Logan pushed himself away from the window and rubbed his burning eyes. It must have all been inside his head; there was nobody on the hilltop now. He was crazier than he'd thought. Perhaps it was just fatigue finally getting to him. After all, he'd been kidnapped in the late afternoon, and now it was the middle of the night. He needed to get some sleep. But did he dare sleep in a place such as this?
Wheeling himself into the bathroom, Logan was surprised to discover that the doorway was big enough to accommodate his wheelchair. Not many places were nowadays. Maybe one of the former generals had been in a wheelchair just like him. No, Logan told himself, a general in a wheelchair would be a weak general, and in this place they certainly don't tolerate weakness.

He removed the glasses that had been given to him and placed them on the edge of the white porcelain sink. Logan let the water run for a moment or two, just listening to the soothing sound of it when everything else in the world was so chaotic. Finally, he cupped his hands underneath the faucet and splashed the water onto his face.

The cold water felt good to his hot skin. Slowly, he looked upwards into the mirror above the sink and studied his reflection curiously. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen from adjusting to the crudeness of the substitute pair of glasses he had been given. The bottom of his face was scraggly looking where he had not been able to shave and excess hair poked up. The top of his lip was swollen into a puffy mass of skin and liquid underneath, due to the horrendous cut with dried blood. And, like a battle mark, there was a dark bruise along his hairline that was turning from a dull red to a vibrant purple.

Tenderly he touched it and then drew his fingers back, hissing in pain. He didn't think that a bruise could hurt so much. Guess I was wrong, he thought miserably to himself as he reached for a washcloth hanging by the side of the sink.

He ran the green washcloth underneath the water until fully saturated and freezing cold. Then, he wrung it out and laid it against the side of his head. Perhaps now, his hellish headache would be eased.

Not bothering to put the glasses back on, Logan wheeled himself back out into the living area. He was tempted to get out of his wheelchair and lie down on the bed to catch some sleep. After all, why else would Lydecker have given him such a fine room unless he wanted Logan to rest? Maybe he's just trying to give me some pleasure in the last moments of my life, Logan thought as he rested his elbows on the window frame.

Far below, guards walked along the chain-link fence, scouring the area for any traces of an escapee. All were dressed in black and had both a real gun and a tayzer strapped to their sides. It would definitely have to be a genetically engineered human to beat those guys. But then Logan couldn't even walk on his legs without falling over, let alone run past some guards.

Sighing heavily, Logan pushed the wheelchair back over to the bed, knowing that he would need to get some sleep or else Lydecker would be able to have a definite advantage over him.

But, just as he had set the brake on his wheelchair and was preparing to push himself onto the bed, there was a knock at the door. Logan's eyebrows narrowed in confusion. But, he called back, "Come in."

The heavy oak door opened and in stepped Lydecker. He looked just as tired and pained as Logan did-just that Lydecker was used to it with all of his military training. "Mr. Cale?" Lydecker asked, his voice thick and groggily.

"Yes?"
"I would like you to meet someone."
A knot formed in Logan's stomach. Here it is, my executioner, the person he has planned to take me down. But, Logan nodded blankly, unsure of what to say.

Lydecker turned behind him and pulled the person into the room. Chained at both ankles and wrists, they couldn't help but look pathetic. Yet, upon meeting eyes with Logan, they both wanted to cry.

Max.