Reliant ~ [John Soap MacTavish]

II. A fisher hat, a skull mask, a mohawk

The blindfold wraps around my eyes, a tight shroud of darkness that obscures my surroundings. My heart races as I feel the car beneath me rumble to life, the engine's vibrations reverberating through my body.

I fucking hate this.

I hate that I've allowed myself to be caught, hate that I'm now a pawn in their game.

Voices chatter distantly, their words a garbled mess that I strain to decipher. Frustration bubbles within me, irritation at my helplessness and the fact that I can't make sense of what they're saying.

It's like being left out of a secret, cruel joke.

I shift uncomfortably on the seat, my fingers involuntarily curling into fists. My mind races, thoughts colliding and merging in a chaotic whirlwind.

How did I let them take me? What could I have done differently? I should have been more vigilant, and more prepared.

The minutes stretch on, each one an eternity of uncertainty. The road seems endless, winding and twisting through a world I can't see. The constant motion only fuels my restlessness, my desire to break free from this confining darkness.

I grit my teeth, my frustration boiling over. I'm not one to be caught, to be manipulated. The very idea gnaws at me, eating away at my pride. I should have seen this coming, I should have outsmarted them.

The voices continue, their tone occasionally shifting from hushed conversation to raucous laughter. I can't make out their words, but their demeanor taunts me, reminding me of my predicament.

Anger simmers within me, a fire fueled by my own stupid fucking mistakes.

I take a deep breath, attempting to calm myself, to focus on the situation at hand. The car's vibrations change as we turn onto a rougher path, the uneven terrain jostling me in my seat. I can practically feel the isolation of the surroundings—the dense forests, the narrow dirt roads. It's clear that they're taking me far away from any potential help.

My thoughts run wild, trying to formulate a plan. I need to wait for the right moment, the right opportunity to escape. With each passing second, my determination grows stronger, fueled by my annoyance at being played like a puppet.

The car slows, and I sense a change in the atmosphere. The engine's hum shifts, and I can feel that we've come to a stop. My pulse quickens, anticipation and apprehension mingling within me.

This is it—I have to be ready.

My body gets pushed around by a rough pair of hands. I don't fight it, knowing I won't ever stand a chance while being tied and blindfolded. I know better than that.

I feel the ground underneath my feet change from tarmac to something else. Have they taken me inside?

My question gets answered when I'm shoved onto an uncomfortable chair and my hands are brought forward and laid down on a table, surprisingly not tied to something else but themselves.

When the blindfold is finally removed, I blink rapidly, my eyes adjusting to the sudden burst of light. I take in my surroundings—the unfamiliar location, and the faces, or masks, of those who have taken me captive.

I can't run from here. I'll have to do this differently.

Leaning back in my chair, I raise my brows and wait for them to speak. I let my gaze glide over the three men standing in front of me. One with a fisher hat, one with a skull mask, one with a mohawk.

What an odd pairing.

"Can these lights be turned down? It's giving me a fucking headache," I look around, lifting my bound hands to my brows in hopes of covering some of the lighting.