Disclaimer: The characters of SG-Atlantis don't belong to me. This is a non-profit story, written for fun only. Most names and places belong to the creators of the computer game "dungeon siege".

Beta: Starsky's Strut who over the course of nine months never got tired of helping me out with this story. If it wasn't for her, this story wouldn't have been here. With the first few chapters I also got help from Llanea. Proofread: by Skandranonn.

Rating: A very high T

Warnings: Shep whump, McKay whump, psychological and physical, though nothing too graphic. Spoilers through season four, particularly Miller's Crossing. Some mild swearing.

Characters: Sheppard and McKay. Mostly a Sheppard driven story.

Genre: Drama, Angst, Gen.

Status: Finished in 16 chapters. Without the author's notes app. 45900 words.

Summary: Sheppard has to confront his worst fears when he fails to keep McKay safe.

Author's notes: I started this story last year as a McKay story, but somehow it turned into this HUGE character driven Sheppard story. The McKay whump is still there though. There's also whips, bracelets, mines, friendship, freaky ore, and a bit of comfort during the run home. Obliterated is a very emotional intense story (for the characters), so be warned. I've never before put so much time in editing a story as I have with this one. The writing for me, was as intense as the story. Still if there are any mistakes left, they're all mine.

Enjoy.

Obliterated
Kreek©September08

Chapter 1

John tried. He really tried. But the air, so hot it stole his breath away, scorched, seared and drained the moist from his body, leaving him feeling as dry as when the wraith had sucked the life out of him. This is just slower… way slower. He remembered the desert conditions back in Afghanistan. And yes, there had been scorching sandstorms, but not like this, on this alien planet where gusts of winds felt like they were burning his lungs to a crisp when he faced the wrong direction. His fingers tightened over the bandana covering his mouth; through squinting eyelids he surveyed the desolate landscape.

They were hunted.

Behind him, low grunts of huge shaggy beasts rumbled over the planes. The men rode fast, tiny figures on top of brown fur that gave the animal a bison-like look closed in with every step John took.

In front of him Rodney toppled over, falling on his knees on the unforgiving rocky surface, a sole figure in a sea of red stone. "I can't," he gasped as John stepped up beside him, grabbing his friend by the arm.

John lowered his bandana. "You have to!"

"Why?" Rodney's voice sounded hoarse, raspy from lack of water and exhaustion. His body trembled beneath John's fingers. "They took… our GDO's! Even if we can get to the Stargate, we can't…" He heaved, taking another gasping breath. "And the Eirulans are…. They're just… I mean… who would have thought…" Winds tore at their clothing, leaving exposed skin feeling hot and red and burning. McKay doubled over in an attempt to get cooler air inside.

"I know! That's why we have to keep moving!" Their pursuers were nearly on top of them. John tried to keep them safe, tried to keep hiding, to confuse their tracks, to even leap off a cliff into the muddy riverbed back at the edge of these scorching lands, but it was all in vain. The Eirulans were as vigilant as a posse and short of leaving Rodney alone to create a diversion; it was all Sheppard could do to keep moving.

McKay had warned him this planet's rotation stirred severe winds and extreme climate changes. Sure enough when they had crossed this barren land this morning in the opposite direction there weren't any winds. Besides, they'd been sitting comfortably in one of the Eirulan's wagons escorting them from the gate towards the town now miles behind them.

Returning along the same route they had traversed earlier by wagon, John figured that this dried riverbed was probably all that was left of a once huge meandering waterway, a river easily rivaling the make of the Amazon. The cliff face ahead of them looked miles away. Hot air clawed at his face, hands, fingers, any exposed skin, and made him sweat profusely in his Atlantis issue jacket, but he didn't dare take it off because he doubted his shirt alone would provide ample protection against these burning winds. Even though in good shape, Rodney was having an even harder time dealing with this climate.

