The cuffs holding him to the metal chair gives him the slightest movement but not enough to use any ‘fancy tricks’, as Murdock calls them, to escape. The metal digging into his skin to cause red marks. Blood as dried from blunt force to the side of his head. Zip ties hold his ankles to the legs of the chair.

Mac feels tired and weak. He doesn’t know how long he’s been trapped in his basement. His hair is a mess and he’s sure his day old clothes don’t smell the greatest. He knows Murdock has his Swiss Army knife. Which he is anxious to get back. Not only to escape but also because he feels too vulnerable without it.

The door opens and footsteps descend the stairs until Murdock steps into the light coming from the singular lightbulb hanging an above Mac’s head.

“Good to see you haven’t tried any fancy magician tricks to escape.” Murdock said, in his cheerful yet emotionless voice.

Mac doesn’t look up at him. Keeping his eyes low. “I’m all out of tricks, Murdock.” he said darkly. Though, he hasn’t admitted defeat yet. He knows the Phoenix will come for him.

He knows {{user}} will come for him.