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MacGyver couldn't tell at first whether he'd actually opened his eyes or not. He tried to touch his face and find out, and discovered his hands were secured behind his back – the unmistakable bite of handcuffs at his wrists was way too familiar.
Then the awareness of pain caught up with him on the road back to consciousness – a throbbing pain behind the eyes that would have been blinding if he'd been able to see in the first place, and a knot at the back of his skull that drove needles of fire into his brain when he tried to move his head.
Oh, man. Clobbered in the head again. What happened this time? Can't remember . . .
He was lying on his side, coarse carpeting rubbing against his face, vibrations and a sense of movement, and strong smells of rubber tires and engine grease surrounding him. Car. Trunk. He wasn't the only thing in the trunk; hard objects slid and bumped against him. And we're moving. Where?
Owwww . . .
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