<div align="center"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 36pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: andale mono;">MACK</span></span></div><hr/><hr/><div class="floatright"><table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: andale mono;"><span class="bbc_u">LOCATION</span><br/>Leaving Main Street;<br/>Entering the Prison<br/><br/><span class="bbc_u">TAGGING</span><br/>Mik</span></strong></div></td></tr></tbody></table></div>Mack grinned darkly behind his mask as he watched his new captive move and listened carefully to each word; it was horribly amusing how obvious it was the man had no idea who he was.  Mack as more cunning than he looked, on most days, especially with liquor factored in.  He couldn't waste such an easy prey, nor would he want to waste a rail on a single man.  He allowed a laugh to filter through his helm as he fixed his gun on his back.  Two powered fists gripped Mik's arms and brought them back before clasping a set of old cuffs on his wrists, bound with a small fingerprint reader to keep any untrusted men from setting him lose.  He used the man's hair to guide him, his grip threatening to rip the follicles from his skull, and then some.<br/><br/>"How about you shut the fuck up.  I won't shoot you unless I have to, prick."  He'd near-drag Mik to the prison if he had to.  "I have more uses for you alive than dead, though I s'pose you'd make a few of my men's stomachs happy if you decide to fight..."  There was no telling if he was kidding, his tone as serious as if he were delivering a death message to family members.  Behind the mask, however, there was a sick grin.  As he made his way to the base, he alerted his men to his return, and to his findings.  He ordered them to open a cell up and throw in a bucket of water and some food; he was even nice enough to add a pillow and blanket to that list, though not much more.  The man was going to stay with them for a while, so they had to make sure he wasn't going to die on them.