Jack opened his eyes, but everything remained black. Was he blind? Was he dead? Jack tried to move his arms and realized he couldn't. Thick iron manacles bound him to a stone wall. The wall was rough hewn, cold and damp. Jack sighed and winced. His head pounded with stabbing pain. Jack coughed realizing that the cell had a sickly sweet odor he couldn't identify, sort of like pot but fruitier. Jack shook his head. He was glad he couldn't see; it kept him from seeing the world spin madly. Jack leaned his head back against the stone and frowned.

He remembered the farm, fighting, then a solid hit to his skull. Jack felt bile worm its way into his mouth. It was hard to think, probably a concussion. His heart jackknifed.

"Mac? Mac?" His voice was loud and echoed off the stone. He concentrated on listening. He couldn't hear any breathing. Jack sat back. Mac had been on the run. He hadn't been taken. Jack felt fear trickle up his spine, or...Jack shook his head. No, no way was Mac dead. He'd know it if he was. Jack winced at a loud mechanical thud that was followed by an unearthly squeak. He blinked his eyes against a small flickering light. He heard someone enter. Jack blinked. After a long moment, his eyes adjusted and he could see his visitor.

"Oh hell," Jack muttered. Sarana Lupia smiled at him, her eyes and teeth bright against the darkness of the cell. Jack squinted taking in the cell. His eyes widened as he saw an ancient skeleton hanging from manacles at the back of the cell. Jack scowled. It looked like a dungeon. Not a fake TV dungeon, but a real medieval castle's dungeon. Jack was suddenly very happy for the perfumed air.

"Hello, Jack Dalton," Sarana said. Jack frowned. Her voice was relaxed and friendly. Jack blinked. In the dim with the flickering candle, her eyes seemed like the black holes of a skull. For a second, Jack wondered if she were Death himself come to claim his dirty soul. Jack shook his head and winced in pain and dizziness. "Not happy to see me, I imagine." The woman cocked her head and let out a long sigh. She wore a loose red dress and turban. Jack looked away. The African woman was still incredibly beautiful, but Jack knew better than to be taken in, some people thought cobras were nice too.

"I like the people I kill to stay dead," Jack said. He frowned at the slur in his words. How hard had they hit him?

"I understand. I need your help." A genuine guffaw escaped from Jack. He shook his head. He knew she was bat shit crazy, but help her? Sarana smiled and nodded. She crossed to a folding wooden chair in front of Jack.

"It is something that will help us both."

"Why do you think I'd ever help you?"

"Corydon." Jack sobered. A chill grabbed him. The walls seemed to wax and wane. Jack waited giving nothing away. "When you almost killed me, you freed me."

"Freed you?"

"I had been on a search for meaning, for a purpose...you gave that to me." Jack frowned. Sarana sounded sincere. She's crazy as an eight legged dog; he reminded himself. She sat back and laid the candle on the floor.

"You tortured my best friend." Jack hissed. The anger in his voice filled the cell. Sarana nodded sadly.

"Yes, I was insane then." Sarana stood up and began to pace. "I was manipulated, we both were manipulated."

"Like you're trying to manipulate me now." Jack sneered. Sarana nodded.

"I can understand why you think that, and nothing I say can change your mind, but please hear me with an open mind."

"I'm a captive audience," Jack growled. Sarana laughed. It was a friendly sound. Jack felt drawn to the woman. Was she for real? Jack shook his head and closed his eyes as the room spun.

"As you say. Let me ask you then, how has MacGyver been?" Jack's heart leaped. It meant she didn't have Mac.

"He's okay." Sarana nodded and sighed sadly.

"I am truly sorry, Jack, but he is not." Jack's heart his the floor. He couldn't stop himself from gasping in horror. Sarana stepped and crouched down. Her face was sad and kind. "He hasn't been for some time. I'm truly sorry, but he is dead." Jack's rage shook him.

"You bitch! IF YOU HURT HIM….!" Sarana stood up and stepped back out of kicking distance. Jack yanked on his manacles oblivious to the pain of cut flesh or blood running down his forearms.

"Calm yourself, Jack Dalton. I have done nothing to MacGyver." Tears sparkled in her eyes. "He was perfection, my greatest test; I would never destroy him." Jack sucked in air and narrowed his eyes. He hated to say it, but in her twisted way, she was telling the truth.

"You're wrong," Jack said firmly. Sarana nodded and wiped at her eyes.

"Let me ask you this, has he been the same since he was taken?" Jack's eyes widened, and he scoffed.

"Yes, messed up but he's still Mac." Sarana nodded and sniffed.

"Then you have been fooled too. I'm sorry, Jack." Jack frowned. Sorry? "I'm sorry, MacGyver is actually dead. The Mac you have been caring for the past few months is a replacement." Jack laughed.

"Impossible. I'd know if Mac wasn't Mac."

"Would you? He's been weaker, more dependent on you-is that normal for MacGyver?"

"He's gone through hell, a hell which you helped create." Jack glared hatred at the woman. She nodded sadly and sighed.

"Yes, I was used." Again Sarana stood and paced. "Have you noticed that you never heard the name Corydon until Mac returned?" Jack frowned. Where was she going with this? Jack shook his head. Why was it so hard to think? "Jack, Mac is Corydon." Jack laughed again, but it wasn't as confident.

"That's...stupid," Jack mumbled.

"Is it?"

"Yes, absolutely ridiculous. I know Mac better than anyone. I'd know…"

"Hugh." Jack's voice strangled with surprise.

"What? I killed him."

"No, you left him for dead." Jack felt his heart pound. He remembered the broken man he'd left buried under mountains of stone in the caves in Sierre Leone. Impossible, he told himself. And yet Sarana who he had emptied an entire clip into, sat in front of him. Was it possible?

"No, I would have known." Jack said his voice came out in a higher pitch. Sarana nodded.

"He fooled everyone."

"No, Mac is alive!" Sarana sighed.

"I do not want to cause you more pain, but I know you need to see with your own eyes." She snapped her fingers. A cart was wheeled in, on it was an old reel to reel projector. She noticed him staring at it. "I managed to steal this from my old partner." Her voice sliced with bitterness at the word. "This is original footage and as you can see could not possibly be photoshopped." Jack swallowed and felt sweat bead down his palms, back, and forehead. Sarana reached over and the projector ticked alive, and Jack had no choice to watch the film dancing on the stone across from him.

Mac lay on a dirty couch, his head twisted at an impossible angle, blood dripped from a slit throat. His blue eyes stared blankly into the camera.

"NO!" Jack howled tugging against his bindings wildly. "No, it's not true!" Jack felt his shoulders shake and could barely see past a wave of tears. There was a long string of numbers.

"This I pieced together." The footage changed to a man sitting in a chair; his face wrapped up. The bars of a vent covered the image; the film was shot surreptitiously. Slowly a doctor stepped forward and unwrapped the patient's face. Jack's eyes widened. Mac sat there with swollen eyes and cheeks. The doctor handed him a mirror, and he looked into it, turning his head to see rows of stitches.

"Nice work." The face was Mac's the voice was Hugh's.

"No," Jack whispered. Then the footage returned to Mac's dead body, and the Hugh-Mac stood over the body and smiled. Jack saw Hugh's cold shark smile. Jack felt sick. "No." He repeated. The man turned and spoke to someone off camera.

"Now we destroy Phoenix," Hugh-Mac said. A man replied. Jack couldn't make out what he said. He gave Hugh-Mac something-it looked like a thin transparent piece of tape. He opened his mouth and tucked it under his tongue. "Is that better?" The voice was MacGyver's.