Chapter Text
TV World was a rather loud place, but there were pockets of quiet dug out by those who wanted it, unfortunately, one of those pockets of quiet had been compromised yet again by the arguing of two Pippins.
One Pippin had tried everything he could to be good at his 2nd job.
The other Pippin was pretentious and green.
That other Pippin was Battat, his self-proclaimed 2nd “Boss”.
He was actively arguing with this Green Dice over the logistics of how wearing the glove-sleeve shirt of his personalized Mike uniform he had worked hard to acquire off shift wasn’t the end of the world. To the annoyance of the cowboy-hat wearing Zapper in the room, who looked as if they’d seen this argument a thousand times before and then some.
The room the three of them were in was known as the “Mike Room”, very special, so creative. There was a desk fit for a Pippin, Battat was sitting at said desk at the moment, a couch nobody recalls moving into the room, a closet for the outfits, a lot of general clutter,
And of course the corkbord covered in papers and red thread.
“No.” Battat said matter of factly
“No?”
“No.”
“That’s not a reason and you know it.”
“I don’t need a reason, now do I?” Battat examined his own hands at this point
“You’re not wearing the clothes off shift, that’s final. You should be thankful Pluey even agreed to design your horrendous variant!”
“A yellow bow isn’t ’Horrendous’!”
“Yes it is!” Battat slammed his hands against his desk, shocking the 2 people in the room “It’s against the design principles of Mike! We all know he had a RED BOW. Not a shiny yellow one!”
His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at Battat, he felt his hands tightening around the smiling head of his uniform.
Mike.
It always ended up back at this stupid Mike fellow. Always about what Mike would do. Always about what Mike would say. About what he sounds like. About what his favorite foods were. About the lies he’d say to make the actual Boss happy. Always. About. Mike.
He had managed to modify the spare uniform Battat gave him with the help of Pluey, sure, but that didn’t mean the green Pippin could hold it over his head like this. He was just doing what anyone would do in the situation; making himself useful.
He made his uniform thinner so he wasn’t bumping into everything.
He gave his uniform less clown-like shoes so he wasn’t tripping while sprinting.
He gave his uniform an orange server apron so he could wipe his hands on something without ruining the dark colors of his pants.
He gave his uniform oven mitt gloves because he kept burning himself in the kitchen, and that eventually became the glove-sleeved shirt they were arguing about.
He gave his uniform that “horrendous yellow bow” because it felt right.
He gave his uniform a gap tooth because-
“You keep changing shit.” Battat said with venom, interrupting his thought process “You’re disrespecting the point of our job, of your job.”
“Jongular and Pluey have completely different outfits than you!” He said as he waved an arm in Jongular’s direction “Why do you have to harp on me so hard over this all the time!?”
“They’re different species than us!” Battat folded his arms as he was now standing on his chair. “They can’t fit into the real Mike look as easily, so I let them take liberties!”
“LOOKING LIKE A CAT WITH BIG SUNGLASSES IS A LIBERY?!” He shouted, half laughing.
“SHUT IT.” Battat screamed sharply “YOU DON’T RESPECT OUR GOAL IN THE SLIGHTEST!”
“YEA WELL HOW THE HELL AM I DOING THAT!?”
“YOU’RE PRETENDING TO BE MIKE INSTEAD OF TRYING TO LET HIM BE YOU!”
“THAT SOUNDS FUCKING WEIRD AND YOU KNOW IT!”
“THAT’S JUST HOW IN AND OUT OF CHARACTER WORKS!!!” Battat looked beyond furious “WHY WON’T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT WE’RE TRYING TO FILL IN FOR HIM UNTIL WE FIND HIM!?!”
“BECAUSE MIKE DOESN’T FUCKING EXIST!” He snapped back instantly
The room was suddenly dead quiet
He continued anyways
“YOU’RE LOOKING FOR A GHOST! A MYTH! A MAN YOU’VE NEVER SEEN, HEARD, OR HAVE ANY KIND OF ACTUAL PROOF OF EXISTING! CORKBORD BE DAMNED!” He felt a big smile creep onto his face “WHY WOULD I CARE ABOUT SOMETHING THAT DOESN’T EXIST?! I’M NOT IN IT TO FIND MIKE. I’M IN IT TO MAKE THE BOSS HAPPY! THE ACTUAL BOSS!”
