There was nothing to be done.


His family was gone.

The MacLeods died.

Revan MacLeod died. Inside.

I couldn't save them. Any of them. Why could I not do anything? The Question burned in his mind: "Why?"

It was not long until Revan realized it had been a day. He found himself thirsty first and hungry as the day went by.

I could have done something.

They were my family.

They were my family and I let them die.

Why did I let them die?

He found himself sitting under the window.

He looked up at the sprays of blood on the glass and groaned at it. It only made him realize more and more of his plight.

Men with guns.

A lot of men with guns.

And in suits.

Then there's Ubel.


He murdered them.

He ordered it.

But someone else was pulling the strings.


If I want to know, I have to get out.

Young MacLeod stood up and looked around the room.

The room was built with cement bricks, the window was bullet proof, and the door was made of iron and was locked from the other side. A normal ten year old could not break down an iron door. But Revan Áinfean MacLeod was no mere ten year old. He started punching at the door with all of the strength he could muster.

"Come on," he thought out load, grunting. "I didn't spend all tha' time with -- NRGH! -- lumberjacks and miners just to be -- ACH! -- Stopped by some door!"

He kept at his repetition of blows on iron. But even a real lumberjack could not easily break through iron. Eventually, the pain in Revan's arms and hands made his blows weaker.

He resorted to kicking.

But even with the leverage of his lower body, Revan could only dent the wall.

"Shut up, Kid!" an angry, muffled voice pounded on the other side. "Too noisy! Your giving me a headache!"

Revan found himself in an even bigger plight than before. If the deaths of his family, his starvation and thirst, his split and bloody knuckles, did not hurt enough, now there was a guard ready to kill him if he left.

What's the point?

He collapsed onto the floor and closed his eyes.


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