A/N: Welcome, readers, to another exciting and whumptacular fic concocted by those devious plot bunnies and muses of Drufan and Stealth Dragon. I would ask that you keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times as those bunnies and muses do get quite enthusiastic when it comes to whumping our beloved team.

Ch. 1

Down the Rabbit Hole

Sheppard stuffed the already half-eaten, two-day old chocolate power bar into his face. It was stale, not his favorite, and a little bit like torture, but if it kept mommy McKay quiet, then all were happy. Aquamarine alternated with fluorescent green overhead. Add to that smooth, iridescent walls and one would feel lost in the maze at Laser Quest. Except there were no Laser Quests in the Pegasus Galaxy. More'sthe pity.

There were, according to Lorne, very kick-butt VR arcades.

John crumpled the shiny wrapper and stuck it in his pocket since he was loathe to litter. He'd been even more loathed to eat the damn thing, but preferred it over the lectures that made him feel like a damn anorexic. He skipped meals because he was busy, busy busy, Just like Rodney was always busy and never sleeping. But did the insomniac get lectured? Probably, but Sheppard was never fortunate enough to be around when it happened. McKay and his hypochondria gave him front row seats to Sheppard's berating.

It also gave McKay an excuse to be a bigger jerk under the guise of being a good friend.

"I think even GI Joe ate from time to time."

Macho-ism, Rodney had immediately chalked it all up to macho-ism. And the man was supposed to be a genius.

They turned a sharp right into another metallic hall, aquamarine alternating with fluorescent green.

Sheppard wasn't anorexic. He ate, just not a lot. Crap happened, kept him busy, kept him occupied, flooding his brain until mundane necessities were a burden he didn't have time for. At least he kept hydrated. And going from three meals a day to two – okay, sometimes one and a half to a quarter if all he settled on was a muffin and milk – wasn't going to kill him. Put extra holes in his belt, yes, but not kill him. Some people went days without eating squat. John had yet to ever reach that point, he wasn't stupid.

He'd even had a nice big breakfast of two muffins and a whole glass of milk before leaving. Really big muffins. Blueberry, with butter. That had to count for something.

"We there yet?" Rodney called, tone flat and bored, from behind John.

Lorne, leading the way behind the guy actually doing the leading, glanced over his shoulder, grinning like a kid heading to the Christmas tree. "Not far. Seriously, you guys are going to love this."

John smiled at the display of youthful exuberance. "You had us at 'kick-butt VR simulator', Major, I'm already loving it." The fact that Lorne and his team hadn't been frapped by this arcade was what he really loved. The other shoe usually didn't like to wait around to be dropped.

"Can you imagine what we could use tech like this for, sir?" Lorne continued. "Training simulations, battle simulations, or, hell, something to do on the weekend."

"Let's check the product over before we buy, eh Major?"

Lorne's face was almost split in two by his over-sized smile. "Good thing I don't have a wallet on me. I would've been whipping it out by now."

Ah young, naïve Lorne. The man needed to make a few more acquaintances with killer computers. Had the Matrix taught them nothing?

Their host – medium height, build, sharp-featured with a severely receding hairline (Sheppard couldn't help thinking sleazy car salesman in a shiny green robe) – took them into a room at the end of the hall that was more fitting to John's expectations. It was cathedral massive, wall to wall blinking consoles and a ceiling buried under tangles of wires and cables. The VR chairs were twenty in all lined up in the center of this chamber with more cables and wires snaking from the back and rising up like man-made vines to join the mess overhead.

The Matrix was a bad, bad influence. Plus every movie made about computers. John half expected everything to perk up and drone "Good morning, Dave" to which John would reply by turning tail and running, to hell with how it would look. At the extreme moment, Sheppard felt a tingle in his fingers and toes, as though his body were readying the adrenaline, just in case.

Their host, Norl Pondo John vaguely recalled, strutted up to the nearest chair and slapped his palm on the armrest. "Good sirs, I give you the Interface. Nothing fancy about it. You just sit down, lay back, and let our tech-hands do the rest." He swept an arm in the general direction of the two techs dressed in sterile white uni-suits, muttering as they bustled and fretted at the consoles.

"And it's safe," Sheppard pressed for the third time that day.

Pondo's smile flashed white-teeth stained in aquamarine light. "Absolutely. People come from all across the galaxy just for ten minutes in one of our interfaces. Being underground and shielded, they do not have to worry about ambushes by the wraith. It is an escape, Colonel, the best that can be bought. People need an escape now and then, even if it is temporary. And of course we never let people stay too long. Hour, hour and a half tops."

It was this Interface being used as a pastime by Pegasus natives, and Lorne and his team testing them out and still being alive to talk about it, that kept trying to get John to bring his guard down.

Danger, Danger John Sheppard.

And a robot would know best. But they'd already prepared. Lorne and his men would stay out of the chairs while John and his team went in for a little VR fun of their own. Pondo had cleared the day for play and even agreed to let Rodney hook up his PC to one of the suckers for some readings. If things turned ugly, Zelenka was prepped and only a DHD dial away.