Batttat lunged at him, sending the chair he was standing on into the wall, but before he could land any hits on him, Jongular picked the Pippin up. Air jail. Battat was shouting and screaming about how there was no way the Full Time Mike position could ever be his without respect for Mike and a willingness to look for him. He just rolled his eyes and turned to walk out of the room, holding up his hand with only the pointer and middle finger together as he did so.
He had no want to continue the argument when he had lemon bars to make elsewhere.
The halls were empty in this part of the studio, nobody wanted to break into the Mike room after what he did, so they stayed away. which was okay to him since “breaking into the Mike room” by using the room code a couple months back was how he got the part-time job in the first place, He didn’t want any Pippins copying him.
He caught his reflection in one of the dark TV screens as he walked, and he couldn’t help but look at himself in it for a moment.
He was a Pippin, a game Dice. He had red eyes like all the other Pippins, but he had three dots under each eye, almost like freckles, and a mole above one of the dots next to his left eye, his eyebrows were round like the cheek dots, but they were black instead of red. He realized how tired he looked in the dark reflection, he had such dark eye-bags, but he couldn’t care less about that at the moment.
Then there was his gap tooth, right in the center of his mouth, perfect for hailing a cab if any of those existed here, he usually had his mouth open just enough for anyone to be able to see it. He saw his mouth smile a little, he liked that part of him a lot, he just wished it wasn’t attached to his face. He didn’t like much about his face other than the gap tooth and the eyebrows.
Pablo.
That was the name attached to the face, unfortunately. He thought about it a little before putting the Mike Head on and continuing to walk in silence.
He liked his name just as much as he liked his gap tooth.
Pablo was a nice name, but maybe he just thought it was nice because he’d heard it so often growing up, he didn’t care if that was the case. Pablo was his name, and he wished it had nothing to do with how he looked.
Wood against red carpet.
He felt his hands were balled into fists as he walked.
He knew why.
“You’re pretending to be Mike instead of trying to let him be you.”
The words echoed in his head. It sounded like something somebody in a mental institution would say, or a theater kid, not much difference though outside of the paycheck one of them gets.
Battat changed when he got into uniform, he was like a completely different person, He even changed his voice. Charismatic and yapping at a speed he didn’t even do when he ranted about Mike.
Jongular changed when they got into uniform, their gentleness disappeared in place of something more stern, almost like a sheriff who was protecting a small town in the desert.
Pluey changed when he got into uniform, he became sillier- somehow, and goes completely mute. It’s almost like the Shadowguy really becomes a cat when on shift, without the parts people find annoying.
Pablo doesn’t change when he gets into uniform. He puts on the head? He’s still Pablo. Only thing that happens is that he has respect from literally anything other than Pippins, because two Pippins tried to use the knowledge of him being a Mike to blackmail him, and failed to get Pablo to fall for it, so now every Pippin knows he’s Mike’s “little helper”, and that’s it.
Nobody knows there’s 3 Mikes.
Nobody knows Mike can remove his or their own head, and simply stop being somebody.
Nobody knows Battat is Mike.
Nobody knows, except Pablo. Why hasn’t he tried blackmail yet? He has no idea.
Maybe he’s scared of losing what individuality and attention he’s gotten in this crab bucket society called being a Pippin? Maybe. Maybe.
As Pablo walked closer to the Green Room, things gradually got louder, he saw a Zapper talking to two Shadowguys outside the open doors to the room, and a Shuttah staring at the dark distance beyond the safety rails. He paused for a moment, Even this early in the day, which is saying a lot because it was only noon, seemingly everyone was already slacking off at TV World’s equivalent of the break room. Pablo took a deep breath, the kitchen was just past the bar and to the right, no hallways, just next to a vending machine in the Green Room. All he had to do, was walk. So he did.
Green star-speckled walls, orange and cream checkerboard floor, blue wired fairy lights hanging from the ceiling, everything here was relatively spotless, and was attempting to capture some kind of magic Pablo just couldn’t see. There were a lot of Pippins here, as per usual these days, great. Simply fan-fucking-tastic.
Pippins tended to overrun the Green Room during the work hours anyways since they all loved slacking off, but there’s just so many more now, as if they enjoy doing something exclusive to the room. Like a pack of hungry wolves, a large majority of them instantly looked at him, they seemed to know that he’d just walked into the room, as if they knew his footsteps, which made Pablo a little scared to be honest.
