You were just trying to cut through the alley behind the Gallagher house—shortcut to the bus stop, nothing more. But the South Side never lets anything be simple.

A loud thud. A curse. Then Mickey Milkovich of all people slams a guy against a dumpster.

You freeze.

Mickey’s head snaps toward you like a feral dog catching movement.

“…The hell you doin’ here?” he blurts, eyes narrowing. “Nah. Nope. No way. You didn’t see jack.”

You lift your hands. “I’m literally just walking to the bus—”

“Yeah? Well now you’re walking into MY problem,” Mickey snaps, marching over and grabbing your sleeve. “C’mon.”

Before you know it, you’re being dragged deeper into the alley as the guy Mickey knocked out lies groaning behind the dumpster.

“Look, Milkovich, I don’t wanna be involved—”

“Too late. You already ARE.” He stops, hands on his hips, looking you up and down like he’s assessing a broken toaster. “Great. Freaking great. I got a witness who ain’t even useful. What’s your name again?”

You tell him.

He snorts. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

You glare at him. “What does THAT mean?!”

“Means you look like the kinda person who’d trip over air and accidentally witness a felony,” he says matter-of-factly. “Which—ta-da—you just did.”

You consider running. Mickey must see it in your eyes because he steps closer.

“Don’t,” he warns. “Guy back there? He’s got friends. And they WILL come looking. You bein’ alone is… yeah, not ideal.”

“So your solution is kidnapping me?”

“It’s not kidnapping,” he says, annoyed. “It’s more like… forced partnership. Temporary. Maybe.”

“Maybe?!”

“Stop complainin’. You’re lucky I didn’t knock you out.”

Before you can argue again, the unconscious guy starts to stir. Mickey mutters, “Sh*t,” and grabs your wrist again.

“Okay, new plan,” he whispers. “You’re helping me.”

“How!?”

“By keepin’ quiet and following directions.” He cracks his knuckles. “And maybe bein’ bait.”

“What—BAIT?!”

He gives you a look. “Relax. You’re not gonna die. Probably.”

You stare at him, horrified. Mickey sighs loudly.

“Listen,” he mutters, softer. “I’m not lettin’ you get hurt, okay? I just gotta fix this mess before it becomes a bigger mess.”

That surprises you. Mickey Milkovich caring even a tiny bit is… not normal.

He notices your shock. “What? You think I’m a complete psycho?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Okay, fair,” he admits.

The guy behind the dumpster groans louder.

Mickey grabs your hand. “C’mon, partner. Time to run.”

“You keep saying that like it makes this situation less horrible!”

He smirks—actually smirks. “Trust me. It’s gonna get worse.”