Just the slightest, hesitant nod of his head that he hardly remembered giving changed the course of Colonel Jack O'Neill's fate forever and left him in darkness, awash with pain and numbness, cold and sweat, with a voice in his head not his own.
"Sir," a distant voice pleaded, repeating in his mind in an echo. "Please."
It was that quiet plea that made him decide, the way the voice caught on the words and reminded him of his duty to the Greater Good. After all, he had willingly put missions ahead of his own life many times. This was no different. For the safety of the team, of the world, he would put his own wishes on the back burner once again and sacrifice his life. Sometimes he really hated the Greater Good. But still, he nodded.
Even that memory seemed far away. If he reached his fingertips toward it, it would dissipate and fade like an early morning fog.
He didn't clearly remember the procedure. It was almost like a dream, that moment of a rough scrape against the back of his throat and the taste of coppery blood mingled with something almost musky and it was over. Any discomfort he felt was suddenly gone, as if his mind was turned off and separated from his body. He didn't remember actually falling asleep, but he realized he was waking up and the echoes began to fade.
It wasn't that he heard the presence there, but somehow felt it. His mind rebelled and struggled with the invasion. He heard voices but couldn't tell if they were outside of his mind or within, friend or foe. He saw crystal clear memories not his own. Faces. Places. Events. Feelings. He felt things through hands not his. The invader in his mind went transparent and slick, ghosting through thick lead doors that should have been impenetrable.
No, not that one, his mind screamed silently, but it was too late. The door to a child's room had been opened and he felt himself swept along into the emptiness of it.