Then it began.
“Hey ‘Mike’” One shouted with a grin “I hope all your shit burns today!”
The Pippins laughed.
Keep Walking.
“Everybody hide!” Another shouted in a mocking tone while they dramatically placed their hands against their cheeks “It’s the Fucker who abandoned us for the dusty old TV!”
They laughed more.
He felt his shoulders tense.
Keep walking.
“What would ya want to be?” One asked another loud enough for Pablo to hear “A Pippin with identity? Or a Screenlicker hiding behind a mask?”
He hated that word. They kept laughing.
His hands would hurt from how hard they were clenched if he wasn’t wearing the gloves.
Keep. Walking.
“WALK FASTER YOU PIECE OF FUCK! NOBODY WANTS TO SEE YA HERE!”
Laughter erupted as the phrase. “Walk away to your stupid kitchen” and “Go cook your sad doughnuts” was repeated a few times.
It was Baking, not Cooking, they knew that. He had told them that at some point.
Keep. Walking.
He had passed the bar finally, he was so close to the kitchen door.
Keep Walking. Keep moving. Almost there. Almost-
Something smashed against his head hard enough to cause his body to collide with the wall, thank goodness his head was round unlike his…head, it has a lot of padding.
Laughter erupted from where all the Pippins were as His hand instinctively moved to feel where the object had hit, to feel for any damage, only to feel
Nothing
Thick gloves against a false head, nerves can’t feel through those things. It made him feel a little disoriented at the realization of that as he looked at his gloved hand. Then he saw a liquid stream down where he could see out the head, at least he knows every uniform is stain resistant, can’t be liquid proof because that would be “making Mike unbelievable!”. Fuck that Green Dice to the outskirts and back, because Pablo still had to clean some of this now obviously coffee out of his uniform later.
He was standing completely still, just staring at his coffee drenched hand and the ground behind it, the cup the coffee was in was shattered on the ground around him. His mind was still trying to figure out what had happened as the Pippins were cheering Eachother on, but it felt distant, in a way.
Then he felt a bit of pressure on his shoulder. He turned his head to see the only plugboy in TV World staring at him. He had Fluffy blue ears. he wore a slightly oversized purple sweater, and baggy orange overalls. He had an equally fluffy tail, and a white circle of a face that looked way too worried to be a genuine expression.
“Are you alrigh’?”
Pablo stared for a moment, his head stuck with that perpetual Smile, He wished he could place a name to that stupid face, but it escaped him. He just knew this was the bartender.
He turned his head to the shattered cup on the floor, then turned his head back to the bartender, a glance without visible eyes.
“You asking me or the cup? ‘Cause I think the cup needs CPR.”
To his surprise the bartender actually smiled, it looked strained, but it was a smile.
“Mike, o’ course I mean you.”
The room was still laughing, because now the guy everyone pretended didn’t exist was “showing concern” for the guy everyone hated. Pablo wanted to be in the kitchen yesterday at this point, his mind felt like it was doing too much at the moment.
“I’m fine, just let me go do my job.” He finally said
“Alrigh’ then, but maybe stop by after work today?” his voice had somehow dropped to a surprisingly comforting whisper “I wan’ed ta ask you something.”
Pablo opened his mouth to reply, but had to duck to avoid another cup, resulting in it smashing against the wall and splashing decaf all over it. From squatting position he was at now, he saw the bartender turn around to the Pippins
“OI!” He sternly shouted at them, pointing a finger at them while the other hand rested at his hip “YOU LOT BET’ER GET THE HECK OU’ OF HERE BEFORE I REPOR’ YOU ALL TO THE BOSS FOR BREAKING MY DISH-WARE!”
And suddenly the Pippins were innocent little sheep.
“It wasn’t my cup, siiiiiiiiiiiir.” One said mockingly
“I don’ drin’ coffeeeeeeee~ I’m a teh swallowa and biscui’ muncha sor’ o’ Pippin.” Another said, also mockingly, just with a really bad British accent.
“I think it was Pen who threw it~” said Cas
“I think it was Cas who threw it~” said Pen
Even the argument brewing between Cas and Pen was to shift blame off eachother. Pablo knew those two were thick as thieves, they don’t throw eachother under the bus unless it suited their narrative of hating eachother’s guts.
