Chapter 22: Things We Don’t Know
'Jesus. What happened to you?'
Mickey was looking at me through the narrow slit that his door chain allowed. I must have looked pretty bad: bloodied face, dirty clothes, disheveled hair. I've come here straight from where the Protectors left me, not bothering to go home and wash away the signs of my encounter with Mitchel.
'Open the fucking door, Mickey.'
He hesitated for a moment, and then unfastened the chain, letting me inside.
Mickey was wearing an old t-shirt with some furry cartoon character and pajama bottoms. He looked like he had just got up from bed.
'Why didn't you answer my messages?'
He locked the door behind me and gave me a guilty look.
'Sorry. Fucking Protectors dragged me out in the middle of the night for some bullshit test. After that, I got paranoid. Kept radio silence.'
Something dawned on him, and he said:
'Wait... was it him who did this to you? That asshole, Mitchel?'
Interesting. He gave Mickey the same name he gave me. It would make sense, really. If Protectors had multiple wards, inventing a new name for each one would be a pain. They probably just rotated the names every few days.