerned for her wellbeing. She looked like she was going to drop at any moment from exhaustion, yet she’d done everything in her power to save a life.

“He was on my porch when I got home, he said he was looking for me and he knew my name.”

“Did you recognize him?”

“No, and I’m not sure if he’s just familiar with the staff here or what’s going on. I’ll be back in the morning to ask questions, he’s not going anywhere for at least a few hours.”

“Well, stay safe. Call me if you need anything, alright?”

Trying to ignore the look on his face, she nodded softly and forced an easy smile. “Thanks, Milo.”

After the pair split ways, Kennedy went back to the staff room to wash and disinfect herself, changing into a fresh pair of scrubs for her walk home. To her surprise, the rain had let up by the time she exited the building no more than an hour later. Trying not to think of the rain as some sort of omen, she focused on walking as quickly as she could back to the place she’d come from. In all of the activity that had transpired, she had left everything on her porch including her self defense items, leaving her feeling vulnerable and unsafe in the darkness and stillness of the night.

Hearing the sounds of the ambulance approaching and coming closer, Mickey peeled his eyes open, seeing the street light up as it got even closer. He let the gun slip out of his hand, hearing it hit the ground with a thud before using what little power his legs still had left to kick the weapon under the railing and off the porch, hoping for it to end up somewhere out of sight.

Groaning softly, the man closed his eyes again when he saw the team of paramedics getting closer. He could hear the sound of talking but he couldn't make out what, their words seemed to blend in with the sound of the rain as his head began feeling fuzzy, as he started slipping away from the outside world.

The feeling of hands on his body guided him away from the support of the wall, he tried resisting, straining against their touches to the best of his abilities, which given the state he was in, really wasn't much. As he was laid down onto the stretcher, he made yet another attempt at fighting against them, trying to sit back up but all it took to get him to lay back down was a light hand on his chest.

“Stay with me, what’s your name?”

Once in the ambulance and securely strapped to the stretcher, he heard the voice of the woman. He forced his eyes open to look at her but immediately shut them again as the bright lights above pierced his eyes and he groaned softly before croaking out a response, “Nicholas Hill.”

It was a lie of course but if he was going to be forced to the hospital, he would not give anyone his name. Giving a fake name would hopefully buy him at least long enough to recover somewhat and get out of there without any cops or opposing gang members paying him a visit.

Somewhere along the short way to the hospital, Michael seemed to slip away fully, becoming completely unresponsive as his body went limp and he stopped fighting against the people around him and his world went black.

~~~

The darkness soon turned a warm orange, his surroundings feeling warm and comforting, allowing him to relax and regain some peace of mind and energy. Mickey no longer had to fight against the elements of the outside, his body no longer shivering from the cold and when he looked down, there was no sign of a gunshot wound in his stomach, nor was there any pain.

Suddenly flames started rapidly rising and engulfing the empty void that had surrounded him what felt like seconds ago, revealing the source of the orange light and warmth. At the sight of the flames any and all feelings of comfort and safety were replaced by fear and panic.

The young man took off running, trying to escape the roaring flames and their burning heat as they only seemed to grow closer. His throat was starting to close up as his heart beat faster, feeling as if it would jump out of his chest at any second.

No matter how fast or far his legs carried him, the fire only seemed to close in on him more and more until he had nowhere left to run. His body collapsed onto the ground, the flames closing in further before they entirely covered him and he could do nothing but scream out in pain.

He was trapped here with nowhere to go. He had escaped the grip of the flames once before and now they were back with no intentions of letting him go. Mickey was stuck here and there was no one coming to save him this time, he would die here, the flames would devour him until there was nothing left of him but bones and ashes.

~~~

With panic filling his body from head to toe and his heart stuck in his throat, Mickey woke up. The brown haired man shot up, or well, he tried to. As the man tried to sit up, he was held back by restraints around his wrists.

The man was breathing heavily as he looked around, his head still a mess from the dream, and of course from the medicine in his system. Sweat covered his back as his eyes shot around the room, scanning it and taking in the sight of the white and sterile room. Slowly, everything was starting to come back to him, the events of last night reminding him of how he had ended up here, despite it having been the exact opposite of what he had intended to.

Then there was that woman, what was her name? Dr. Rose? No, that sounded wrong. But it was something like that, wasn't it? He had left his gun outside her house, he needed to get that incase she had called the police, they could find it if they came to talk to her. Oh yeah, and he should probably thank her, or something.

Once more, Mickey tried to sit up, having forgotten about the restraints for a moment only to be stopped by them again. He let out a loud groan as he yanked at them and tried to get free before yelling out, “Hey! Is there anyone there?!”

It didn't take more than a minute before his yelling reached the ears of a nurse who poked her head inside his room, “Is there a problem here?”

Mickey glared at the woman with such anger that you would think she had been the one to shoot him in the gut last night. “If there is a problem?!”

“If there is a problem?!” He repeated even louder as he stared her down with wide eyes, “Maybe the fact that I'm strapped to the bed like a fucking psych patient? Does that seem like a problem to you?!” The man questioned loudly at the woman who was now staring at him like he was, well, a psych patient.

“Mr. Hill, I'd appreciate it if you calmed down. You were moving quite a lot in your sleep so to ensure that you wouldn't hurt yourself further, we had to restrain you for the time being,” she explained as calmly as she could, even though her body language screamed of everything but calmness.

“Well I’m awake now so take them off maybe?” He sneered as he pulled against the restraints once more, growing angrier and angrier for each passing second that he spent still stuck to the hospital bed.

“I’m afraid I can't do that until you’ve calmed down Mr. Hill, but since you're awake now, I will notify your doctor and he will come and talk to you once he gets the time, and then we can see about taking off the restraints at the same time,” she explained, forcing a smile before quickly leaving the room and shutting the door promptly.

Michael laid silent for a second and just stared at the door before shouting out again, “Hey! I am fucking calm!”

His angry shouting seemed to fall on deaf ears though as no one came to help him, the door remaining shut and after a few minutes, he finally gave up, staring angrily out the window while waiting for the idiotic doctor in charge of him so he could find out when he would be allowed to leave this place.