the bodyguard's secret
A grainy, rain-spattered video feed appeared.
Mack. Bruised, bloodied, one eye swollen shut. He was bound to a chair in what looked like a concrete cell, harsh light above him. He strained against his bonds, his mouth working. The audio crackled, then came through:
**<< ...don't... do it... Leo... Harlan... it's a... trap... the voice... it's... he's... >>** Mack’s voice was thick with pain, but desperate, urgent. A mercenary’s fist slammed into his jaw, cutting him off with a grunt. The camera panned slightly, showing the mercenary stepping back.
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