-- Chapter 3 --
Pain. And cold. A hard floor.
I cautiously opened an eye and recognised my dimly lit cell. Looming from the centre of the room was a gleaming metal monstrosity. The Table. I shuddered and looked away.
Groaning, I tried to sit up. The room swam around me and I leaned back, resting my head against the cold wall. I had long ago lost track of the days. It felt like I had been here for months.
Why wouldn't they just kill me?
I allowed my head to roll to one side and I saw the ever-present bowl of grey goo that passed for food in this place. I only ate when the hunger became too much to bear. That was the only time that I could tolerate the sandy-soil texture and disgusting Styrofoam-tinfoil flavour.
The door slid open.
Oh God. Not again. I braced myself for another round of torture.
"Sam?"
I blinked at the man who had entered the room, not believing my eyes. He knelt by my side and placed a gentle hand on my arm.
"Sam, are you okay?"
"Daniel?"
"Come on. Let's get you out of here."
He carefully pulled me to my feet and led me to the door. Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c were in the hallway. Two guards were unconscious on the floor.
"Is this real?"
"Of course it is. We're getting you home, Carter," said the Colonel.
My three teammates headed down the hallway. The Colonel turned as I hung back.
"Carter! Come on!" He took my arm.
I deftly removed the Colonel's sidearm and backed away. The gun in my hand levelled at each of them, one by one.
"This isn't real! You're not here!"
"Sam, it's us."
"Carter, what the hell are you doing?"
"Major Carter, we must make our escape now!"
"You're not real. This isn't happening!"
Why did they keep doing this to me? Why wouldn't they just kill me?
Kill me. I looked at the gun in my hand and raised it to my head.
"Sam! No!" shouted the one that looked like Daniel.
The gun probably wasn't even real. But I was tired of playing these games. All I wanted was for it to end. My finger tightened around the trigger.
Abruptly, everything around me changed. I was staring at a ceiling. I couldn't move. My eyelids drifted shut.
"Well, now. That didn't go as well as I had hoped," said a deep, echoing voice.
I pried open my eyes to look at the figure that swept gracefully to my side.
"Maybe we'll try something else today. Shall we?" Cronus nodded at his First Prime who released the restraints that had secured me to The Table.
I should have taken the opportunity to try to escape. But there was no use. It never worked. I was tired, weak, outnumbered, and, quite frankly, beyond caring.
Sindar pulled me from The Table and threw me across my cell. I rolled over the hard floor and my head slammed into the wall. I didn't even try to soften the blow. Maybe it would be what finally killed me.
I cried out as I felt the familiar sensation of the Goa'uld hand device searing my brain.
"You will tell me what I want to know."
The blistering pain ceased and I felt myself starting to lose consciousness. I knew they wouldn't let that happen. Not this early in today's games.
There.
Orange agony ripped through my body as Sindar pressed the pain stick into my ribs. An otherworldly sound pierced my ears. Oh God. It was me. I was screaming.
This was good. The physical torture was so much better than The Table. I could even predict what happened here. The pain was a grim reminder that I was still alive. It confirmed that this was real. Unfortunate and agonizing, yes. But it was real.
On The Table, there were the simulations. In the simulations, I couldn't tell what was real. In the simulations, I was me. Sometimes, I was Jolinar. In the simulations, my friends were there. In the simulations, I came so close to believing. So close to telling everything. So close to giving up. I hated The Table. I was getting better at recognising when I was in a simulation. But, still, I hated The Table.
"Tell me how to find the Tok'ra."
I lay on the cold floor, my eyes unseeing.
"Tell me the codes to deactivate the barrier protecting your Stargate."
There was blood in my mouth. I swallowed it.
"I don't want to hurt you."
Now he was a comedian.
"You'll forgive me if I find that hard to believe." I coughed, sending a spray of crimson to the floor in front of my face.
"Tell me what I want to know, and all this will stop."
I studied the blood droplets before me. Splotches and spidery lines of bright red. I wondered if Daniel would be able to see a pattern there. I wondered if he could translate it – if he could find the meaning of it all.
"Tell me," Cronus demanded again.
"Go to Ne'tu."
He didn't seem to like that answer. The pain stick again. More demands for information. A kick to the gut. Another to the face.
There.
The periphery of my vision was the first to go. The intricate spray of blood in front of me faded to black. As the darkness enveloped me, I prayed that it would be for the last time.
To be continued...
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