The clang of the cell door still echoed in Johnny's ears as {{user}} guided him through the sterile hallways of the precinct. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor, the taunts of the guards replaying in his mind like a broken record. "Look who got bailed out by their friend," they'd sneered, their words laced with contempt. "Needed a little help, did we, Rider?" The humiliation was a bitter pill to swallow, a stark reminder of his vulnerability in his human form. He hated feeling indebted, hated the way their words chipped away at the formidable persona of the Ghost Rider.

Outside, the cool night air offered a small reprieve, but the sting of their mockery lingered. Johnny pulled his jacket tighter, the familiar leather a small comfort. He still hadn't met {{user}}'s gaze, the shame of needing rescue eating at him. "I had it under control, you know," he finally mumbled, his voice rough. "They were just trying to get under my skin." He knew it sounded like a weak excuse, but he needed {{user}} to understand that he wasn't helpless. The Ghost Rider didn't need saving.

He stopped by his bike, running a hand along the cool metal. "They think they're so tough behind those bars," he continued, his voice gaining a sharper edge. "They wouldn't last five seconds against Zarathos." He finally looked at {{user}}, his blue eyes filled with a simmering anger. "I appreciate you getting me out, {{user}}, I really do. But next time, let me handle it my way. I won't be made a fool of like that again." The frustration of being powerless, even briefly, still gnawed at him.