MacGyver, this is me, this is Jack, this is your buddy. Give it to me straight. You know how important my cab is to me; it's my future. You scratched it, didn't you?
It's a little more than a dent. Mr. Thornton and I were riding in your cab chasing this woman, who was actually a man who had a guy with a bazooka waiting and he blew up your cab.
Listen, MacGyver. Anybody who can use a paper clip, a pair of shoelaces, and a rusty monkey wrench to take out two bazookas could be very useful in taking Murdoc. Help me.
You are a do-gooder, MacGyver. Ninety percent of the people in the world are smart: they see trouble coming, and they duck and run. Ten percent are like you. Can't resist cleaning up the mess.
For the past seven years I have done nothing but travel around the world getting shot up, locked up, blown up... and all I have to show for it are a couple of empty rolls of duct tape.
[voice-over narration] Most people come to Southern California for the sunshine. But, there are others who burn easily so they stay in the shadows. Anthony Braddock was one of them. Tony Braddock was a professional chemist. He'd worked himself out of a career with British Intelligence and into building bombs for anyone who'd pay him. Maybe he wasn't the kind of guy you'd want your kids to grow up to be, but one of his bombs got me out of prison in Morocco. So when he called early on a quiet Sunday afternoon and said he was in trouble, I had to make good on my IOU.
Right now, I know you better than you know yourself. You don't use guns. That gun doesn't feel right in your hand. It can't. You don't use guns, MacGyver. You hate them.
