"I thought about it," Mike doesn't waste his time in taking a seat next to him. He saw and opportunity and he needed to take it, needed to make damn sure the other's okay. "Turns out GPSes aren't in our budget." It was a weak joke, too, and Mike just hands the beer over to the other.

He opens up his, and doesn't quite visibly squirm but looks slightly squirrly for a moment. Settles on fixing his eyes to the inky blackness, gulping a few sips down right away so he can say something. "You know, since I was little, I've always wanted to be an FBI agent. Always. I think I wrote a letter to them once when I was 8, I was obsessed. You know, like how some kids wanted to be astronauts or ballerinas?"