Sirens.
Feet slamming against marble that was never meant for running.
Mike Ross didn't remember choosing to run—but his legs were already doing it.
The hotel lobby exploded into view: chandeliers, polished floors, a concierge frozen mid-smile. Somewhere behind him, a voice shouted. Somewhere too close.
His lungs burned.
"Why am I running? Wait slash that, why I'm here. Wasn't I suppose to taking a small nap before the lunch"
Looking at the reflection of himself running in corridor glass
"F*ck, that the hell why I'm different young and strong and handsome too … I m looking good in suit"
"This is not the time mike. What is happening "
Mike keeps running
The briefcase in his hand felt heavier than it should.
Weed, a distant thought supplied.
A lot of weed. Why am I holding a federal crime?
His vision tunneled. The edges of the world dimmed, like someone turning down a dial.
Then—
Pressure.
A crushing, inward collapse, as if his skull was being squeezed from the inside. Mike staggered, slammed shoulder-first into a pillar, and the world went white.
Not darkness.
Data.
[Thread Count: 140s | Egyptian Cotton]
[Floor Polish: Citrus-based | Recently Applied]
[Heart Rate (Nearby Male): 72 bpm | Controlled]
What the hell is—
The information didn't arrive as thoughts. It arrived as certainty.
Memory flooded in next.
Not his.
Cubicles. Fluorescent lights. Cold coffee reheated three times. Ten years of office politics. No—more than that. Fifteen. Twenty.
Thirty-five years of surviving by keeping his head down, his face neutral, his thoughts locked behind a practiced, professional blank.
I know this.
I know how to breathe through pressure.
I know how to smile when I want to scream.
The panic didn't vanish.
It got organized.
The world snapped back into focus.
"Rick Sorkin?"
A woman stood in front of him.
Red hair. Perfect posture. Expression friendly enough to disarm a bomb.
[Attention Focus: You]
[Assessment Speed: Immediate]
[Authority Source: Unclear]
Why is she looking at me like that?
She tilted her head slightly, already deciding something.
"You can go in now."
The door behind her was closed.
Mike nodded.
On the outside, he looked calm. Polite. Slightly nervous, the way interviewees were supposed to look.
Inside—
I don't know where I am.
I don't know who I am.
But I know this is an interview room, and she's not the receptionist.
She is hot. A red head remind me of my young fantasies.
He adjusted his tie without realizing it.
[Muscle Memory: Executed]
Great. Even my body thinks this is normal.
He stepped past her.
The door opened.
The man inside didn't stand.
He didn't need to.
[Suit: Italian Wool | Custom Fit, Tom Ford, Hand-stitched | Altered at the shoulder → favors power stance]
[Tie Knot: Windsor | Power Blue | Intentional Symmetry adjusted twice → vanity or habit]
[Shoes: Polished within last hour → anticipated confrontation]
[Heart Rate: 68 bpm]
[Adrenaline: Low]
Predator, Mike supplied calmly.
Corporate monkey but nice suit should be at least 20 k. Naves
The man leaned back in his chair, eyes sharp, amused.
"Rick Sorkin," he said. "Do you know why you're here?"
Because I ran into the wrong building while committing a crime?
Out loud, Mike said, "No, sir."
The calm voice surprised even him.
[Voice Stability: High]
Elephant teeth, he thought distantly. Show one thing. Chew with another.
The man smiled.
"Good. Neither do I. Let's find out together."
Questions came fast.
Logic puzzles. Law hypotheticals. Ethical traps disguised as jokes.
Mike listened.
And watched.
[Micro-Expression: Anticipation]
[Question Pattern: Escalating Difficulty]
He's not testing answers, Mike realized. He's testing reactions.
Books opened in his mind.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Every statute. Every precedent. Every case law footnote he had never studied—yet somehow knew.
This isn't memory, he thought. It's indexing.
He answered.
Not quickly.
Precisely.
Harvey Specter—because the name surfaced unbidden—leaned forward.
[Interest Level: Rising]
"Where did you go to law school?"
Nowhere, Mike thought. Everywhere.
He named one.
True enough.
Harvey's smile sharpened.
Minutes blurred.
Mike constructed arguments while internally cataloging exits.
If I get arrested, I want to be closer to the door.
He dismantled a hypothetical merger violation without raising his voice.
Harvey laughed once.
[Reaction: Genuine]
"That," Harvey said, standing at last, "was fun."
Fun.
Mike's hands were steady.
His mind was screaming.
I am committing fraud.
I am committing several crimes.
I just wanted a desk job.
Harvey extended a hand.
"I'm hiring you. Associate. Pearson Hardman."
The room tilted.
Say yes, the clerk inside him advised calmly. Problems later. Survival first.
Mike shook Harvey's hand.
"Thank you," he said.
[Decision Logged]
Get out alive, he thought.
Behind the door, the red-haired woman smiled.
And somehow—
Mike knew.
This was only the beginning.