sirenspull_logs | (backdated--november 1st)

Who: Mike Ehrmantraut and Gustavo Fring
When: Backdated to the early morning of Thursday, November 1st.
Where: Tower Apartments
Summary: Something's going on with Gus and Mike is off to investigate.
Warnings: The normal Breaking Bad stuff. Language, possible drug-references, possible violence references, etc.

Mike tugged at the hem of his windbreaker, a wince just barely squinting one of his eyes. He was still sore where a bullet wound had once pierced his flank, despite The Pull healing the wound. It still felt odd, but maybe that was mostly psychological. He expected the pain and when there wasn't any, his mind created some to cope with the oddness of it all. Gus rarely phoned needing an immediate meeting unless things were seriously out of hand, so there was an extra bit of hustle in the way Mike got his things together. He wasn't a panicky individual by any means, and he was hardly rushing. But, usually where he took his leisurely time in doing things, he was bring more efficient and more aware of the time it was taking him. He gathered his personal belongings, his weapon holstered in a leather strap worn under his jacket, within reach should anything need 'taking care of'. He made sure to have his NV and other necessities, locking up and then making his way briskly to Gustavo's apartment. A heavy fist knocked three times--concise but loud, sure to be heard and then his voice, deep and gruff, followed just in case there was any suspicion.

"It's Mike."

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Mike heard Gus' voice from inside, ears attuned to listening for such. It seemed tense, concerned, which in turn raised Mike's curiosity a notch. He wondered what had Gus calling Mike to his apartment at this hour, and what kept him from answering the door. Mike paused for a moment before reaching for the knob. Another pause and then it was turned and he entered, shutting the door behind him in one smooth motion. Mike was silent, save for his heavy footsteps that followed the sound of Gus' voice, stopping short when the other appeared in the foyer. Mike raised a brow at the question. It seemed odd. Was it a trick question? No, Gus wasn't known for joking around. Not when he wasn't putting on an act as manager of his restaurant or some similar charade.

"I see nothing out of the ordinary. Should I see something?" He was cautious in his response, trying to get a handle on this situation.

He wasn't entirely sure what to make of that, it was clear. He stared at Mike for a moment, and then abruptly, almost mechanically turned and moved for the bathroom. "Come with me," he ordered.

It was a Tower bathroom, the same as Mike's, the only difference what was sitting on the counter. But the important thing was the mirror above the sink, and the why would become clear as soon as he cleared the door: because the Gus Fring in the mirror wasn't the same as the one standing in front of it.

The right side of the mirror-face was unremarkable, other than being on the wrong side... but the left side was basically gone. The eye was gone; the disintegrated jaw sagged open with no skin to hold it shut. There were a few shattered teeth, half an ear -- the rest was an oozing, unrecognizable mass of bombed-out flesh. The mirror Gus had no glasses, but a nerve visibly twitched in the empty eye socket as his gaze moved back and forth over his own ruined face. The mouth hung unsettlingly, what was left of the tongue working as the real Gus said, very softly: "Do you see this?"

Edited 2012-11-15 11:46 (UTC)

Mike normally didn't react to gore. He'd seen enough of it to last a lifetime and then some. First during his work as a beat-cop, then as a private investigator and now, working whatever jobs his employers found for him. He'd cleaned up bodies, he'd seen it all. So he'd thought. Then again, Mike rarely happened upon such a sight unexpectedly. It was always preceeded by 'I have something for you to clean up' or 'I wouldn't go in there if I were you' or some equally ominous statements. Never something as simple as "come with me". Mike expected to be brought into a situation that needed fixing. What he didn't expect was to be confronted with something he had no idea how to fix. And then the shock.

After a few moments of staring into the sightless, gaping hole in the mirror where Gus' eye once had been, he realized his mouth was hanging open similarly to that which Gus could not control. He shut it quickly, cleared his throat, and glanced back and forth from unscathed Gus to...that blown-to-bits sight in the mirror.

"I do see that. But. It's only in the reflection." He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears and rubbed a hand over his worn-in features, stretching them out as his hand slid down his age-loosened skin. "When did you notice this?" He said, after a pause, trying to figure out what it meant. What they could do. Clearly, he would be alright in public so long as he avoided any reflective surfaces but something had to be done.

"Did you notice anything odd or out of place the last few days? Anyone new you started talking to?" He was already running through the motions--the instinct of a cop beginning an investigation, taking mental notes instead of scribbling on a handheld pad.

"It began this morning," Gus replied immediately, crisply. "When I woke up." There was no question of that. He had a very particular routine at night, just as he had many particular routines throughout the day, and while he'd had a glass of wine at the Halloween party the night before, he certainly hadn't been intoxicated enough to miss this.

Not this.

But somehow, he had woken up to half a face, and now his mind was racing for solutions. It was only now that he was sure this wasn't what he really looked like, because every mirror in the apartment showed the same. And not only that. Normally implacable though he was, he drew in a faint but noticeably sharp breath as something flit through his vision -- something invisible to Mike, but visible enough to him to strike him like a mace. "And that?" he murmured, his voice a thin veneer of calm. "Did you see that?"

"It's only in the mirror..." Mike said aloud, though it was mostly to himself, cogs clanking in that old brain of his, but coming up with nothing. This was beyond the reaches of Mike's expertise. He'd always been a skeptic when it came to the supernatural and things of this nature, so he had been a little bit out of his element at Siren's Port as it were. Gus and Jesse were two of the few constants he had here, so it was disconcerting to be witnessing all of this. Mike knew his question had been unnecessary. Gus would be the first to realize any discrepencies in his routine--anything out of the norm.

Mike was broken out of his thoughts by Gus' voice and he looked into the mirror again, since he hadn't seen what Gus had, gazing at the other's mangled face reflecting back at him, unable to help the slight curl of his lip that resulted in discomfort just from looking too long. "See what...?" That your eye is missing? That your jaw is flapping open like a broken bear trap? For heaven's sake, what ISN'T there to see?

That Hector Salamanca was looking at me, Gustavo didn't say; not if Mike couldn't see it too. That other people have been looking back all morning. Was that part of whatever's happening, too, or was it simply something in his head? Was that from the wine? His lips thinned to a line, still staring at the mirror, the fingers on his right hand twitching very slightly.

"I thought I saw something else," he managed. I thought I saw Max before, he didn't say. It wouldn't even make sense to Mike, that revelation. There was no one left alive who knew Maximino Arciniega save a name on a scholarship form and a picture in his office. If Mike ever figured that out, the knowledge certainly didn't come from Gus.

(backdated--november 1st)

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WARNING: GRAPHIC GORE

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