I rated this part R, and you'll soon discover why.
You might also notice that I used some of the opening dialogue from part one. I've changed it a little bit, because the dialogue from part one was coming from MacGyver's memory, and what was actually said in reality was slightly different. Anyway, enjoy!
Exile Part Four
Rated: R
After engaging in trivial, meaningless banter with the security guards, MacGyver found it relatively easy to enter The Phoenix Foundation building unnoticed, no one paying any particular attention to him, allowing him the freedom to explore the building and the floors at his leisure. He remained casual and calm whenever he encountered someone, following Python’s instructions implicitly, yet a part of him was still anxious and apprehensive, trying to ignore the cumbersome, awkward bulk of the weapon hidden beneath his jacket. As he exited the elevator on the twentieth floor, he saw the man from the photograph in a large office surrounded by glass, the villain of humanity, pacing and talking on the phone, most likely planning another massacre, unleashing more of his evil upon the world. Glaring at him with intense hatred, remembering the photos of headless bodies and piles of the dead thrown carelessly into hastily dug, shallow graves, MacGyver approached with determination, his purpose clear, convinced he was doing what was right, bringing justice to the thousands who had been senselessly slaughtered by his hand.
Pete hung up the phone just as MacGyver entered. He looked up at him and smiled warmly, not detecting any malice from his friend. “MacGyver, I wasn’t expecting you to be around tonight,” he said. “I thought you were at home, asleep. What’s on your mind?”
Acting without hesitation, MacGyver whipped out the gun from beneath his jacket and pointed it at him. Stunned, it took a moment for Pete to process what he was looking at—his best friend, a man averse to guns, holding the hated weapon in his hands, aiming it directly at him, prepared to kill.
“What is this? What’s going on?” Pete asked nervously, staring at the gun, wondering if it was a prank of some kind. The closer he studied his friend’s tense body language and angry scowl, however, the more he realized something was wrong. “My God, look at you,” he said. “Someone must have done something to you. That’s the only explanation for this unexpected behavior. Someone must have programmed you or drugged you or something. Why else would you do this to me, your best friend?”
MacGyver refused to listen to him. They weren’t friends. He wasn’t friends with a killer and a war criminal. He wouldn’t talk to him, either. Talking was useless when dealing with a terrorist. He was just trying to manipulate him, just as Python said he would, and he would not lose his resolve, would not waver under pressure.
By now, a shocked group of Phoenix employees including Nikki had gathered outside Pete’s office, watching the spectacle unfold, wondering if they should intervene.
“Just…stay back everyone, please,” Pete said to them. “Let me try to talk to him.”
MacGyver continued to maintain his tight grip on the gun, pulling back the hammer, preparing to fire. Pete heard the click and closed his eyes, knowing he had to act quickly before the nightmare ended in tragedy. He stood cautiously, MacGyver’s sharp, impenetrable glare following him, aiming the weapon at his chest.
“MacGyver, don’t you know me? Don’t you remember me at all?” He asked.
MacGyver glared stonily at him, his finger squeezing harder on the trigger.
“You have to listen to me. You have to listen to reason. Can you hear me? Can you understand me? I implore you…don’t do this,” Pete said coaxingly, his voice shaky with fear and emotion, tears in his eyes. “You don’t know who you are. You can’t. If you did, you would know that we’re friends. We’ve known each other for a long time. You’re not a violent man, and you would never want to harm me. Someone else is telling you to do this. I don’t know what they told you about me, but it isn’t true. We’re friends. They want to take advantage of you and destroy that friendship, but you can’t let them divide us like that. Don’t let them do this to us, please! Put the gun down and listen to me! I can prove that you know me, only if you’ll let me. I promise you your memory will return. Somewhere deep inside that confused mind of yours, I know you know the truth. You don’t want to do this. That gun feels unnatural in your hands. Just…put the gun down, please. I’m not going to hurt you. Everything is going to be all right. We’ll get through this together, and you’ll come back to me as you were. Just let me help you. Please, Mac…”
His emotional pleas did little to persuade MacGyver to relinquish his weapon, his aim remaining steady, his grip on the gun firm. He knew the man was stalling, trying to deceive him, to confuse him and distract him from his mission so he could lure him into a trap and capture him, and he wouldn’t allow it to happen. No matter what the man said, no matter what he claimed or how convincing his tearful words were, MacGyver refused to listen to him, remaining intensely focused. He had never killed a man before, at least not to his knowledge, but he knew he had to do it. There were no other alternatives. The man’s death was justified. What did his death matter when he had claimed the lives of countless innocent and helpless victims? He had to remind himself that he was not looking at a man but a monster, a brutal, heartless monster who butchered for his lust for power. He had been given authorization to kill him. It wasn’t a crime. The world would be safer once he no longer threatened the peace and stability of nations. Without another moment’s hesitation or further delay, he made sure he had a clear aim at Pete’s chest and fired.
The bullet violently struck Pete, sending him reeling backward and crashing to the floor. The loud blast from the weapon reverberated in the office, rattling the windows and causing several of the employees who were witnesses to the shocking act to gasp involuntarily in a startled reaction. They stared, mouths agape, stunned into speechlessness and immobility, not believing what just occurred. Nikki was the first to recover from the initial shock, running into the room, checking on Pete’s vital signs. Several security guards had been summoned to disarm MacGyver, but they didn’t need to. He had already dropped the weapon and was staring blankly, looking almost catatonic, completely unresponsive. All his memories had returned to him, and he realized he had been cruelly used, too late to reverse the damage he had caused. Pete lay crumpled in a motionless heap on the floor, a gaping, gushing wound in his chest, bleeding profusely and looking deathly pale. Nikki was hovering over him, frantically checking for his pulse, trying to apply pressure to the wound to stanch the flow of blood.
“Someone call an ambulance!” She shouted, tears streaming down her cheeks. She returned to Pete, checking on him, trying to revive him with what limited knowledge she had of CPR. “Come on, Pete, please don’t do this,” she whispered tearfully. “Please…”
Despite her best efforts, Pete remained completely still and lifeless, his pulse absent. When the paramedics arrived, she moved out of their way and deferred to their medical expertise, hoping they could save him. MacGyver remained paralyzed, staring blankly with horror over what he had done. Nikki approached him carefully.
“MacGyver, can you hear me?” She asked, gently shaking him, trying to get him to respond. He continued to stare, his eyes two dark, empty voids. “MacGyver, listen to me. Whatever happened here…we’ll figure it out, I promise. This wasn’t your fault. Do you understand me? This wasn’t your fault!”
Time seemed to warp and slow to MacGyver, voices echoing around him and images blurring as the unreal scene continued to unfold in front of him, the paramedics loading Pete’s body on a stretcher and preparing to move him. He felt hands on him and heard people speaking to him, but he couldn’t comprehend their words, feeling strangely numb, detached, and isolated from the events as if they were merely a product of his imagination, yet he knew it was painfully real and he couldn’t avoid the serious implications of what he had done. It had all happened so quickly, yet all it took was a brief moment and a single bullet to alter the course of his life forever. Intentional or not, he had just murdered his best friend and mentor.
To be continued…
"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer."
--Henry David Thoreau
brains+brawn+beauty+personality=MacGyver
