[The True MacGyver]

Chapter 4: A Cold Reception
Mac cracked his eyelids to see a dirty room. Where am I? What happened to the plane? The walls shuddered in Mac’s groggy vision. He shook the sleep off and surveyed his surroundings. He was sitting in a small shack. The wooden walls seemed to shake with each breeze. Snow rested in some holes. He tried to scratch his head. But his wrist wouldn’t move. He tried again to receive a similar result. He looked down to see his hands and feet tied to a wooden chair. He shook it vigorously in a vain attempt to escape easily. It held firm. He looked for some objects to work with. He noticed a long pipe running around the thatched roof ceiling. Small nozzles protruded at regular intervals. They pointed down to his chair. Mac also noticed a series of tiny squares formed by intertwined wires on the floor. It stopped a few feet around him. It’s a trap, I know it. But what is it? He thought. Mac noticed a small stone on the floor. He kicked it as best he could with his restrained boot. It flew toward the wires and touched one. A small inferno of flames poured out from the nearest nozzle. He turned his heat to avoid the heat. His whole body warmed up for a few seconds. Mac turned back as it stopped. He had an idea. Shifting his weight he leapt onto his feet. His head was pushed forward in an awkward position. He carefully stepped back toward the wires. He nudged a chair leg on the string only to see the room bathed in an orange glow. He heard the crackle of burning wood and soon fell on his side. As he hit the dirt floor the charred seat smashed apart and Mac rolled away. He stopped short of the wires and jumped to his feet. He felt his wrists and slid off the burnt ropes. He stomped out the burning remains and smiled. But he turned around and got back to business. There was a door beyond the wires, but he would have to carefully step in between the wires to get to it. He looked at the blackened wood from the flames and shrugged. It could work he thought. He backed up and sprinted forward. He put his shoulder forward as he dove into the charred wood. He covered his head as he pushed through the wood with ease. He landed on a bed of snow. Black pieces of lumber floated to the ground. He leaned on his elbows and looked at his handy work. Not bad! He thought. But he scrambled to his feet and found himself in a small village. No one was around. Or at least outside. Mac noticed he was on the side of a hill. The town was scattered over it. But it didn’t seem to be a real town. The buildings were shoddily thrown together. A light peeped out from under a particular hut. Mac brushed his jacket off and snuck towards it. The only sound audible was the crunch of snow under his boots. But a conversation was getting louder. He finally hugged the wall of the hut and peeked through a hole. One man pointed at a tattered map taped to a wall. He was wearing a black trench coat and an evil sneer. His mustachioed face looked familiar, but scars threw off MacGyver. He squinted as he heard his voice, “We have captured the list of Phoenix Operatives, we have captured MacGyver, and now we will capture the world!” Mac nearly snapped his fingers as he remembered to stay silent. I can’t believe it! It’s Quayle! MacGyver thought in revelation. He ducked down and tried to formulate a plan. There was a city in the distance, at the bottom of the hill, that seemed to be an actual city. He looked over to see a shack with supplies. He snuck over to it and let himself inside. He scanned the labels and found some cans and found coffee whitener. He scooped one up and continued along. A lighter sat on a table. He slipped it into his pocket and took off his jacket. He gave a tug on his sleeve and ripped off a length of shirt. Mac put his jacket back on and continued working. His red Swiss Army Knife was lying on a box of nails. He smiled and picked it up. He carefully unfolded the large blade and sank it into the lid of the whitener. He carved a whole into the lid, small enough to keep most of it in. He inserted the cloth. He ran to a folded card table leaning against the wall. He shoved it under his arm and ran back to the meeting. He set the table down and sat on it. He pulled out the lighter and stroked the mechanism. A spark ignited the fuse. It burned fast. Mac anxiously rolled the flaming can into the hut and shoved off from it. The table acted as a sled. He felt the wind beat his face as he struggled to steer the makeshift sleigh. He looked back to see flames dance along the roof of the hut. The gathering had ran outside, slightly charred, but alive. Mac turned back and saw the fenced in city approaching. He noticed a snow mound rising up to it. He leaned to the right to aim. He prepared for the stunt as he held on tight. The metal toboggan climbed the small hill and flew over the grated fence. Mac bent down to avoid wind resistance, but the forces separated him from the sled. The ground was approaching him fast. He closed his eyes. Cold powder enveloping him, he found himself half buried in another snow pile safely within the city.

Please comment.

[MacsChick]

Ahhh! What happened to the rest of this part? It appears to have been cut off abruptly. Was that your intention to keep up the suspense? Interesting Mac-isms, by the way, and you managed to introduce another character from the series. One suggestion, however...could you break up your paragraphs a little instead of having them run together? It might make for an easier read.

[MacGyverGrrl]

Interesting escapes.

