AN: I know you guys who read my stories must be really annoyed that I post a note on, like, every chapter. Please try to bear with me.

I had a hard time trying to separate all of the segments in this chapter, so please just ignore all of the little problems and enjoy the story.

One last note: I was kind of going for a Rambo-ish Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in this chapter. If you know what I'm talking about (from the movie First Blood), it's when Rambo fights off all the cops in the jail. The same confused but hostile feelings, the need to survive.

Ok, on to the story.

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~Two Days Later~

I smiled happily when I heard the door slam shut. I was alone.

Everyone was gone someplace or another, and it was great because I wasn't getting poked or prodded, I wasn't trying to get my strength back, I wasn't trying to do 'rehabilitation', I was alone.

Quiet.

Peaceful.

Alone.

I closed my eyes. I was due for a looong nap.

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He screamed as a boot hit his stomach. His wrists were cuffed together, and his eyes were blindfolded.

He hissed in rage as they picked him up by his hair and threw him on the ground. Someone kicked his back, and he screamed again.

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"SMITH! SURRENDER OR WE'LL SHOOT!"

The voice penetrated my dream as I woke up in a sweat.

"I'LL GIVE YOU UNTIL THE COUNT OF THREE!" A voice shouted through a bullhorn.

What on earth? I asked myself, sitting up.

"ONE!"

I climbed out of the bed to the floor. If he was going to shoot, I didn't want to get caught in it.

"TWO!"

I rolled my torso under the bed.

"THREE!"

Gunfire erupted and bullets shot through the walls.

They fired their weapons in the air, trying to scare their victim. One shot nearly hit his head and he prayed that a bullet would hit the mark.

A bullet pierced through his shoulder and he screamed.

I screamed as a bullet grazed my leg. This was terror.

Oh, great, now you're going to have nightmares when you're awake?

The bullets stopped and some men yelled. I heard men stampeding through the house.

They chased him as he tried to get up and run, but there was nowhere to run. They tackled him and grabbed his legs, dragging him. They aimed a gun at him and told him to stop moving.

My legs were grabbed and I was dragged out from under the bed.

"Don't move!" a man in an army uniform aimed his pistol at me. More flooded the room, aiming their automatic rifles and pistols at me.

My body hurt horribly. I lay on my stomach, my arms spread away from my body, no shirt on. I was confused enough, but I could barely discern the dreams from reality.

"So, Templeton Peck," a voice said to me. I recognised the voice as the same one yelling through the bullhorn. "Caught at last."

"Who are you?" I asked, twisting my head as I tried to see his face.

His boot landed on the back of my neck and I yelped.

He chuckled. "Stop playing dumb with me, Peck." He took hold of my shoulders and pulled my up.

They grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him off the ground. He growled in rage.

I growled and elbowed him in the stomach. He doubled up and pulled something from his pocket.

Electricity hit me like a speeding locomotive and I collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain.

He chuckled. "Don't mess with the best, Peck." He picked me up again and pushed me face-first against the wall. I moaned in pain as every motion shocked my body.

A handcuff bit into one of my wrists. I winced.

"Alright, Peck, where's the other arm?" He asked.

I didn't have the strength to answer. He pushed the back of his arm into my neck.

"Give it to me!" He ordered as my knees buckled under me. I was held up only by the strength in his arm that nearly crushed my neck.

Someone else grabbed other wrist and twisted it back. I grunted in pain.

He pulled his arm back from my neck and I collapsed to my knees.

"Been in a fight, Peck?"

I coughed and gasped in a breath. He laughed and slapped my back, making me cough more.

"Where are the others?" He asked, his tone none too friendly.

He didn't awnser. He already knew what he was going to say, and he didn't feel like repeating it.

I blinked. I could barely tell reality from the dreams anymore.

He grabbed my chin and made me look at him. "Where are they?"

I tried to pull away, but couldn't. He laughed and let go of my chin. "Alright, then. I'll just track them down myself." He pulled out a radio and said something in a code that I couldn't understand.

"Load him up, boys," he said, and some of the men grabbed me and pulled me to my feet. They dragged me out to a car, where they shoved me in.

Two guys sat in the front and started to drive away. They didn't say anything or even acknowledge me. I was perfectly fine with that. Just leave me alone.

My body ached from all the manhandling. I just wanted a pain pill and to lie down and sleep. Quietly. Alone. Man, that sounded familiar.

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep as the car jerked back and forth along the road.

Suddenly, my eyes jerked open. A black van swerved in front of us, causing the police car to stop.

Hannibal and Murdock jumped out with machine guns aimed at the car.

"Don't move or we'll blow a hole through you big enough to walk through!" Hannibal yelled as Murdock opened the door to the backseat. He stared at me.

"C'mon, Machacho, we haven't got all day!" Murdock said as he held the door open. I climbed out and ran over to the van, my hands still cuffed behind me.

Hannibal and Murdock quickly joined B.A. and I in the van and we sped away.

"Hey, Face, Wanna get those handcuffs off?" Murdock asked as he pulled a key out of his pocket.

I smiled and allowed him to take off the handcuffs. "Thanks."

He winked at me. "No problem."

####

I stumbled into the small cabin that Murdock had directed us to. Hannibal had an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder as he followed me in.

"Hey, Face, you don't look so good," said Hannibal. "Why don't you lay down?"

I nodded my head happily. "Where's the bedrooms?"

Hannibal guided me into one. "Here."

I carefully lay on the bad and sighed happily.

"What happened to your leg?" Hannibal asked as he sat next to me, pulling my left pant leg up to reveal a bloody wound a couple inches above the ankle. It reminded me of a bad cut I got on my knee when I was a little kid on my bike.

"A bullet grazed it when the cops got me," I said.

Hannibal stood up and pulled his rifle off his shoulder. "Ok, I'm gonna clean and bandage that up in a couple minutes. Sit tight."

Hannibal left the room, and I enjoyed the silence. Somehow I knew that it wouldn't be lasting.

Hannibal entered the room again with a first-aid kit. He pulled a chair up to the bed and sat. "Ok, Face, let's take a look at your leg."

He pulled my pant leg up and swabbed the small wound with disinfectant, then wrapped gauze around it. It stung pretty bad, but nothing to mention.

"There we go. All set." Hannibal pulled my pant leg back down. "Take a nap. You look like you need it."

I nodded and lay my head back on the pillow. Before I knew it, I was asleep.

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