Perspectives on Morality
How good is someone who never thinks of others? Someone who only does good when it benefits them, who switches sides the instant they're offered a better deal? Is the good that they've done enough to call them a good person, or is it automatically voided by all of the bad?
After Murdoc saved MacGyver's life, Mac begins to find himself lying awake at night, wondering if the accepted definition of the word "good" honestly applies to anyone. After all, everyone has, at one point or another, done something bad—whether on a minor or catastrophic scale—because it benefitted them in the moment. Mac has broken numerous laws and put his own life and the lives of his friends at risk to do his job, to save the day, but he wouldn't be surprised to find someone who didn't look at it that way. Who didn't see the good Mac has done—the lives he's saved, the crises he's averted—but the bad, the bombs and the broken laws and the deaths that persistently haunt Mac's conscience.
So what's really the difference between a good man who does bad things and a bad man who does good things? Murdoc is a killer, but he saved Mac's life. It's an oxymoron, a paradox, an illogical blip in the system of Mac's logical world that, try as he might, he can't seem to wrap his head around. When Mac turned around and saw Murdoc's gun pointed at his chest, he ran through every possible outcome—not one of them including Murdoc sparing him.
Mac knows that Murdoc isn't capable of compassion, that he didn't save Mac because he cared about whether the blond lived or died but because it was the easiest way to protect himself. But unlike Murdoc, Mac can feel. And regardless of the circumstances, he automatically feels thankful to anyone who saves his life. Even if that person is incapable of returning the thanks or merely accepting it.
Murdoc has been fascinated with Mac since their first meeting, since the day Mac successfully became the first person to avoid the assassin's bullets and catch him in the act. But, truth be told, he isn't the only one.
Mac has found himself thinking about Murdoc more and more as of late, fascinated with the way he doesn't care just as much as Murdoc is fascinated with the way that Mac does.
It's an oxymoron, a paradox, a blip in the system. It's two opposing sides of the same coin.
Mac can only hope that those two sides remain separate.
How can someone be so kind when the world has turned against them? How can they keep wanting to help, wanting to save others, when no one has ever tried to return the favor?
It's a puzzle Murdoc has tried to figure out, a code he's been attempting to break since MacGyver refused to pull the trigger that day in the junkyard and sent Murdoc away in handcuffs instead. The little blond boy captured Murdoc's attention with his peculiar inventions and kept it with his annoyingly persistent sense of optimism—realism, Mac's voice corrects in Murdoc's mind.
MacGyver is an enigma, a perfect example of the good in a world that has never been good. He's a case study of Murdoc's, a fascination turned obsession, a shining piece of humanity that challenges all of the beliefs that Murdoc holds—the beliefs that led him into his chosen profession. MacGyver is a challenge, too, an opportunity too golden for Murdoc to overlook, a chance for him to prove to the world and to himself that anything good can be broken if one only bends it hard enough. Murdoc has told MacGyver as much, told him through his particular style of speaking in riddles, half-truths, and pointless anecdotes that sets anyone and everyone on edge—everyone, that is, but MacGyver.
The little blond boy was irritating at first, unyielding even to Murdoc's most successful tricks, but the more he learns of Angus MacGyver, the easier it is for him to find the right buttons to push, and the closer he gets to breaking the perfect little agent. When he pointed that gun at MacGyver's chest in that warehouse, Murdoc knew he wasn't going to kill him, knew he needed MacGyver alive so he could escape without a bullet from the blond's pet bodyguard in his gut. And he also knew what it would do to MacGyver, knowing that the "cold, emotionless" Murdoc spared his life, saved his life. To break MacGyver's mind, Murdoc must first break his trust in the system of logic he holds dear.
Murdoc told MacGyver that they were more similar than the little blond boy was willing to believe, and he meant it—there's a darkness inside MacGyver, an anger, a raging fire that only Murdoc knows how to stoke. He has a plan that started the day MacGyver wrapped his delicate hands around Murdoc's throat, and it's well into motion now.
The fire inside MacGyver needs time to grow before it can burn everything good about him to ash. Murdoc is willing to wait.
He knows that when he's ready, MacGyver will fall right into his trap.