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When Mac was little and told people he knew how to escape from handcuffs, they would laugh, saying his wrists were too small to even fit. When he was in middle school and shared it as an unusual talent, no one believed him. In high school when it came up in conversation in class, people assumed he was a trouble maker.
Sharing the fact when he was in the army and then at the Phoenix, it didn’t matter. They were expected to know how to escape a number of bindings, handcuffs being on the low end of everyone knows how to do that. Zip ties were right up there along with handcuffs. The one that everyone had trouble with was any sort of metal shackle.
But just because something was easy to get out of, didn’t mean there’d be no consequences. Especially when being bound behind the back.
Mac never panicked when his hands were bound, because he could always easily get out. But that time his hands were bound behind him, and he was the only one that hadn’t been able to elude capture.
It had been a few hours, and he knew the team was most likely on their way to him, but Mac didn’t have time to wait. He knew his captors would be back before his team found him. So he did what he did best and tried to free himself.
It took effort to get his hands in front of him, almost popping one of his shoulders out of its socket, but now he could get to work.
His wrists were only bound with zip ties, but heavy duty, police grade so simply snapping them over his knee wouldn’t work completely. He tightened them with his teeth and tried to snap them, bringing pain and ripped skin with it. He tried to bite through it, just barely to make a point where they’d break if he snapped them hard enough.
It took a few tries, leaving his wrists raw, bloodied, and pained with each failed attempt, but on the fifth time snapping it over his knee, one of them finally broke. He took a second to breathe before carefully pulling the other off, throwing the thing down and wiping the blood off his fingers. He knew he wouldn’t find anything to wrap them with, but wished for something, because he knew Jack was going to throw a fit when he saw them.
He had been left in a typical abandoned warehouse, nothing too special about it in any way; empty, dirty, only light shining in from small windows at the top. It wouldn’t be too difficult to escape from. He tried the door for the hell of it, knowing it was barricaded or locked with something. At least it was actually locked. There had been more than one occasion that Mac had thought out a full plan on how to escape from any sort of room, only for the single door to actually be unlocked. So checking it was more so he would have peace of mind that his plan wouldn’t go to waste.
***
It was surprisingly night when Mac made it out of captivity. He didn’t know the exact time of when he’d been captured but figured either he’d been there for hours longer than he assumed, or it was near evening when it happened. All it took was throwing together a less than stable ladder up to a window, then finding something he could hang on to while he lowered himself to the ground outside instead of having a twenty foot drop.
He didn’t recognized the part of the city he was in, the dark doing nothing to help him figure it out. And his place of captivity apparently hadn’t been a warehouse at all, but an unfinished office building.
There were barely any street lights for him to go to, or try to stay away from. He hadn’t run into any of his captors upon his escape, so there was a good chance they didn’t even know he was gone yet. So he picked a direction and started walking, jokingly thanking whoever for leaving his shoes.
He didn’t know how long he went, maybe a mile, maybe two until he reached somewhere that had people. There he saw a late night diner, and seeing as he had no way to contact his team at all, he decided to stop there to try to get help.
Though with how he looked, hair messed, clothes dirtied, overall appearance disheveled, not to mention his bloodied wrists, he’d be lucky if they didn’t deny him. He pulled his sleeves down best he could, but the brush of the fabric on his raw skin didn’t do him any favors, not to mention at each movement, the sleeves hiked up slightly so his wrists were in full view.
There weren’t that many people, a few truckers at the bar really being the only people there besides staff. When Mac asked if there was a phone he could use, the waitress said it it wasn’t working, and the diner was the only place open at that time of night. He thanked her and was going to head right back out the door to find another place, but one of the truckers stopped him and offered their cellphone.
“Dunno yer exact situation, but I’ve seen alotta shit in my time. Always like to help where I can.”
Mac thanked him, not missing all the eyes abound him to to his wrist as he took the phone. He called Jack’s personal cell number, smiling slightly at the panicked questioning that came through the line. Mac told him he was fine and gave the address to the diner he was at before handing up.
“Do you need help buddy?” The trucker’s question caught him off guard as he handed the phone back. “I mean I don’t wanna assume but are you running from something? Need the authorities?”
Mac snorted. “Something like that. But no, thank you. My friend should be here in a little bit to help. If that number calls back, you can block it.”
Mac had sat himself at a table away from any window just in case this captors ventured his way. The waitress had also given him the first aid kit they had, offering to help bandage his wrists if he wanted. But Mac just thanked her, saying he didn’t require it, despite how horrible his wrists looked. It wasn’t long until the bell at the top of the entryway door rang, and the clop of boots echoed on the old tile floor.
Relief had flooded Mac’s system at Jack’s appearance, and he could only guess the same thing for Jack when he saw Mac, and walked over to sit himself across the table. He also noted the way the people watched as Jack made his way to him, looking like they were ready to jump in and help if needed.
“Can’t let ya outta my sight for three minutes or else ya go and do somethin dumb like make yerself a target so everyone else could escape.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m pretty sure you have a record for that.”
“Yeah, sure. What do ya say we blow this place? Get ya all fixed up huh?”
“What makes you think I’m injured?”
“I mean I didn’t wanna point it out or nothin but ya look like shit.”
“Gee, thanks.” Mac huffed. “But if I’m being honest, my wrists kinda sting a bit.” He put his arms above the table so Jack could see the full extent of the injury.
“The hell they do to ya?” Jack reached out for a wrist, stopping short of actually grabbing it. “Can ya still feel everythin? No numbness or nothin?”
“Nothing like that. They look worse than they actually are.”
“Yeah sure, if that were the case then you’d’ve used that aid kit that’s sittin right in front of ya.”
“I don’t want to waste the supplies in there since they’re just gonna come off when we get back to the Phoenix.”
“Don’t ya try to logic yer way outta this. Don’t matter if they’d come off in five minutes or an hour. They need to be treated.”
Mac sighed. “Can we just get out of here? I promise I won’t try to make a detour before going to med.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna hold ya to that. Don’t think I haven’t forgotten bout last time.”
They both stood from the table, Jack ushering Mac behind him so he could make sure there were no enemies as they left the building.
“You good buddy?” The same trucker asked as Mac and Jack passed him. It was nice, seeing a stranger concerned for his well-being.
“I’m good now. Thank you again for letting me use your phone.”
“Yeah, thanks man for helpin my resident genius turned idiot.” Jack thanked him genuinely while gesturing at Mac. He held his hand out to the man. “Can’t tell ya how many times we’ve been in situations like this.”
“Just nice to see he’s in good hands now.” The man shook Jack’s hand.
Mac nodded and smiled. “Yeah, I’m in pretty good hands.”