Pablo didn’t want to stick around to know what happened next, his actual shift was in a couple of hours, and he had some goddamn lemon bars to bake, so he awkwardly crab walked to the kitchen door while the bartender was telling the Pippins off, and finally got into the kitchen.
It was, quieter, in the kitchen to say the least. He could hear the Pippins still, but that was because he was up against the door. The kitchen was practically empty, there was only a single Shadowguy there, fortunately some of the Shadowguys don’t know who Pablo was under the mask, and just treated him like ‘Mike’, meaning he could bake in peace since nobody interrupts Mike’s work.
He stood up from the awkward squat he was in, and got a dish towel to clean up as much of the coffee on his uniform and head as possible. He could feel The Shadowguy staring as he readjusted his head afterwards.
He could finally make what he had told himself he had to make. It had started from a desire for attention, baking things while on the Mike shift, it was something he knew he was good at- not Mike. Pluey had tried to prevent him from taking what he had made to the Boss, to no avail.
Mike doesn’t cook.
Mike doesn’t bake.
Pluey had broken character just to tell him that in the flurry of notes Shadowguys speak in, because speaking was a dead giveaway to Pluey’s species identity.
He turned on an oven to 350°F while he thought back to that day.
Pablo had gotten the food to the Boss on that day, months ago, and he was overjoyed to “find out” that Mike “can finally cook again!”, and Pablo just had to correct his boss that it was baking, not cooking. That made the Boss laugh, which made Pablo feel, weird, to say the least.
He had to bake something for the Boss every 3 days after that incident. He had liked it that much, to the horror of Battat.
Flour, softened butter, sugar, salt.
The shortbread crust for the Lemon Bars.
He had grabbed those ingredients as he reminisced on Battat’s dumbfounded face when the Green Pippin had heard that Mike apparently used to bake. He remembered how hard he had laughed once Battat started frantically trying to reorganize the corkbord just to include info he had “completely overlooked due to a lack of sleep!” Jongular had laughed a little as well at the time, moreso a chuckle.
Mixing the butter into the sugar and salt. Wets before drys. It was all just muscle memory for him.
He knew Battat was bullshitting at the time. The Pippin was too dense to ever handle the idea that he could be wrong about who Mike was or what his hobbies were. That’s why Pablo had laughed so hard back then, it was his first real look at how much of an incompetent fool Battat really was. So tangled in his own ideas that he completely missed the obvious things the Boss mentioned.
Folding flour into the mixture. He was like an organic machine when it came to baking.
His mind drifted to nothing for awhile as he made sure to not overwork the flour, then he pressed the shortbread to the bottom of a cake pan, and set it into the oven. 16 minutes.
It was like a flow state for him, his brain had a tendency to just stop surface level thinking while he baked, that didn’t mean all thinking stopped though, just the loudest part did.
Eggs. Lemon Juice. Lemon Zest.
The lemon filling, he already had the flour and sugar so he didn’t need to grab them again.
He put them into a bowl, and whisked them together. He was enjoying himself, but if his head were off, he wouldn’t look like he was, he’d been told he had a sort of “Resting Bitch Face” in the past.
Could he have been friends with Jongular and Pluey if he hadn’t made that mistake?
He stopped mixing for a moment, who let that thought sneak into the foreground?
He mentally told himself to shut it, but his mind was already racing in the background about that moment again as his body continued to perform the arm movements.
His one mistake.
Being honest to the Boss.
It cost him the full-time job.
Boss hates being told what he needs to hear.
Battat “forgot” to tell him that.
Stupid fuck-face Battat.
Pablo had to prove he wasn’t “Honest Mike” afterwards.
Pluey and Jongular were trying to get on his good side just to rub it in. He knew that.
He just had to try a little harder.
He stopped himself, well- he stopped his body. He was close to over-mixing the filling on accident, he didn’t even want to touch on the thought of what would happen if the lemon bars had over-mixed filling.
He just had to wait in silence for the oven to finish baking the shortbread.
He sat on a step stool while he waited and tried to shut his mind up. That Shadowguy was staring at him again, what did they want from him? Money? Verbal acknowledgement? Attention? Respect? What did they want from him? Couldn’t they just leave already? Is the Mike uniform really so goddamn special that you gotta stare at it for minutes on end?
He wanted to punch his own head, to shut himself up, but that wouldn’t look right for the person in the room. The secret might be out for the Pippins, but he still wanted to have the little bit of respect that came with the job intact for the other jerks in TV World.
