- Time unknown -

John Reese couldn't remember the last time he hadn't felt cold. Huddled in the far corner of the cage and wrapped as best as he'd managed in the old, scruffy blanket he shivered uncontrollably with violent bouts of coughing wracking his body. At least two ribs had been cracked during his last encounter with the Aryan, turning each cough into a special kind of hell.

It had taken him almost half a day - after waking up soaked and frozen to the bones - to realize that the cage door had been left ajar. He hadn't even tried to reach the damn thing, knowing quite well how far the chain around his neck allowed him to go and, also that trying to get rid of it was a fruitless effort.

At the moment Reese was content with not moving at all. His ribs hurt, his head was pounding, his eyes burnt and the skin around his wrist, ankles and neck looked and felt like it was inflamed.

He had been left alone for what felt like ages, and judging by the growth of his beard and apparent weight loss - he hadn't really felt like eating for the last couple of days, having to literally force himself to eat his meager ration of the dry cookies - he estimated the time of his capture to be at least two to three weeks.

At first Reese had been confident that he would either find a way to free himself or that Finch would find him and send in the reinforcements. The only question in his mind had been what would occur first?

But with each hour that passed without the opportunity of escape John's frustration with the situation grew. He felt himself growing weaker with each day - the lack of food and the feverish cold he couldn't shake were expediting his bodily decline. Now he actually found himself wondering if Finch had even been looking for him. Maybe at first, but after all he was only an asset and easy to be replaced.

"No, he wouldn't leave me behind." John mumbled to himself, his voice no more than a rasping whisper. "He wouldn't."

He leaned his head back, closing his tired eyes. "You need to stop talking to yourself, John."

Maybe I'm getting soft, John thought. All things considered his accommodations weren't that bad. He'd certainly been kept in worse conditions - hell, he had lived in worse conditions. But back then he hadn't really cared and his friends Jack and Daniels had usually kept him company with a warm and fuzzy haze.

Now, as chills raked through his body he longed for his warm apartment, his soft mattress, his high thread count sheets and at least a week of sleep ... yes, he definitely was getting soft.

The chills and cough had started to worry him. He wasn't usually prone to catching the common cold and he had the feeling there wasn't anything common about whatever resilient bug he had acquired. The chills were the newest addition - a nice touch in making him feel sick as a dog. It felt like what had started out as a case of the sniffles had been gradually working its way to becoming a full-blown and all grown-up pneumonia. Just what he needed.

He needed to get out of here fast, that was for sure. And he needed to make his escape before the Brotherhood handed him over to whoever paid the most. John highly doubted he'd fare any better at the hands of the person or organisation that he had managed to piss off enough for them to be willing to pay eight million bucks just to get their hands on him.

John eyeballed the open cage door but even if he managed to get rid of the cuffs around his wrists and ankles and of the choke collar around his neck he would still be faced with the next obstacle: the heavy metal door with the heavy bolts that locked from the outside.

Blondie never entered the basement alone, always traveling in a pack of three. And while Reese was sure that with the element of surprise on his side he could take on the blonde, he also knew that in his current state he wouldn't stand a chance against his posse.

A slight tickling at the back of his throat warned Reese of the next coughing fit. The wet rattle from deep within his respiratory system lasted what felt like hours to John, setting his chest on fire and leaving him gasping for air.

He heard the bolts of the metal door slide open and squeezed his eyes shut. He was so not in the mood. Sighing, he opened his eyes and waited until the blonde had taken up his usual position inside the cage before raising his eyes to direct an impassive look at the man.

The Aryan didn't say a word. Instead he just moved his open hand upward, gesturing for Reese to get on his feet. John clenched his jaws together, defiance written all over his features for a split second before becoming impassive again as he slowly and labouredly got onto his feet. He shuffled forward at the blonde's beckoning - hating every second of it - and stopped as Blondie held up his hand.

"Good boy," purred the Aryan, flashing him a toothy grin. He began circling Reese again, who stood motionless, staring ahead and flexing every muscle of his body in anticipation of the beating he knew he was about to receive.

The blonde stopped in front of John, sizing him up. Reese knew that by now he must look like the total mess he felt like - hair in disarray, unkempt beard and a formerly white dress shirt that was now stained by grime and his own blood.

"You look ripe. Gonna have to clean you up for the pickup." Blondie took another step closer and John knew the moment his forehead collided with the bridge of the other man's nose that head-butting him hadn't been a good idea. But the feeling of bones giving way accompanied by a satisfying crunching sound that reverberated through his skull momentarily pushed all thoughts of painful repercussions out of his mind.

Indifferently, he watched as the man staggered backward, trying to staunch the blood flow from his nose with his hands. Suddenly the collar around his neck constricted, cutting off his air and forcing him to scramble to keep up with the backwards pull on the chain attached to the collar.

Losing his balance Reese's back slammed hard against the metal bars, however the thugs kept pulling at his throat until John ended up on tip toes in effort to alleviate the strain that threatened to break his neck. Struggling to breathe, he wheezed and coughed - the blood roaring inside his ears nearly drowning out all other sound.

Something warm trickled down his neck adding a new bright crimson stain to the crumbled collar of his shirt. As the edges of his vision started to blur, John heard Blondie's voice over the din in his head - sounding nasal and distorted - ordering his goons to let him down before they killed him.

Next thing he knew the concrete floor was rushing up to hit him in his face with a stunning blow, and John had to use all his willpower not to give in to the darkness that was beckoning to him as he lay there writhing in pain and struggling to force air through his bruised trachea.

A vicious kick to his stomach flipped him onto his side, and he reflexively curled in on himself to protect his screaming ribs. John was kicked several more times until one kick broke through his defenses, catching him on his jaw and turning off all the lights.

.

To be continued ...