Mitch leaned back, trying to escape the forward thrust from his archenemy, trying to slide his chair back so he could move from his now standing position, pulling away, but stymied from much movement by his own chair. The traitor. He could only really just stare at Pherson from a ramrod position, and he very obviously swallowed.

Shit, this was not what he'd been expecting. Pherson had always been delusional, but Mitch had thought of their encounters from his lofty position as a superhero. Here, in his office, he was a sitting duck. He didn't have his arsenal of weapons, or his jetpack to fly off, or gas, he didn't keep a tranq gun. He'd need to, if he lived through this, or once he came back. If he came back. He could never guarantee that.

"I-- You--" he didn't get any further when there was the sound of his bodyguard bursting in through the door, and for the first fucking time since Rick had shown up, he actually looked glad to see him, even though it was the slightest shift in his eyes, a quirk of his lips. A relieved quirk.

"Wow, you took down a fucking polar bear?"