Like hell Sheppard was going to say they had nothing to lose. They had plenty to lose, they were just prepared to lose it this time around. He winced internally at the thought. It still sounded wrong no matter how it was put.

"So how do we do this?" John asked.

"First off," Pondo began, "the less layers you wear the better. Just sit down, close your eyes, and let us do the rest."

Sheppard looked at McKay. Rodney didn't return the look as he was already gathering energy readings. He'd been more interested in what was powering the thing, for which Pondo didn't have an answer. It was a good bet the answer was a ZPM. Not that there was much they could do about getting the thing if that was the case. The power source couldn't be reached, according to Pondo, which was why he didn't know the source. Sheppard also had the feeling the Pegasus natives wouldn't be too happy to learn their favorite toy was damaged by the Lanteans. The highest priority on Elizabeth's 'not to do' list was not to make more enemies. And that always came down to scratching one potential ZPM.

Pondo slapped his hands together. "So, care to begin?"

Sheppard exchanged looks with Ronon and Teyla. He was rewarded with their returned gazes of trepidation. They weren't ready. Then again, were they ever?

Rodney was already hooking up his PC to the nearest chair. When he finished, he smiled, finally showing the enthusiasm John had been expecting. "I'm ready." Of course he was. Taking readings was the highlight of his day. Up until now he'd been rather indifferent about the whole find, most likely because he hadn't been the one to find it. More than that, Pegasus Galaxy life had squashed any and all attempts at Rodney getting his hopes up. The man wasn't so much jaded, just pessimistically cautious.

The team peeled off their vests, jackets, shoes and socks, which was as far as they were willing to go. They each took a chair: Rodney on John's right, Teyla his left, and Ronon on the other side of Teyla. The moment they settled, the chairs tilted back, forcing them prone. Teyla, Rodney, and even Ronon were startled. John just grinned until he felt something cool and rather moist slide along the back of his neck. He jerked his head away.

"Whoa, wait up. This doesn't involve us getting a lobotomy, does it?"

Pondo furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Puncture our skulls," John clarified.

Pondo raised both eyebrows and smiled his pearly whites stained blue. "Of course not. Just relax. The Interface connects through contact with your skin, nothing more. The Interface acts on both conscious and subconscious thought, automatically configuring a setting, even story-line, based on memories. You would think slapping together a game from the inner-workings of your mind would take hours, but the process takes mere seconds. If the setting, story-line, characters or anything else is not to your liking, just close your eyes and think 'reset.' Need a break? Then think temporary halt, pause, whatever works for you. 'Reconfigure setting' to change things around after you initiate the reset. Most like to go in and let the Interface do the work just to make things interesting, but it's optional. The game is divided into levels, each harder than the last. You can stop at any time. Oh, and most important, what happens in the game stays in the game. No physical side effects thus far."

That didn't sound reassuring for some reason.

John reluctantly set his head back down. The 'tongue' (bad analogy), 'finger' (no better), 'wire whatsit' (tolerable) resumed touching his neck then sliding down through his collar and along his spine stopping just above the small of his back. It pushed against his skin. He writhed in minor discomfort and found the thing adhering to him like an exo-spinal cord.

"Now what?" Sheppard asked.

Pondo leaned against the head of John's chair with hands in his robe pockets and a simpering grin on his face. "Now close your eyes."

John did. The effect was immediate, like closing his eyes in one world only to open them in another. The chill of the chamber, the soft hum, and echoing breaths of the people around him were gone as though someone had changed the channel. Now he was warm, hearing the distant pulsing rush of the ocean, and standing on a sidewalk with a street between him and the beach.

Sheppard grinned. "Okay, I'm liking this already."

"Not if it involves sunburns. I have fair skin, damn it! Do you know what weather like this does to skin like mine?"

John squinted against the glare coming off the ocean. "Give it some color?" He looked over at Rodney and popped a wide-eyed gape. "What. The. Hell?"

It was hard, so hard, not to laugh at McKay dressed in a tan shirt, white jacket, white pants, and tennis-shoes without socks. Rodney was being quite stoic about it, managing a straight face even through John's snorts of dammed-back laughter.

"That's right," Rodney said, letting his eyes roam over the beach, "let it out, Magnum, just let it all out."

Sheppard wiped his mouth of the spittle that had managed to escape his lips during the attempt. "Magnum?" He looked down at himself and the Hawaiian shirt being pressed against his body by the salty wind, the collar opened about mid-sternum. Not a bad shirt, actually. He'd worn something similar during some downtime spent in Jamaica.

"I take it back," Rodney said. "Magnum wasn't as scrawny as you."

"I prefer the term lean."

"Scrawny," Rodney pressed.

Sheppard scowled. "Shut up." He glanced around. "So where the hell are Ronon and Teyla."

