Inside this Twisted Labyrinth

Chapter Three

AN: See Chapter One for warnings

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Day 8

"Wakey, wakey," Jaime's voice pierced the fog encompassing his brain.

"What the fuck?" Vic groaned, trying to wrap his brain around the situation. His head throbbed mercilessly, and he appeared to be lying on a cold slab of concrete, the left side of his face sticky and wet.

"You're plan worked, bud," Jaime said, sounding far too cheerful and sarcastic all at the same time. "We have officially been kidnapped."

"Why are you so awake?" Vic groaned, slapping Jaime's hand away that had been jabbing him repeatedly in the ribs.

"We weren't bashed over the head like you were," Mike said, kneeling down next to him. He grabbed Vic by the chin, and maneuvered his head to the side to get a better look at the wound on Vic's head. "I think the bleeding stopped. Follow my finger," Mike said, slowly moving his pointer finger back and forth in front of Vic's eyes. He only complied to appease his brother's worry. "I don't think you have a concussion," Mike said, but his lips were pulled down into a frown.

"I'm fine, Mike," he said, with a reassuring smile, and took his brother's hand, letting Mike pull him to his unsteady feet. "If you guys weren't hit over the head, what happened? I saw all of you on the floor passed out."

"We didn't eat or drink anything suspicious," Mike said.

"Poison blow darts?" Jaime suggested, leaning his weight against the concrete wall of their new prison.

"There are two things wrong with that theory," Tony said. He was still sitting on the floor, twirling a flashlight in his hands. "One, this isn't a movie. And two, I think we would have noticed something like that."

"Well if you're so smart, what do you t think it was?" Jaime asked.

"I think it was some sort of gas," Tony said.

"It's possible," Mike said.

"At this point, does it really matter?" Jaime asked with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Every little detail matters when you're fighting for your life," Tony said.

Vic froze. Fighting for your life, echoed in his brain repeatedly. The sheer enormity of their situation sunk its claws in deep, and Vic staggered under its weight. Mike shot him a curious look when he stumbled, but he shook away the concern. He put everyone's lives at risk, all their loved ones above this prison, all their fans, would be devastated if they never returned. This is what he wanted, though, and they had to have hope they could fight through this successfully. Vic needed to lead everyone out of here alive, everyone.

"Why were you bashed over the head and we weren't?" Jaime asked, folding his arms across his chest and giving Vic a skeptical look.

"I wasn't in the room when you guys were knocked out. I came back and found you all lying on the floor. I went to go check on you, and that's when something hit me over the head," Vic said, gingerly touching the lump that formed near his temple. He winced as his hand rubbed over the tender area, but he didn't feel any fresh blood, just sticky, dried blood. They must have been out for a while.

"Did you see who hit you?" Tony asked.

Vic shook his head no, and then regretted it the minute pain exploded behind his eyes.

"Why weren't you in the room?" Mike said in a low voice, clearly pissed at Vic.

"I saw the manager leave, so I checked out the third possible exit," he said, trying not to shuffle his feet like a little kid under the weight of his brother's glare.