No Alternative
By Gumnut
28 Feb 2004
A gun.
That's what he needed. A gun.
A nice big one. Twin barrels...no, multiple barrels. A gattling gun. Yes, that would do it.
The image skittered across his mind. The glint of light on the barrels as they spun, the hiss of the motor, the sharp smell of burning gun powder, the smoke climbing his nostrils. The explosive clatter battering his ears as each bullet fired, impaling the enemy, the tinkle of empty shells bouncing off the pavement.
Yes, that would do nicely.
He stared at his opponent.
He would be quite happy to blow this piece of crap to the other side of the universe.
But he had no weapon but himself, and, restrained by circumstance, all he could do was glare.
The piece of crap simply stared back at him. Emotional displays ignored. O'Neill's ire beneath its notice.
Anger crawled up his spine.
At any other time, he might not have cared, simply grabbed the nearest solid object and beaten the scum to death.
But this time there were hostages.
Important hostages.
And even if he did have some means of conquering the enemy, there were doubts as to whether they would survive. Chances are they were lost.
And it tore him inside.
He muttered under his breath. Several obscene words in several different languages, not caring if it understood or not.
Jack O'Neill would never go down without a fight.
But there was no fight, despite the conflict reflected in his eyes.
There was no alternative.
But surrender.
He lifted his hands, sighing in defeat, and hit CTRL-ALT-DEL.
Damn computer.
********** FIN.
A gun.
That's what he needed. A gun.
A nice big one. Twin barrels...no, multiple barrels. A gattling gun. Yes, that would do it.
The image skittered across his mind. The glint of light on the barrels as they spun, the hiss of the motor, the sharp smell of burning gun powder, the smoke climbing his nostrils. The explosive clatter battering his ears as each bullet fired, impaling the enemy, the tinkle of empty shells bouncing off the pavement.
Yes, that would do nicely.
He stared at his opponent.
He would be quite happy to blow this piece of crap to the other side of the universe.
But he had no weapon but himself, and, restrained by circumstance, all he could do was glare.
The piece of crap simply stared back at him. Emotional displays ignored. O'Neill's ire beneath its notice.
Anger crawled up his spine.
At any other time, he might not have cared, simply grabbed the nearest solid object and beaten the scum to death.
But this time there were hostages.
Important hostages.
And even if he did have some means of conquering the enemy, there were doubts as to whether they would survive. Chances are they were lost.
And it tore him inside.
He muttered under his breath. Several obscene words in several different languages, not caring if it understood or not.
Jack O'Neill would never go down without a fight.
But there was no fight, despite the conflict reflected in his eyes.
There was no alternative.
But surrender.
He lifted his hands, sighing in defeat, and hit CTRL-ALT-DEL.
Damn computer.
********** FIN.