Ever since the broadcasts have gone up, Mike hadn't been able to peel his eyes away from his screen. It was definitely something he had grown used to - having been a security guard for more years than he can count, staring at screens intently with his fully attention was just something that he couldn't help but to do. There was a lot that Mike had to be doing- ever since the start of the first... Killing game, as that brat he'd come to recognize as Patricia Watson would call it, he had to make sure that the group he was with was safe and that the people-- the class he loved and cared for more than anything, was safe.

	But they weren't - and it shows, as Mike stares on towards the dead body of Russell Seager, shocked to death for trying to escape out of the hellish game Mike would never in a million years want to ever see himself in. With a hand covered over his mouth, he watches as the students still alive go their own ways, and he says nothing.

	There's a lot for Mike to unpack - but the thing that's been plaguing his mind is the fact that these are students he knows and can trust with his life. He wasn't supposed to get attached to them, he knows - besides, coming into the classroom 69 was all but a simple joke to him simply because the number made him laugh. But he didn't expect to come in on a class without a teacher for the day - all talking amongst themselves and joking around, creating as much chaos as humanly possible in one classroom, and even dragging him into it. He could clearly remember the day when he was called their teacher as a joke (what ever happened to their actual teacher, anyways? they were never around, as far as he was concerned.) and he went along with it-- only to end up... loving it.

	As time went on, Mike found himself getting so attached to the class that he would go out of his way to check up on them, even if he was on duty and shouldn't be leaving his station. He had made the promise to himself that nothing would ever happen to these students, especially during the events of the first killing game.

	But then they went missing for lord knows how long- and now, every television just about everywhere seems to be broadcasting the events everywhere.

	Six students he's come to know and love are dead, and he can't do anything about it.

	"...Michael?"

	The sound of his name rings through his ears, and Mike looks up with a hand still covered over his mouth. He makes eye contact with a man far taller than him, but it feels like he's almost looking into a mirror. He doesn't say anything, turning his attention away from the man he calls his father back to the television screen.

	"You're still watching it?"

	Mike only gives a simple nod of his head, not peeling his eyes away from the screen. "Yes. What else do you want me to do, go out and find them? We can't." His voice is soft, but he tears his hand away from his mouth and takes in a deep breath. He glances up towards William, narrowing his eyes towards him.

	"I told you not to go and get yourself attached to anyone, Michael. Anything could happen." William only shrugs his shoulders, taking a simple glance to the screen in front of them. Much like Mike, he had grown used to staring at screens to watch what would happen - but he had years of experience. Very little phased him, even the sight of death.

	"I'm not like you... ..." Mike mutters under his breath, turning his head away from William unable to call him anything endearing - yet, unable to call him by his name. He crosses his arms over his chest and takes a step back. His eyes stay glued to the screen in front of them, before he forcefully pulls his attention away from it. He turns on his heel, dropping one arm to his side as he waves William off with his free hand. "Just turn it off. I'm going to bed."

	"You don't sleep." William calls out after Mike, looking over towards him.

	"Well, I'm gonna try to, Jesus Christ." Mike hisses out, stopping in his tracks as he turns to look over his shoulder and glare towards William. He tries his best to ignore the screen that William still leaves on, and closes his eyes. Running a hand through his hair, Mike shakes his head and allows his hair to fall into his face.

	"Sorry. I'm going to bed. Goodnight." Without another word, Mike quickly makes his way out of the room he's in, running to what William assumes is his bedroom.

	"Goodnight." William grins, his hand reaching out to grab the remote resting on the desk just a little bit away from the television. His eyes, however, fixate their gaze on the screen in front of him. He had very little to no care about the well-being of people that he just hadn't gone out of his way to meet or personally grow close to - but he knew how close his own son was to them. It was astounding, really- but he doesn't comment much on it.

	William flicks the power button on the remote and turns the screen off, and sets down the remote back to it's place on the table he had plucked it off from, while Mike lays on his bed in his room and stares at the wall next to his bed. He listens to the sound of his father's footsteps make it's way back to their respectful room, closes his eyes, and eventually allows himself to drift off to sleep.

	Something that the remaining students of Class 69 couldn't do.