AN: I've been looking forward to writing this for quite a while, and I hope you guys love it. This first chapter is a little short, but the rest should all be longer. The title comes from the song Jonathan by Ice Nine Kills. I hope you enjoy, and please leave a review!
It all started just like any other Wednesday afternoon. Mac and Jack were running for their lives through some illegal chemical weapons dealer's facility, Jack was cracking jokes the whole way, and Mac was just trying to figure out how they were going to get out of this unscathed. They'd been cut off from comms with Matty and Riley back home, which wasn't completely unheard of, but it did make things more difficult.
"I'm eventually gonna run out of bullets, bud, and we need to have a plan by then, so could you, you know-"
"Hurry it up?" Mac finished for him. "I'm still trying to figure something out that won't kill us too." He peeked up above the crates the were hiding behind to get another look at what he had to work with, and what they were facing. Luckily, the building they were using had a front as a whiskey distribution center, so they had plenty of actual whiskey crates lying around. The open warehouse room they were hiding in happened to be where all the actual whiskey was kept. Mac smiled as he realized that he was practically being forced to make some Molotov cocktails. Oh darn.
He reached into the open crate and pulled out two bottles of whiskey, quickly opening them and dumping some of it out. Mac tore off part of his shirt - he never liked that shirt too much anyway - and shoved it halfway into the bottle, doing the same with the other bottle.
"You almost out of bullets yet?" Mac asked. "'Cause I'm gonna need your gun to light these up, and you won't really be able to use it when I'm done."
"Almost," Jack replied, popping over the crates just enough to fire at their pursuers again. Jack's aim was true, and that was the only reason they had been able to hold them off for as long as they had, but it couldn't last forever. "I'm out," he said. Jack tossed the gun to Mac, who quickly dismantled it with nothing but his Swiss Army Knife, and used the firing mechanism to light up the Molotovs.
He handed one to Jack, saying, "here's the plan. We're gonna throw these onto those crates of whiskey, and then we're gonna run."
"Short and sweet, I like it," Jack replied. He took the Molotov from Mac and got into position to stand and throw, just waiting for Mac's say so. On the count of three, they moved to throw the Molotovs in perfect unison, launching them over to the other crates of whiskey the bad guys were using as cover. Mac would've loved to stay and watch the ensuing flames eventually cause the explosion, but they didn't have time for that. Jack was on it, immediately grabbing Mac's arm the moment the Molotov was out of it, and pulling him with him as they two ran out of the warehouse and into the hallway.
Only a few seconds later, the plan came crashing down, literally. They heard and felt the massive explosion caused by all of that alcohol combusting rock the very foundations of the base. It was very old, and hadn't been structurally sound in decades. Mac had just hoped that they would make it out before any serious damage occurred. He knew the worst of it would be confined to the warehouse they were in and the surrounding hallways, so the rest of the compound should be fine, but they needed to book it if they wanted to get out of the hallway before it caved in on them. But, as always, their luck had run out, and the ceiling started to collapse. Mac quickly pushed Jack forward and out of the way, then moved back to protect himself. He didn't have time to get clear in front of it before it came crashing down. Mac had his hands up to protect his head and neck, and had curled in on himself to give himself as much protection as he could, and it seemed to work. The dust was settling, and he was okay. But was Jack?
"Jack!" he called out. The hallway was completely blocked off. "Jack!" he called again.
"I'm okay!" came the response. Mac could've cried in relief.
"I'll have to find another way out!" he shouted to his partner. "I'll meet you at exfil, okay?"
"No, I'm not leaving you!" Jack shouted back.
"You don't have a choice! I'll meet you at exfil!" he repeated as he started jogging away. He didn't like this any more than Jack did, but they just didn't have a choice. If he tried to force his way through, he could compromise the integrity of the building even more, and kill them both. Even if that wasn't a concern, it would just take too much time to force through. No, he needed to find another way around. Hopefully Jack would do the smart thing and get to exfil. That's all he could do.
Mac spent the next several minutes narrowly avoiding the security personnel running rampant throughout the facility, on the lookout for him and Jack. He needed to get out, and fast.
"There he is!" came a shout from down the hall. Mac took a quick glance behind him and saw the five guards, then started booking it down the hallway. There was nothing around him that he could use to his defense aside from his own knife, and although he was a good fighter, he wasn't sure if he could take on five men with guns who were built like mountains all by himself. Running and hoping he would be able to get away was a wiser move on his part. Except for the fact that there were another five guards standing right in front of him when he rounded the corner. Mac barely avoided literally running into them, but now, there was nowhere to go, and nothing he could do.
"Put your hands in the air, slowly!" one of the guards shouted at him. Mac didn't have any other option but to comply. Assuming they didn't kill him, everything would be okay. Jack would eventually realize that he was taking too long to make exfil, and he would come for him.
"Ask the boss if this one will work," another guard said. Mac had no idea what he was talking about, and he wasn't about to ask.
One of the men started to search him, and took his knife from his pocket. "He's young, and healthy and strong," the man said. "He should be the perfect test subject." That sounded very concerning. Still, Mac knew it was pointless to resist while there were literally ten guards surrounding him. He wouldn't get very far. The man ziptied Mac's hand's behind him and started marching him down the hallways, and into some laboratory.
"Oh, you weren't exaggerating," a man in a lab coat said. "He is perfect, thank you for not killing him. I'll get the serum, and then we can get this show on the road," he said with a clap of his hands. Several other people milling around the lab stopped what they were doing and picked up clipboards, coming closer to Mac and watching him.
Mac didn't know what to do. He was still being held by two guards, and there were still several others surrounding him. He was in a lab, which was always a good thing for him, but he wouldn't have time to make use of any of it after getting away. He really didn't want to get shot, and if he got away from the guards, that's probably what would happen. Mac had been shot too many times to count from the time he was eighteen years old in Afghanistan to now, and he really wanted to wait a little while longer before having to repeat the painful experience yet again. Still, he couldn't let himself be injected by some mystery drug, which was what it looked like was about to happen.
"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to test this one. You see, we're still working out all the kinks, and we know this one won't be the final one, but hopefully the process will be more sped up than the last test," the man explained with a creepy smile, inching closer to Mac with a syringe in his hand.
No, Mac would not just stand there and let his happen. He started to struggle more against the men holding him, but each of them were a lot bigger than him - which was all too common, being only 5'10" on a good day when the average height of a man kept going up and up. A swift hit to the gut had him nearly doubling over, being held up only by the grips on his arms. Another guard came up and gripped his hair, painfully pulling his head up and exposing his neck to the mad scientist in front of him. He tried to pull away, but to no avail. Mac could feel his breathing getting faster and faster, and damn he wished Jack were here. Then there was a strong grip on his neck by a meaty hand and sharp pain that he recognized all too well: a needle being inserted into his jugular vein. Mac closed his eyes against the pain, and stopped struggling. That would just make it hurt more. Then the needle was gone and the harsh grip on his hair was gone too, leaving only the men still gripping his arms. He was pretty sure he would have bruises from their crushing holds.
"Prep him for observation, then leave him with the others," the man said.
"Yes, Dr. Zeigler," the guard holding him responded. They quickly turned Mac around and pulled him out of the room and through more hallways than Mac could keep track off. Wait, why couldn't he keep track of it? Where was he again? Where was Jack? What was going on? Mac could feel his breathing speeding up, but there was blackness encroaching on the edge of his vision. He stopped walking, halting the guards in their steps. Mac tried to ask them what was going on, but before he could say anything, darkness was all he knew.