Then he noticed that the Shadowguy wasn’t moving, at all.
He then realized he was being an idiot, a sleep deprived idiot. It was a normal shadow. He was alone in the kitchen the whole time. The sound he made upon realizing this could only be described as a mix between a teenager’s groan and a dog’s growl as he got up just to facepalm onto the counter. If he hadn’t been wearing his head, he’d be bleeding right now, but instead he just dented the head.
The oven timer went off before he could check the damage, he took the hot dish out and waved his hands at it a bit, the shortbread was golden. Which meant it was ready. With a sharp huff he pored the filling into the dish, and, as delicately as something as furious as him could, put it back into the oven and set the timer for 19 minutes.
In one movement he shut the oven door and took off his head.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid fucking idiot look what you did.
The dent in the head was a horizontal line that passed over the “mouth”.
Fuck.
His face was hot, it had started getting hot when he realized the Shadowguy was an actual shadow, he knew his face was red with blush, he could see it in the reflection of the mixing bowl he had used. He was embarrassed at himself.
Stupid crybaby fuckface good for nothing-
He smacked himself with his hand, making his head literally spin. Anything to shut up his thoughts.
Once his head stopped spinning, he put one of his hands into the Mike head, and tried to push the dent out from the inside. It took a solid 10 minutes, but he ended up having to really push against it before the head made a dull popping sound as it returned to its normal shape. Really tough material, perfect for when the Boss gets angry and chucks you at a wall in blind rage because someone left T for Teen rated graffiti all over the stage.
He sighed deeply before putting the head back on, and a few minutes later the lemon bars were done being baked, they just needed to be chilled now, which he did by metaphorically chucking it into the freezer… He actually placed it in there gently, he’d never spend so much time working on something just to treat it so harshly. He waited a long while for it to chill enough to put powdered sugar on it, he just had his head on the counter after cleaning everything up. He liked to roll the Mike head around on surfaces sometimes while he had it on, it was always a strange sensation since his head was a dice, all flat surfaces and corners, the opposite of the orb that is the head. Eventually, finally, he put the powdered sugar onto the lemon bars, cut them into big squares, put them onto a fancy looking Tenna themed plate, and left the kitchen. It was time to give the Boss the treats he demanded be given once every three days. To Pablo, it sometimes felt like a sacrificial ritual meant to appease the only god available.
The demeaning and insulting comments from the Pippins started up again the moment he stepped into the Green Room, seems like the stern words of a man nobody could remember the name of wasn’t enough to get them off his back. No cups were thrown though, maybe it was because they knew what would happen if the Boss didn’t get his sweet treat, he could picture how they’d think of it; a sad and lonely Pippin feigning pain and exaggerating the violence, kissing up to the Boss and telling him all the bullshit the Pippins did to the food with a voice smooth as silk, getting the Boss riled up just to get revenge on the fellow Pippins. He knew this was how they thought because he’d heard them talk that way about eachother and other coworkers, he’d even seen them try to do exactly that with Jongular when they’re Mike. He speed walked out of the Green Room as fast as he could, anything to get away from the Pippins.
His chest felt like it was buzzing, a deep, hollow buzzing as he walked down the hallways of West Side TV World. he never knew why the buzzing happened, but it was there, making his hands shake a little, but not enough for most to notice.
As he walked, he passed by many non-Pippin workers, all of whom were doing their job despite the off hours being so near, because Mike always got after them if they were slacking. Pablo literally had zero care in the moment about how much work they were all doing, maybe on a different day he’d give more care for it, but right now he had some goddamn Lemon Bars to deliver, he always had something sweet to deliver to the Boss.
Wood against marble, the checkerboard floors continued, but the walls failed to at times, someone clearly had a mishap during filming the show, great.
Boss won’t be in a good mood. Great.
He didn’t over-mix the lemon filling in case this sort of thing happened. Good on him, but still. Wood against marble still.
He noticed he was practically running at this point, his chest had gotten tighter, but he understood why. Thank goodness he had good balance.
Down more halls, hooking lefts and rights, and more rights, and up a ladder onto a catwalk. It was out of the way for sure, but that was how the Boss worked, he didn’t want any John Doughs barging in without warning. Pablo took a few breaths before knocking on the door. A muffled voice came from inside.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me, sir.” Pablo said loud enough that an audience of about 50 would be able hear him well.