Good setting, pretty good pacing.

I agree with MacsChick. Breaking up the paragraphs would definitely make it easier to read and help the transitions flow a little smoother.

[The True MacGyver]

Sorry about the abrupt cut-off - my computer is acting funny.

I'll break it up moreso next time.

[ghostdoll]

Suggestion:

Chapter 4: A Cold Reception

Mac cracked his eyelids to see a dirty room.

Where am I? What happened to the plane?

The walls shuddered in Mac’s groggy vision. He shook the sleep off and surveyed his surroundings. He was sitting in a small shack. The wooden walls seemed to shake with each breeze. Snow rested in some holes.

He tried to scratch his head. But his wrist wouldn’t move. He tried again to receive a similar result. He looked down to see his hands and feet tied to a wooden chair. He shook it vigorously in a vain attempt to escape easily. It held firm.

He looked for some objects to work with. He noticed a long pipe running around the thatched roof ceiling. Small nozzles protruded at regular intervals. They pointed down to his chair. Mac also noticed a series of tiny squares formed by intertwined wires on the floor. It stopped a few feet around him.

A trap, I know it. But what it does? he wondered.

He noticed a small stone on the floor. He kicked it as best he could with his restrained boot. It flew toward the wires and touched one. A small inferno of flames poured out from the nearest nozzle. He turned his heat to avoid the heat. His whole body warmed up for a few seconds.

Mac turned back as it stopped. He had an idea. Shifting his weight he leapt onto his feet. His head was pushed forward in an awkward position. He carefully stepped back toward the wires. He nudged a chair leg on the string only to see the room bathed in an orange glow.

He heard the crackle of burning wood and soon fell on his side. As he hit the dirt floor the charred seat smashed apart and Mac rolled away. He stopped short of the wires and jumped to his feet. He felt his wrists and slid off the burnt ropes.

He stomped out the burning remains and smiled. But he turned around and got back to business. There was a door beyond the wires, but he would have to carefully step in between the wires to get to it. He looked at the blackened wood from the flames and shrugged.

It could work, he thought.

He backed up and sprinted forward. He put his shoulder forward as he dove into the charred wood. He covered his head as he pushed through the wood with ease. He landed on a bed of snow. Black pieces of lumber floated to the ground. He leaned on his elbows and looked at his handy work.

Not bad!

But he scrambled to his feet and found himself in a small village. No one was around. Or at least outside. Mac noticed he was on the side of a hill. The town was scattered over it. But it didn’t seem to be a real town. The buildings were shoddily thrown together. A light peeped out from under a particular hut.

Mac brushed his jacket off and snuck towards it. The only sound audible was the crunch of snow under his boots. But a conversation was getting louder. He finally hugged the wall of the hut and peeked through a hole. One man pointed at a tattered map taped to a wall. He was wearing a black trench coat and an evil sneer. His mustachioed face looked familiar, but the scars threw off MacGyver.

He squinted as he heard his voice, “We have captured the list of Phoenix Operatives, we have captured MacGyver, and now we will capture the world!”

Mac nearly snapped his fingers as he remembered to stay silent.

I can’t believe it! Quayle! MacGyver thought in revelation.

He ducked down and tried to formulate a plan. There was a city in the distance, at the bottom of the hill, that seemed to be an actual city. He looked over to see a shack with supplies. He snuck over to it and let himself inside. He scanned the labels and found some cans and found coffee whitener.

He scooped one up and continued along. A lighter sat on a table. He slipped it into his pocket and took off his jacket. He gave a tug on his sleeve and ripped off a length of shirt. Mac put his jacket back on and continued working. His red Swiss Army Knife was lying on a box of nails. He smiled and picked it up.

Carefully he unfolded the large blade and sank it into the lid of the whitener. He carved a whole into the lid, small enough to keep most of it in. He inserted the cloth. He ran to a folded card table leaning against the wall. He shoved it under his arm and ran back to the meeting.

He set the table down and sat on it. He pulled out the lighter and stroked the mechanism. A spark ignited the fuse. It burned fast. Mac anxiously rolled the flaming can into the hut and shoved off from it. The table acted as a sled.

He felt the wind beat his face as he struggled to steer the makeshift sleigh. He looked back to see flames dance along the roof of the hut. The gathering had ran outside, slightly charred, but alive. Mac turned back and saw the fenced in city approaching. He noticed a snow mound rising up to it. He leaned to the right to aim. He prepared for the stunt as he held on tight.

The metal toboggan climbed the small hill and flew over the grated fence. Mac bent down to avoid wind resistance, but the forces separated him from the sled. The ground was approaching him fast. He closed his eyes. Cold powder enveloping him, he found himself half buried in another snow pile safely within the city.