John tugged at his friend's sleeve again. "Quit with the doom and gloom, McKay! Get up! That's an order!" He cursed at the fear trickling through his voice. Perhaps Rodney missed it, or perhaps it was the one thing galvanizing him into action, for the man slowly put his feet back under him and John hauled him up. "Look, we still have our radios, we can-"

"John!" McKay interrupted as their hands caught to steady themselves. He yelled over the roaring winds while desperately trying to keep standing. Their eyes met. "You have to promise me-"

"No! We'll get to the gate. We can do this, Rodney!" He gripped his friend tighter and started stumbling ahead, pulling McKay after him. Shooting a quick glance over his shoulder, he noticed the riders were already coming up over the last ridge they had taken.

John trembled, knowing their chances tumbled with every passing second. The Stargate was located in the caves ahead of them. Squinting, he scouted the distance and could just make out the cliff face on the horizon, a jagged wall of rock cut out of the earth by the once fast flowing river, as if someone had raked the land with a massive claw, leaving a stony plain as hot as the howling wind. On the upside, he'd seen enough of the life sucking aliens to know they liked their weather humid. For the same reason John couldn't take a jumper –the maze of caves prevented this nicely- the Wraith couldn't bring their darts through the gate. There's no way a Wraith on foot can catch up with the Eirulans in a climate like this, especially when the natives ride these damn shaggy animals.

The howling wind was broken by the grunts of the coarse furred beasts, which McKay had grimly called 'Banthas' as they resembled the creatures ridden by the 'Sandpeople' in the Star Wars movies. Only these animals were far more agile, and way faster. There was no slow lumbering forward. They sped through the rough terrain as fast as one of his father's expensive Arabian horses.

John's heart sank into his stomach as he realized they wouldn't make it. He looked around for something, anything that could give them a fighting chance. Spotting his goal, he pulled McKay to the right until he reached one of the few men-sized boulders strewn sparsely across the landscape and pushed the scientist against its reddish jagged surface. It was all the cover he could provide for now. In the shadow of the giant stone, Rodney's eyes flicked to catch his attention, blue, bright and full of panic. "John! You can't let them… Oh God! Promise me you won't let them-"

Even for McKay, this level of fright was rare. It was easy to pick up on, easy, because he felt it himself: an ugly kind of fear that froze his heart and made him slam down all his defenses, ready to fight. What could he do but nod his assent? "Not while I'm alive," he grunted, not sure if McKay heard him. He pulled out his 9mm. Man, he would have loved to have the P-90 about now.

The hunt's purpose was a simple one. They wanted McKay. These people wanted him compliant, wanted his mind, his free will and had devised a most horrible way to get it. John coughed as the animals' heavy musk-like smell penetrated his senses. The beasts moved into a circle, surrounding them, actually providing some leeway against the storm. Their riders carrying slings, sticks and bows, weapons that could do a lot of damage, but at least were not unsurpassable. The gun might impress them, or if he shot one of the banthas, the rest might scare and stampede. He aimed. "Stay. Right. There!" His voice didn't carry the command presence it should have had as the winds trailed his words away, but he made damn sure it sounded serious.

The man on the biggest animal, probably the leader, raised his hand. Above the rushing air John was aware of McKay's rasped breathing.

"You're a valiant warrior," the guy dressed in brown fabric running the length of his body spoke coldly. One by one his riders dismounted. Dark, almost black eyes pierced between the linen wrapped around his head. "But you can't win."

"You bet your ass I can. BACK OFF!" He fired. The bullet ricocheted off the stone in front of the man's feet. The banthas made a shocked neighing noise and the men on the ground froze.

All but one.

There was a movement to John's left and he whipped around just as a high wheezing sound lashed through the air. A gut wrenching pain cut through his lower arm. Screaming, he dropped his weapon as the agony spread through his mind, his senses, swiping solid ground from underneath his feet. His legs buckled and his knees hit rock as his vision narrowed.

"Sheppard!"

McKay's anxious shout obliterated the walls of darkness, snapping him out of the bliss that unconsciousness so readily provided. Gasping, he looked up through watery eyes, hand wrapped around his sore left wrist. He hadn't counted on these guys sporting anything more advanced than slingshots and arrows. His eyes widened at the grip one of the Eirulans was holding. A long thin light slithered from the handle, its white tip twitching cruelly back and forth like an angry rattle snake. What the hell is that?!