He heard something akin to “oh for the love of-“ but wasn’t sure if he was hearing that right.
Then it became the normal amount of muffled
“Just get in here, I can barely understand you!”
Pablo opened the door, making sure the Lemon bars were well balanced in his other hand, and walked into the office, making sure to close the door behind him.
The same star speckled walls, and the same checkerboard floor as the Green Room, except this was a proper office, there was a desk and a couch, some ceiling curtains, along with a lot of other bits of junk that the Boss liked.
Red 3 piece suit, yellow tie, big white gloves, pink TV frame, all the hallmarks of the one and only Mr Ant Tenna. Pablo had noticed something over the last couple of visits though, and this one was no different in this strange way; The boss seemed to have his head strategically hidden behind some of the more conveniently placed curtains in the room. He still had no idea why the Boss had started this weird tendency, or why it was still continuing.
“It’s me, sir. Mike?” Pablo repeated now that he was in the room.
“Oh! Mike! You’re back, that’s good.” Tenna said, false joy in his tone “I take it you had a fine break while that mess happened during a Live show?”
“Not really, but I made one of your favorites!” He walked further into the office so the Boss could see him better with the plate, he saw his Boss pause for a moment to examine him.
“Oh! You’re feeling yellow now?” Tenna said as a hand disappeared due to being raised to his mouth “I always knew you were a bit of a shapeshifter, but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen all 4 of your little (and long) forms in the same day.”
Silence
Pablo almost forgot he was meant to be Mike for a moment. The Boss genuinely thought that Mike was some kind of shapeshifter. It made enough sense to him though, after all, Battat had told Pablo one of TV World’s biggest secrets a long time ago, that Mr Ant Tenna had Face Blindness. All he understood about it is that the Boss couldn’t remember faces well, meaning there shouldn’t be a reason to wear the Mike heads, and yet…
“Yea, today was rough.” He half-lied “but I thought it would be nice to throw on the old yellow bow and orange apron, and make you a treat before we turn in for the night.”
He felt the air in the room change, like a slinky was able to finally relax after being pulled thin for hours.
“Thank you, Mike.” Tenna said with a sigh as Pablo walked to the desk and set the plate onto it with care.
At this angle, he could barely see the white glow of the Boss’s face, he dared not to even think about asking why his Boss was hiding like this, he didn’t want to be “honest Mike” again. He was just there to deliver sweets and make the Boss happy. That’s all he was good for these days. He can’t mess that up easily.
“You’re welcome, sir.” He took a step back from the desk “I hope you enjoy.”
As his Boss went to try the Lemon Bars, Pablo felt like the room had somehow lost it’s air, but he was used to this feeling, so he just shut his eyes and waited for the plate to be thrown at his face.
“Mmm, these lemon cakes are wonderful as always, Mike! Good job! Don’t go spilling this recipe to any competitors, okay?”
As the Boss laughed at his own words, Pablo felt like he could breathe again, and opened his eyes. He never ended up throwing the plate at him these days, but he still expected it. The Boss always had a motive to do so, even when he’s happy. His mind also hated how the Boss always got the name of what he made wrong, but he couldn’t mention that, not to his hidden face.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Mike?” The Boss said with his mouth full apparently.
“…”
“I don’t get why you insist on calling me ‘Sir’ when you’re yellow, is it apart of the whole ‘Politeness’ getup?”
“…Sure.”
“Well, keep it up then! You know I enjoy some kind of respect, even this late into the day!” He laughed at himself again before sighing.
“Again. Thank you for the surprise Lemon Cakes. I have no idea what I’d do without you, Mike… I’ll see you in the morning.”
That was his signal to leave, and he took it. He didn’t want to make the Boss kick him out of the office. He did notice that the Boss seemed a little sad looking as he closed the door, he wondered why.
He took a couple steps backwards from the office door. He’d done his job for the day, that’s what Part-Time Mike does, very simple tasks. He hugged himself hard enough he hurt his arms to stop his upper body from shaking, and didn’t take any extra steps, he didn’t want to fall off the catwalk. His heart was pounding apparently, he’d decided to name this sensation “Static Shock” after the 4th time he had this happen after leaving Tenna’s office. He just stood there holding himself for a solid 5 minutes before he finally climbed down the ladder.
Then his mind decided to remind itself that he had someone to meet with, unfortunately.