Where was he? His arms hurt, and his hands wouldn't move. He saw that he was hanging from the ceiling, by a rope tied around his hands. His feet were bound together as well. And who was this man talking to him?

"Who are you?" was the first thing out of Tuck's mouth.

The man spoke again. "Oh, forgive me, where are my manners? I forgot to introduce myself. I believe you may have heard of me through our mutual friend. I am Count Voldemort Sidious Hitler the Terrible."

Tuck's face showed a look of immediate recognition. "Yeah, I've heard of you, Morty. Who's your ugly pal over there?"

"They call him Teflon Tyrone," Morty answered, "and I'd be careful not to anger him if I were you. He can easily make this situation very unpleasant for you." Tyrone stood with his arms folded, his face expressionless, and his gaze fixed on Tuck. Then he twisted his head to each side, cracking his neck twice.

But Tuck showed no signs of fear. "Fine, then let's all be best friends forever," he quipped. "I'm sure you have a lovely evening planned for us, but as much fun as that sounds, I'm going to have to pass."

"Dr. Jones," Morty said, "I'm afraid you don't seem to understand who's in charge here. If you need a hint, it is not the one tied up and hanging from the ceiling. You are my captive, and you would be well-advised to cooperate if you want to end the night with as little pain as possible."

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