Something warm pressed against his shoulder. Through the spots plaguing his vision, he found the source. Leaning in to steady him, McKay shot daggers at the man with the colorful weapon, clarifying John's question. "A laser whip? You have a laser whip? No, no, no, no, no," Rodney's acerbic tone leveled off into fright just as a rushing noise drew John's attention.

The rest of the pack moved in.

Lifting his hands, McKay backed off.

A surge of adrenaline cleared John's head and with a shout he attempted to stand up. But their attackers were fast. They were everywhere, beating him down, gripping his arms, his legs, and his sore wrist. Pain flashed just as quickly as the frantic fear he felt at what the Eirulans had planned.

"No, you can't… " McKay's voice trailed off in a panic.

Fighting flesh, bone and lean bodies, Sheppard desperately tried to reach his friend. Even with the odds against him, his military training paid off. Slipping through a few hands, he managed to scramble to his feet just as the Eirulans got a firm hold of Rodney and proceeded to drag him over to their leader.

McKay released a high whimpering sound and struggled, demanding they let him go.

"Rodney!" John heard his own voice… far off…. A kick in his stomach sent him doubling over, pain rippled through him, crippling him into a paralyzing stupor. No, Dammit. NO! NO, they can't do this! It would mean… He would lose…

For a moment he caught McKay's eyes, so full of life, the fear in them reinforcing his struggles, but the six pair of hands holding John down felt like concrete and he couldn't break free. He more felt than heard the click.

A metal bracelet snapped shut on his friend's wrist. Sheppard watched as the scientist's eyes drained. His fear, his anger… it all left him, pummeled down by the metal gadget designed to keep their victims in check, to control the really smart ones and enslave their minds for the good of the Settlement.

Rodney still fought.

John could see it in pools of blue briefly flashing with a whole range of emotions. But the bracelet was too strong and in the end his friend let out a soft sob.

"NO! You sons of bitches!" John pulled, causing grips to tighten painfully on his flesh when the Eirulans forced him to quiet his movements. A bitter bile rose in his throat as their attackers let Rodney sink to the ground where he lay on the red rock surface, shaking from head to toe. Tears slid down the scientist's cheeks. John gritted his teeth, could tell Rodney lost the fight. The cruel twitches that wrecked his friend's body slowly subsided. Eyes squinting, shining with sheer stubbornness, McKay sought him out and held his gaze. He could only watch in horror, as the scientist opened his mouth only to gasp and cringe with pain. Another sob, a soft sigh, and Rodney finally gave in.

His eyes closed.

John stared at his friend lying still on the rocky riverbed; a small lump of human between huge furry paws, leather wrapped feet and the butt ends of sharp spears. Like an animal being discarded in the desert. Something ugly clenched his heart, tightened his chest and wiped out all compassion he had for these people.

A gruff figure stepped into view. "We're sorry, but he needed to be purged," the leader spoke aloof.

A choking rage caused bitter words to leave his mouth. "You might as well kill him. He's not one of your people!" He glared at the man with his near black eyes. "You can't just put chains and walls around his mind and expect him to cooperate!"

Unfazed, the leader took back what was apparently his whip. "He's way too dangerous to let loose. My people have learned to restrict a mind like his. We simply mold it to suit the Settlement using a safely controlled procedure."

"It'll kill him! He can't live like that!"

The guy didn't answer, just turned and walked away. "Be lucky you're a soldier, Sheppard. Be content with that."

Feeling the hands loosen, John dove forward in a desperate bit to get between McKay and the men now picking his friend up from the barren rock. Instantly a bright light snared his vision, ripping his flesh apart from shoulder to elbow. With a scream he fell to the ground.

Promise me… you won't let them put those things on me, ever. God, Sheppard. You have no idea what they do… how destructive they are!

The wind howled around him, seemingly shouting Rodney's words at him. Pain flared, accumulated in a sea of white and enveloped him.

TBC