The magic words. A flash of light from behind invoked the two to turn and face the well manicured lawn with a dolphin fountain in front of a coral pink hotel. The flashing had been the combination of sunlight and the rotating glass doors. Teyla and Ronon were heading toward them, Ronon in a sleeveless muscle shirt and camouflage pants, and Teyla... well, she was actually still in uniform. What was even more of a head scratcher was that her ensemble kept trying to blur and fade. Her face was twisted in hard, almost painful concentration.

"Teyla," John said, "you all right?"

Teyla glared. "No, I am not."

Which made Ronon snort. "She didn't like what she was wearing before. She somehow managed to bring back her real clothes but they won't stick." He was fighting back a smirk and losing. "You should have seen what she was wearing before."

Sheppard did, kind of. Whenever her jacket blurred out, what appeared to be a red bikini top that would have left little to the imagination attempted to fade in.

"I thought," Teyla gritted, "that we could control the settings."

"Maybe we need to restart," Rodney suggested.

Sheppard squinted thoughtfully. "Maybe we need to find Teyla something a little more suitable for the setting. Since the theme seems to be TV, let's go with..." he concentrated. Teyla's uniform and the struggling bikini top were replaced by a smart business suit: light tan jacket, white blouse, khaki pants, and black flat pumps in case there was running involved. Sheppard was pretty sure some woman had worn a similar outfit; one of the Charlie's Angles, maybe that lady on Scarecrow and Mrs. King. Who knew and who cared since it did the trick.

Teyla relaxed. "Thank you, Colonel."

Sheppard beamed. "Don't mention it. So, how do we start this thing off, anyways? I don't even know what the hell we're supposed to be doing."

Rodney clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on the balls of his heels. "Since you're probably not off about the theme being TV related, guessing from our current state of dress, this particular scenario is most likely going to involve a mystery to be solved."

"What, with no great Dane and a Beatnik to help out?" Sheppard was actually a little disappointed by that. He liked dogs, especially talking ones.

"Us being adults, I think the scenario went for PG-13 and up, Colonel. I think we all need to go inside the hotel. What's the point of having it if it isn't the starting point?"

"Wasn't much in there," Ronon said.

"Yes, but this is the magical land of make believe. I'm the genius so humor me."

They all filed through the rotating doors, out of the warmth and into artificial cool. It was a snazzy place, the kind that would eat up two of John's paychecks just for a night's stay. White marbles floors veined in amber, red carpeting leading to elevators with gold doors, and a polished wooden front desk to the left. The only thing missing were people, including the concierge. That struck John as being incredibly creepy.

Ronon was the first to move, straight up to the front desk while pointing at a small speaker and a manila envelope next to it. "Those weren't there before."

The speaker crackled. "Good morning gamers."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Oh like hell I'm saying good morning Charlie."

"Too late," John mumbled, picking up the folder.

"In the folder," the cheery male voice continued, "you will find your mission, should you choose to accept it. This speaker will now self-destruct." The speaker sparked, popped, smoked, and died.

Sheppard pulled out a sheet of paper with instructions and a photo. The Photo was Caldwell, dressed in a beige suit, wearing sunglasses, about to step into a limo. John handed the photo off to Rodney as he read the instructions.

"Says here that Caldwell is the head of some gang. Heh, the Trust. He's planted a bomb somewhere. Not only do we have to find it but we have to find Caldwell too."

Rodney sneered. "Oh you have got to be kidding me. If the game is slapping all this together from our memories then it's a cake walk." He moved around to the other side of the desk, pulled out a Yellow Pages, and started flipping. "If I'm right, and I'm pretty sure I am, then all we need to do is find some place called the Daedalus. I'm thinking a club or a... Ah-ha!" He stabbed his finger on a page. "Right here. The Daedalus. A club on fifth and Tyler road. Okay then, now to find Atlantis."

"We're in Atlantis," Ronon said, pointing to the front of the front desk. John stepped back and Rodney slid halfway over the desk top to look down.

"The Atlantis Inn," John said, and smiled. "We're off to a great start all ready."

Rodney snapped his head up. "No, we're not." His face had gone several shades close toward white. "We're in a hotel with a bomb."

"Relax, Rodney. If this is all based on memory then all we need to do is find Caldwell and force him to tell us the codes to disarm the thing." John ripped the page with the club address from the phone book. "Ronon, you're with me. Rodney and Teyla, locate the bomb. It's probably in the lounge somewhere. And when you find it, don't touch it. The thing starts winding down to zero you run from this place. Not that I don't trust our hosts but... I don't trust our hosts. I'd prefer we end up restarting the game due to losing with our virtual skin still attached, just in case."

John stuffed the page into his pocket, then he and Ronon headed out. Rodney trailed after.

"What if it's more complicated than that?" he stammered. "I don't know if you recall but the bomb was an overloading ZPM."

"This place have a boiler room?" John said. He stepped out into the street just as a black sports car whipped around the corner.

"Sheppard!" Ronon bellowed.

John looked up in time for the car to plow into him, hip then back, his bones rattling. His final thought before blacking out was that for a virtual game that wasn't real, this sure hurt like hell.

TBC...