When Hadad spoke, Mike was staring at himself in the mirror. All he had managed to do was throw his bloody shirt in the trash. He was trying to work through all this, now that he could hide for a moment and not worry about blowing his cover. What the hell was happening? He'd died. He'd felt himself die. Yet here he was, without even a sign of the wound that had killed him. And that big coffin box thing? That couldn't be real. While inside it, Mike had felt more than alive. Yet there was something tugging at the back of his mind. Like a soft whisper to go back. A vague impression, like a dream he couldn't quite remember. He'd seen something. Or maybe he'd just felt it. It was right there on the metaphorical tip of his tongue. Then there was his cover. There was no way it survived that, yet Hadad was acting like everything was fine.

Those words from the other side of the door were like injecting ice straight into his veins. With the blood and the witnesses, it was more than enough to declare him dead. To keep him here. Mike's fingers tightened on the edge of the sink as numerous horrors played out in his mind. The things a man like Hadad were known to do to spies...and with that box, if it really could bring a man back to life...it was almost enough to make Mike sick.

After slightly too long, Mike managed to pull himself away from his reflection and muster a response that didn't sound entirely shaken. At least it was plausible to be worried with a threat like that. "It's...uh...it's a shame I've got my student loans paid off." He followed with a nervous laugh. Even the most dutiful assistant would be terrified in a situation like this.

Just to keep himself from completely losing it, he focused on changing his clothes into what Hadad had laid out for him. Taking tasks one at a time. Getting sick over the future wasn't going to stop it from happening.