SG-1 was back at the hotel for the night and Carter was up checking her internet tie-ins. Everyone was pretty sure the mystery hacker was gone, but she wanted to make sure the problem wasn't in her equipment.
Of course, that was before someone grabbed her by the neck and lifted off of her feet. Combat training kicked in and Carter lashed out with both feet. Her assailant grunted as he staggered back and dropped her. Smoothly, she drew her sidearm to take aim. It was too dark to make out very many fine details, but she saw a man's shape wielding a wicked, serrated blade.
The Berretta M9 carried fifteen rounds. Every single bullet hit what Carter aimed for. Not a single one had any apparent effect on the assailant except to knock it back a step from the impact. None of the bullets penetrated deep enough to cause more than an inconvenience.
The man advanced and moved fast enough to grab her again. This time he used his reach to pin her against the rough brick of the building. She could feel her ribs creak under the pressure.
She also realized she could sense the naquadah in him.
"The linguist at the museum was a good meal," the man told her, conversationally. His voice echoed with the undertones Carter associated with go'auld. "English is a strange language. It refuses to follow its own rules. Why would a people choose it as their primary means of communication?"
"What?" Carter demanded, not following the conversation. Why would a go'auld eat someone? And what was with the commentary on language?
The man wrapped a large hand around her skull. "All that knowledge and intellect, Lt. Colonel Doctor Samantha Carter. You will make a fine meal."
Something sharp pressed against the base of Carter's skull, breaking skin and putting steadily growing pressure on the bone. She cried out in anger and intensified her struggles against his grip. With all of her attention on the man holding her, she didn't see the other man melt out of the darkness. If she had, she would have timed her moves better.
Carter twisted hard to the right, throwing all of her body weight off the wall, trying to unbalance him. The assailant staggered a few inches to his left. At the same moment, the other man launched himself into the fray with a bladed weapon. Because of the small stagger, the blade drove home into her attacker's shoulder instead of his heart.
The assailant roared in pain. He spun and backhanded the other man hard enough to send him flying. The momentum of the spin sent Carter sprawling to the asphalt in the other direction. Scrambling to her feet, she saw her attacker ripped the blade out of his own back and staggered off into the night. Scooping up the fallen blade, Carter ripped her smart phone from a pocket when a pained groan stopped her from completing the call.
Her rescuer staggered to his feet, clearly the worse for wear but not seriously injured. He looked her over. "You okay?"
She blinked in surprise when she recognized him. "Sam Weisz? What are you doing here?"
"Uh... We're staying at the same hotel, remember?" He reminded. "I was looking for the ice machine when I heard gunshots."
"Do you always run towards gunshots?" Carter demanded.
Sam's face quirked in thought. "Yeah, I guess I do. Can I have my knife back?"
Carter glanced down at the weapon she was holding and realized two things: One, it was covered in blood too pinkish to be human. And two, she didn't recognize the metal it was made out of. "Sorry, its evidence now."
Pounding feet interrupted whatever retort Sam could come up with as the rest of SG-1 rounded the corner. All four of them held weapons at the ready. Sam immediately held his hands up and backed away from the colonel.
"Teal'c! He's wounded." Carter pointed in the direction her where her assailant vanished.
The big jaffa immediately looked down for a blood trail. Mitch fell into formation on his left.
"Be careful," she pitched her voice to exclude Sam. "He's go'auld and I think he has some kind of personal shield. Bullets only staggered him temporarily."
"Then how is he wounded?" Mitch asked.
Silently, Carter held up the blade.
"Right," Mitch acknowledged. Then he and Teal'c took off into the night.
.SPN
"Sonnuva bitch!" Dean swore under his breath. Those stupid, Air Force amateurs were about to get themselves killed. He ghosted after them, determined to not let them die. Sam and Sam were fine, bruises all around but nothing serious. But his Sam wouldn't be able to give chase with their Sam staring hard at him. At least angel blades could hurt the thing; that was good to know.
When the Air Force men caught up with his monster, the Hunter was reminded of something he should have known: soldiers can kick some serious ass, too.
Both men were pulling out moves Dean had never seen before. They moved fluidly and powerfully from one combination to another, always backing each other up and never blocking each other. Dean made a mental note to NOT pick a hand-to-hand with either of these guys; he was pretty sure he'd loose.
It really was too bad none of their weapons could actually hurt the thing.
The colonel guy took a header into a brick wall and went down for the count.
The bigger man ended up staring down the colonel's gun being held by Chooser.
"Jaffa Shol'va," the monster growled.
Taking that as his cue, Dean pulled back his arm and let fly. An angel blade through the heart was plenty of incentive to drop the gun without killing the big military man.
The monster roared in pain, his flailing hand clipping his would-be victim in the temple with the gun. He glared at Dean, his eyes flared with a golden light.
"Okay, that's not creepy at all," Dean muttered.
The colonel took the opening to jump the monster, grabbing the knife and twisting it deeper. Bellowing his rage, the monster grabbed the colonel and flung him away. Right into Dean. The two men went down in a tangle on limbs. Their quarry was gone before they regained their feet.
Dean looked the military men up and down. They were pissed and they wanted answers. And Dean was the only one left to ask. He straightened out his jacket, pasted a cheeky grin on his face, and pulled out a pad of paper with a pen. "So. Headline: Mummy Murder in the Museum. Could I get a quote?"
